Archive for May, 2003

  • Rob Spectre
  • 29
  • May
  • 03

Rockstar’s Log, Supplemental:

So, I go to get my teeth clean today, utilizing the last of my lovely quality healthcare grace period. Lavishing in the Republican luxury of proper dental care, but pressed for time, I decided to go with a dentist whom I didn’t know in Pratt, KS. Making the short half-hour jaunt up there was not too much of an issue, but I quickly discovered that, in my hubris and ignorance, made a terrible error.

First, I am greated by a half-deaf and incredibly dense old woman for a receptionist, who promptly asks if I have dental insurance and hands me an identification chart that seemed to be absolutely ancient with type that was perhaps used on the first Gutenberg press. Of course, I did not have the proper dental card in my possession and was forced to enter into slow, painstaking negotiations to use a “phone” so that I could get the card “faxed” from my “mother.” All of the beforementioned concepts seemed particularly hard for her to grasp, and I began to become a little short. The situation was quickly defused however by a particularly cute dental hygienist who interceded on my behalf.

Following my new best friend, she took me to the room where this dental service was to take place. Jesus fucking Christ. There are Republican Senators younger than a lot of the equipment in that shop. The chair looks like some torture device to be found in a Marilyn Manson video and the instruments look like flangical attachments on some early incarnation of Freddy’s glove. Pastel puke green paint job and entirely mechanical (no electricity!), the device appeared to be operated on a foot pedal and complex series of ropes, wheels, and pulleys. Needless to say, I was a bit concerned.

Follow this with the entrance of Herr Doctor, an elderly, semi-retired man who seemed passably polite but eyed my teeth like some sort of jewels to be used to adorn a fine Russian shitter. Thankfully, he did a few painful pokes and relegated the rest of cleaning duty to the cute hygienist, with whom I pleasantly chatted with while she inserted a gigantic metal polisher in my mouth as I continuously drooled on her hands.

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  • Rob Spectre
  • 29
  • May
  • 03

Last night I returned from my maternal grandparents under a moonless night sky with Sigur-Ros and a cool Kansas breeze. A long stretch of highway no one else is on; a world completely dark save the illumination of the path ahead. These short skips across amber waves of grain darkened by twilight have always filled me with contemplation and whimsical consideration of times long gone by. And in this time of reluctant ending and uncertain beginning, there may be no better prescription for heartache than a long Kansas drive.

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  • Rob Spectre
  • 27
  • May
  • 03

So with some time off during submersion, I’ve been listening a lot to the rough mix of the record and trying to get outside as much as I can. To that end, I thought it might be a nice gesture to attempt to mow my mom’s lawn. Now, this activity always filled me with dread in my youth, as for a good portion of it we lived in a trailer house on this enormous lot placed on a neary vertical rocky cliff that was next to impossible to mow and only was able to grow during scorching hot weather.

Not having actually touched a lawn mower in 4+ years, I thought it might be a nice excuse to get outside and breath some fresh air. The weather was pleasantly cool, the sky was sunny, probably the most perfect day I’ve ever seen to mow a lawn. I pulled out the lawn mower from the garage, fueled it up, and set my CD Player to Atom and His Package for a nice stroll about the lawn. However, once I pulled the start cord for the first time, I was suddenly sunk with the awful realization: I fucking forgot how to mow a lawn.

Suddenly, the unassuming device in front of me was incomprehensibly difficult to operate. I kept pulling and pulling at the goddamned cord, but for some reason it just wouldn’t start. This is when I discovered a device known as a “primer.” Apparently, I needed to press it 3x times in order to start the motor. Having down this, I went back to pull the cord. Again nothing… except this time included the distinct aroma of gas. Being not as dense as I seem sometimes, I remembered what the primer’s function was and that I probably pulled a pretty decent amount of fuel into the motor already with my dozen pulls of the start cord. I had some downtime.

I took this opportunity to go ahead and attempt operating the weedeater. Having versed myself in the operation of the lawnmower quickly, I remembered how to operate the weedeater’s choke and successfully got it running – on the first pull no less! Sadly, a weedeater requires some more delicate, artistic operation than a lawnmower. After destroying two different lawn ornaments and carving what looked like a happy face into one corner of the lawn, I decided I should probably just mow the lawn and call it good. I have a lot more respect for my horticulture major friends now.

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  • Rob Spectre
  • 26
  • May
  • 03

Yet another in a long line of Bush Administration misnomers, I’ve just taken a look at Bush’s road map for peace between Israel and Palestine. Finally, all sides are recognizing the right to an independent Palestinian state, but I wonder if this “road map” will include American and Israeli funding for actuals roads, communication lines, bridges, and all the other infrastructure the Butcher from Beirut has ordered destroyed on a regular basis during that past 32 months.

In other news, it’s Memorial Day. What this means for the country-at-large is a pleasant day off from the usual grind… Including the only place in town to purchase strings. I’m not sure what the hell I’m supposed to do without my guitar for the day. I’m going a little stir crazy and am considering arranging a fresh early summer bouquet of flowers that will match the striped wallpaper in this room. This is how desperate the boredom situation is becoming.

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  • Rob Spectre
  • 25
  • May
  • 03

After a horrible fit of negligence, I just picked up the new Weird Al record. Besides a particularly uninspired and unfunny title “Poodle Hat,” it is a pretty decisive rocker that was far too long in the waiting. Between this CD, Rob Zombie’s Ramones tribute albumand not one, but *two* REM records coming out this fall, it is a damn good year to like the music I like.

Though the original song played with Ben Folds is pretty hype and “Hardware Store” and “Bob” are pretty clever, the original songs are kind of lacking from what I would expect from an Al release. The parodies, as ever, are dead on hilarious and “Angry White Boy Polka” is the song this music industry needs to hear right now.

All in all, I love this record like I love any Al album. However, this one has a very bitter aftertaste, mostly coming from the absolutely inflated $20 price of admission. It is very rare when I buy a major label CD, and even rarer when I drop $20 on any single thing that isn’t a musical instrument. To make things worse, his label is Volcano, which you will remember as the rat bastards that ass-raped my favorite live band with no lubrication or warning. A funny Quicktime home movie montage or not, there is simply not enough value in this record to justify $20, particularly when fully half of the songs are borrowed tunes.

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