July, 2007

July is a Carbondale milestone. One in which Craig and Bert put on a 4th of July rock and roll barbecue that has become such an event that people don't say, "What did you do this 4th of July weekend?" They say, "Were you at Craig and Bert's this weekend?" The DNA Vibrator's show last month was awesome, and not just for the band. We got a good recording of the show, which will likely take the summer to mix. July will also likely see the birth of the Akkademiks, the educational project DNA has been working on, and will also likely see DNA's application into the Ph.D. program in Special Education at SIU become a reality. Ah, DNA is finally growing up.

Permanent Historical Record: 7/1/07

Taking a Breath...

Yes. Before another wave of lots of things to do or prepare for hit, DNA needs to take a breath. So, instead of writing lots of new stuff tonight, DNA will copy the last entry from last month. That's not cheating. It will get you caught back up into the continuing story of the lead up to the kick ass show DNA played on June 23rd, 2007. So, here below, is the recap. Next week, I will finish the sordid tale.

The Practice, or, The Shape Of Things To Come...

June 22nd, Friday:

Starting that afternoon, DNA loaded his equipment up, from home and from his office. Packing and loading equipment is a ritual, that DNA has practiced since it first became a musician, many years ago. The ritual is much like the ritual a skydiver will go through to pack his own parachute, or a soldier will go through to clean her own weapon. DNA invests that much energy into the process. Like those others, DNA visualizes how he will use the Big Muff Pie distortion (yes, an original, with germanium capacitors, that bleeds signal like a wino�s gums bleeds, well, blood) as he carefully packs it in his milk crate. He carefully winds his cords, unscrewing the ends to check the solder joints, and then wraps them with neon green duct tape. He changes out the batteries on his stage tuners, his pedals, and a signal splitter. He packs his tool box, and all of the other musical necessities away (guitar slide, picks, extra strings, etc.).

Then DNA checks his guitars. DNA has been kind of bitch about having a guitar stand and strap for each guitar. They are not that expensive, and mean you have to do a whole lot less fucking around on stage if you have to change guitars. DNA checks the batteries on each of the basses, checks the strings on all the guitars, and packs away the guitars in their respective cases. DNA closes the flight case for the pre amp and amp, and then loads up the stuff.

DNA built his own basses for several years. Along with that, DNA built his own speaker enclosures, too. At the time, the only money he spent was on musical equipment, and so DNA bought the best: An EVM 18" and 4 EVM 10"s. DNA built two 2 x10 cabinets and 1 18 cabinet. This was the rig DNA used at the height of playing out, when sometimes the clubs he would play were huge, and needed more bass, or was so small, the PA had no subs and really couldn't deliver bass. Either way, DNA was ready to deliver.

The 2 x 10 cabinets were eventually chucked in favor of a custom built 4 x10 enclosure which DNA still has. DNA has had the same speakers for 17 years. They will probably last another 17. Seriously, EV doesn't make the "M" series anymore, because they were too expensive and frankly overpowered for everything except the biggest applications. A rough measure of a speaker is the mass of the magnet. Each of those EVM 10's weighed approximately 40 pounds. Fuck is right.

The 18 cab, well it has had a history. DNA traded it to Mr. Kamikaze for a drum set. At that time, Mr. Kamikaze was learning to play bass in a band called Taylor. He was pretty good. I have yet to actually unpack the drums I got. 13 years have passed since then. Well, Mr. Kamikaze still has the 18 cab, and the bass player in his other band, Nonagon, uses it. Mr. Kamikaze promised to bring the cabinet with him, to reunite the 4 x 10's with the 18 cab. (Mr. Kamikaze indeed did bring it. The day after the show, DNA received a very nice email from an old friend, who said whatever I had up there sounded "tits.") DNA likes tits.

DNA met the Hand of God at the practice space, which thankfully, was air-conditioned and sound-proofed. Besides DNA's own monstrous bass rig, H.O.G. had a 200 watt all tube ampeg head and a Marshall 4 x 12. The problem with such a stadium filling rig is that it doesn't really start to kick ass until it's turned half way up, and we wouldn't be able to turn it up past 1, other wise it would simply be too loud.

About the time we had finished loading equipment into the practice space, DNA got a call from Mr. Kamikaze asking for directions. He and long time pal The Song Engine came down from Chi-town. On the way in, the guys bought some liquid refreshment, and by 6 pm we were set up and ready to practice.

For some vocals, DNA brought his Mesa Boogie combo in. This is the same Mesa Boogie that the song Engine used to own. It's the same model that Neil Young played through for many years (maybe still does). Mine still works awfully well.

Do we have high expectations? Well, yes. To quote somebody famous, "I know, it's only rock and roll, but I like it." We are competent musicians, and H.O.G., well, he's from another planet, a planet where the best musicians on earth go to shine the shoes of the lowest of the low there in hopes of hearing an alien play even a single note on a dimestore kazoo while they are bored at the shoe shine stand. And these aliens are the dregs, the loser aliens who by alien standards can't even play a kazoo. H.O.G. is good THERE. He just happens to be HERE. DNA lives eats and breathes this shit, and Mr. Kamikaze is truly the shit on drums, so it was surprised when practice quickly started to sound like a blind man beating a bag of cats: badly punctuated screeches, lots of fits and starts, and a lot of extra motion to get the simplest shit done. DNA began to lose a little confidence after two hours and several beers did not improve the situation.

Let's get one thing straight: Nobody was mad or anything. Fuck, it would be kind of funny in a karmic way if after all the hype and crap about the show, if we old guys totally sucked and couldn't make it come together. In old-style mythology, the hero generally dies at the end in a great flourish. Our flourishes have already come and gone. In the new American mythology, the hero keeps coming back again and again for the sequel. People don�t stay dead. However, in real life, when people try to emulate that crap, eventually they get too old to live up to the hype, and they fail, either publicly or privately, but only then do they learn the lesson that there comes a point after which you give up the games of youth to the young. Was this our moment? It seemed like it.

After 10 pm, we seriously started axing songs that sucked. Some were simple, some were the good ones, the ones that were musically challenging. What we were left with was a core of somewhat shaky songs, DNA with a somewhat shaky voice (after singing for several hours), and also having his left arm hurting (after an accident from a couple of weeks back left a couple of his fingers numb---like carpal tunnel numb, nothing too serious). The guitar sounded lame, cuz we couldn't get a good tone out of the underdriven ampeg.

After 11, we all agreed that no further damage could be done. We discussed renting a Marshall head for H.O.G., and the boys decided to grab some food. DNA had to drive an hour home, say goodnight to the wife, see what the boy was doing etc., so instead of food, he went home. Reuniting with the guys was great. The playing was a little underwhelming, but at the very end of the night, we all realized, that for Mr. Kamikaze, this was actually the first time he practiced this stuff on his actual drums, and not just while listening to it in the car, and for one song, DNA knows this is hard to believe, but for Folsom Prison Blues, Mr. Kamikaze had never ever heard it before, not even the original. H.O.G. played one of DNA's guitars because his own had corroded and rusted so badly from disuse that we couldn't string it. Meaning that H.O.G. had not picked up an electric guitar, except for those times over the last couple of months in which DNA wrassled him into the studio, for OVER A YEAR. With those starting conditions, our practice didn't seem so bad. But we would have to get a lot better if we weren't going to suck ass on stage on Saturday.

Did DNA pack his parachute correctly, or had he forgotten some important but elusive element in his ritual? Was H.O.G. really from earth, after all? Was it true that Mr. Kamikaze played the drums only because he had some?

The proof would be in the pudding, or more specifically, in the Quatro's Pizza the guys gorged on after DNA left.

Permanent Historical Record: 7/3/07

Later That Night...

DNA left the guys, to calls of being a pussy, being whipped, of them knowing who wears the pants in his family. Okay, fine. DNA had to drive. DNA's throat hurt. Sleep would be better than partying, and in the end, it was DNA's ASS hanging out if we fucked up DNA's songs tomorrow at the Hangar. So, the rest of DNA's story Friday night is short. DNA drove home, silently thinking through the songs it wanted to play out tomorrow, and made it safely home (about an hour's drive through wooded back country). Once home, Lara asked how everything went. DNA said, "Let's just say it sucked, but not as bad as it could have sucked." "Really?" she asked, somewhat surprised. "Yeah. Mr. Kamikaze wasn't kidding when he said he sucked. DNA is not worried though," DNA said as he began to get ready for bed. But, DNA was worried. A little.

DNA left at 11:00 pm. Here was the scene at 11:03: "Okay, now that douchebag is gone, let's get some food. I am fucking starving. We haven't ate since noon!" The 'we' here is Mr. Kamikaze and the Song Engine. Yes, plenty of beer had been drunk, and several shots of tequila were downed, but no food. H.O.G., said that he was up for anything, because unlike DNA, he sets the rules around his house. Mr. Kamikaze and the Song Engine both said, "Quatros, then." (Damn, DNA ought to be gettin' paid for this free advertisement and shit. DNA will take it in pizza, if you reading this, Quatro's man. Don't wonder why your website is gettin' hella big hits. It's all DNA!)

Up at Quatros, they devoured a large deep pan pepperoni, and after the second slice, each felt bloated. Like weebles, they tottered from Quatros, party warriors, pizza spartans not ready to surrender themselves to the embrace of sleep. Down the street they wobbled, walking past the Hangar, the DQ, the old Varsity theater, and Booby's, until finally, they located a source of a subharmonic thump which had been tugging at subconscious minds of the three pizza killers. PK's was the source.

PK's, back in the day, was a biker bar. The kind of biker bar that had a certain reputation. If you didn't have a bike, don't go in. It wasn't a poseur bar, it was the real deal. And the patrons, nice folks, were just as happy as not letting Bif the Fraternity Dick keep on thinking that. However, fairly recently, probably thanks to Dave from the Dammit Boys booking some of the bands, the bar had taken on a more punk rock feel. Again, not poseur, Avril Lavigne punk, but the "I got enough money for my medicine, or this guitar, so fuck it, I'm buying the guitar" punk.

PK�s would not disappoint the three Italian pie-eating argonauts. Besides the Dammit Boys playing, the headlining act, The Oscars, ripped it up, and played like they were gonna die tomorrow. After the cheap beer out of the tap at PK's, the Song Engine, H.O.G. and Mr. Kamikaze also felt like they too might die tomorrow.

Bloated, slow, sick. Like the men of Odysseus caught between the Scylla and Charibdys, they now felt like we had sounded like a few hours before. There was only one way to save themselves from the siren's song: HEAVE!

The boys were proudly carrying on a tradition of staying up way too late and getting bent, that began years ago, on the night before the first DNA Vibrator's recording, in which Mr. Kamikaze and DNA proceeded to drink themselves into oblivion. While DNA finished checking his email one last time before shutting down the computer and going to bed, he hoped the boys were doing something like he later heard they were doing. The trip through the underworld before a show was the last step of the ritual that the DNA Vibrators needed to follow, so that just like the first time they recorded, the night before was hell and death, but the next day would be magic and rebirth.

Permanent Historical Record: 7/6/07

The Day Of The Show...

After a good night's sleep, DNA woke up at approximately 10 am the next morning. First thing on the agenda was to contact Mike at Mike's Music and see if he would rent a Marshall head to power H.O.G's Marshall cabinet. The short answer was yes. After DNA talked to Mike, he talked to H.O.G. who was able to go pick up the unit.

DNA's voice felt pretty good, his arms felt good, so when he called Mr. Kamikaze in the morning, he faked like his voice was roached, just to freak everybody out. That put DNA in a much better mood. Believe it or not, DNA doesn't want to admit it, but it is a vain little entity. It spent way too much time picking out clothes for the show. It used to be that DNA would always wear a pair of cut off overall shorts, (he called them overshorts) with a NASA patch on the front. This was the uniform. DNA still has a pair of overshorts, but they just didn't feel right. So, a pair of shorts, a shirt with a ufo on it, and the word, "PREPARE" and some cool old high tops, and DNA was ready to go. Then, DNA did its nails, eye shadow and lip gloss. DNA is a fashion whore.

As DNA drove up to Carbondale, Lara agreed to meet DNA at the hotel that they reserved so that besides having hot monkey sex after the show, they could rest in C-Dale without the prospect of having to drive home later that night (Lara wouldn't let me write that we had hot monkey sex after the show if we had actually had hot monkey sex after the show). She would meet up sometime after 6 or so, to have some food and then hang out at the Hangar. On the trip up, DNA called Mr. Kamikaze, H.O.G., and the Song Engine. H.O.G. couldn't meet up, but the guys went to the local record store, and then to Mike's Music, where DNA picked out some picks, and everybody shot the shit for awhile with Mike, who would later come up to the show and ROCK OUT LOUD.

When we got to the practice space, things were much cooler all the way around. We got some honey tea, some Coca-Cola, and were ready to go again. This time, we had already culled the un-do-able shit, and everything else sounded pretty good. The Marshall head and cab made H.O.G. sound extraterrestrial again, and within a relatively short while, the world was right with us. We shut it down, loaded up, went through the load up ritual, and at about 5 or so, were up at the Hangar, loading shit in. About the time we were done loading, we met the Moon Buggy Kids, who were all young and digging just being there, and after their shit was in, we were called by the rest of Nonagon, and then before we knew it, their shit was in too. And not a moment too soon, because a pop-up evening shower had quickly rushed in to soak the ground.

Like most summer showers in Carbondale, it didn't last long. We were checked into the hotel, and back on the Strip eating sandwiches at Booby's Beer Garden by 6 pm. Within an hour, we were back up at the Hangar, with the Song Engine, Lara, and DNA's old pals Big Mike and Susan. As we got ready for sound check, DNA met the sound guy, Gary, the recording guy, Mike, the bar owner, Sally, set up the video camera, and got the beer tickets.

Beer tickets are part of the economy of a show in a bar, one DNA now realizes that the general public may not be too aware of. It's a throwback to a simpler time, when you bartered for goods and services. Drink tickets were issued for X number of drinks out of whatever is on tap in the bar that night. There were never enough drink tickets for everyone. Bar owners have learned from long experience that supplying bands with too many drink tickets means the bands are fucked up band by showtime, or means that the bar may actually lose money that night, depending on how advanced the alcoholism was among the various bands.

DNA took his share of drink tickets, and over the course of the night, bought several more rounds. The Moon Buggy Kids started promptly at 10pm, and despite some feedback issues, sounded terrific. Because neither Nonagon or The DNA Vibrators were really equipped to play longer than necessary, we didn't encourage the Moon buggy Kids to speed up or stop playing. In fact, we just kind of enjoyed the show. Then, without even trying, the Moon Buggy Kids did us a favor. After they finished, they started to break down their equipment on stage. As bands move upward and onward to bigger gigs, this is kind of frowned upon, because the next band wants their 15 minutes of fame just like you do, so you can break your drums and case your guitars offstage, if you please. In our case, however, speed was not of the essence, and gave the crowd at the Hangar, of which there actually was one, something to watch before Nonagon hit the stage.

Nonagon rocked. From start to end, the band is frenetic noise, melodic thrashing, and terrific bass counterpoints to a buzzsaw guitar. That, and Mr. Kamikaze was fucking awesome on drums. Which begged the question, "Why did he suck so much during our practices if he was this fucking great on stuff that was 10 times harder and faster than what the DNA Vibrators played?" It was funny, kind of, because during both practices, we had to keep on telling Mr. Kamikaze to slow down, relax, and let the beat flow. If the DNA Vibrators' songs were too fast, they would fail miserably. So, like Ray Charles always said to his drummers, "Slow the fuck down! I'm blind, not deaf, you broke mother fucker!"

After Nonagon finished, Big Mike got the video rolling, and H.O.G., DNA and Mr. Kamikaze got set up and ready to play by about 12:15. It was late, DNA had a little too much to drink, and at that point, wasn't sure if he could sing, play, or really, stand all too well. Showtime!

Permanent Historical Record: 7/10/07

Get To The Point....

Right. DNA can be long winded. So here we go. The first song was an instrumental, with a couple of little hitches in it which make it cool. DNA really was feeling a little tipsy, and wasn't sure how strong his voice was. We went through a brief introduction, and then began. Sound was good, but by the first break in the song, about 10 seconds in, DNA could tell that Mr. Kamikaze was a little tight. Things got sloppy quickly. A couple of basic cues were missed. It started to feel ugly. Just then, at the next pause, DNA could hear the Song Engine screaming at the top of his lungs, timed with the stops and starts of the song. That made DNA feel better, because people feed off of that kind of energy. The second song began right after the first one, with a distorted bass line. That one was sloppy too, and right away would test the limits of DNA's voice. Quickly, those limits were surpassed, but, song 2 was better than song one. Still, way too many missed cues. The third song, "A Note To My Old Band," actually had a groove, and as soon as we started, things finally clicked. It rocked. People started dancing, some were even singing the chorus. The next song, better, and even though there were some dips here and there, everything was good. H.O.G. played some sick, sick shit, and Mr. Kamikaze found his happy place. DNA let it hang out from the get go, and by the end of the night, we had rocked. Guests came up and sang on stage, everybody drank to excess, and by the time we were through, we converted the youngsters, and made the old folks stay up past their bed times. DNA, Mr. Kamikaze, and H.O.G. all agreed that they should do this again, sooner rather than later.

After we settled the money, we agreed that we should find an after hours party, which we did, just a few blocks away. To our surprise, we found the Moon Buggy Kids there. Some guy was climbing a tree, someone else was playing with a lit tiki torch, and two guys were playing acoustic guitars and screaming into a hurting little peavey combo. In other words, a typical college party. As we were walking around, someone yelled, "Hey, that's the DNA Vibrator!" Notoriety felt pretty good. The same someone then offered DNA the last swig of a plastic jug full of Canadian Mist. DNA faked like he drank it, and gave it back to the drunk person. Either it, the drunk person, or both, smelled like paint thinner.

Although the party was fun, we felt a generation removed from the sophomoric fun most of the revelers were having, so we decided to walk over to Lost Cross house. Something is always going on over at Lost Cross. Because most of us had been fixtures in the Carbondale music scene for many years, we recognized some of the folks there, and vice versa. Inside Lost Cross is like a underground music museum. Posters, flyers, handbills, for shows going back dozens of years adorn every surface. Old bands DNA was in were enshrined in here. New bands that have hardly played out have flyers here. It was nice to show the guys from Nonagon the house, but by this time, it was about 3 am, and time to get to sleep. We walked back to our cars, and drove to the hotel.

Lara and DNA had their own room. Right on, baby! But, discretion was the better part of valor, and as soon as we could, we were laying down and falling asleep.

The next morning, some of us (the Song Engine, Mr. Kamikaze, DNA, Lara, Big Mike, Susan) got together and had us some breakfast at Harbaugh's Cafe (a relatively new, but terrific, Carbondale tradition). Then we parted company, tired, sore, but better for the experience. Rock and roll is pretty cool, sometimes.

Permanent Historical Record: 7/12/07

Don't Put This Blog Up On No Shelf...

Why Rock Idioms Make Rock Stars Sound Like Idiots

Since this rant has something to do with music, it will appear in both the blog and the rants section of the website. Cross-categorical analysis, how fucking bitching is The DNA Vibrator, after all? Quite, it appears. Bitchin'? Yes, he's an antiquated old fuck, isn't he?

There are many words that have made it into the rock lexicon, mostly as euphemisms for fucking or sex. From the obvious to the sublime, rock and roll has pretty much always been about sex. Because most conservative Christian elements of the time (and now) confuse sex and desire for physical pleasures as equivalent to satanic temptation, that is, doing EVIL, rock and roll was considered EVIL, the devil�s music. Of course, everyone knows the devil�s music by definition would be music with no soul, and today, that would have to be Taylor Hicks. Sorry Taylor. That�s not a cheap shot, it�s true. He�s the latest musical antichrist, following in the hoofprints of psychotic geniuses like John Tesh, Michael Bolton, and Hell�s own keyboardist, Yanni.

DNA believes that the key thing that separates rock and roll from other types of music, is specifically its subject matter. This is why DNA finds Christian rock, well, funny. It is also why so many word or phrases that simply are not used in everyday speech find their way commonly into rock songs. From its inception, rock and roll songs were made to talk about something (sex) that couldn't be talked about, so euphemisms, double-entendre, and a separate lexicon has been built around this music.

This double-speak has amused and bothered DNA for some time. It's an idiosyncrasy of the medium that we simply accept, and anytime that occurs, we frankly should question why we accept it. Maybe there is a good reason for it, maybe not. Many years ago, DNA wrote a song about it, called "Cindy." In the song, DNA poses as some frat boy king of the jungle who brags about sexual "conquests," and talks offhandedly about how he fucked Cindy Crawford. This right off the bat shows how long ago the song was written. Any 20 something today would say, "Who?" and the obvious idiocy of the premise of the song is kind of lost if you don't know Cindy Crawford. But, DNA did his best to club listeners over the head with the obvious stupidity. "Is it better to lie about it, whose gentle ears am I protecting, if I say 'making love' instead of fucking, if fucking is what I mean?" Then DNA goes on to say, "I didn't fill Cindy's void, love potion number 9 was not employed, I didn't give her an afternoon delight, or rock her fucking world all night. What I did was more direct, no metaphoric plugs or sockets to connect, no slots or tabs to insert---what do you think I am, some kind of pervert?" The laundry list of obfuscating, or clever, or attempting to be clever, phrases is endless. Aren't you tired of it? Fuck, DNA was/is!

Well, believe it or not, this rant is not about sexual innuendo in rock songs, since DNA already covered that topic. It really is about idiosyncrasies of the idiom. Because it is too obvious to use double entendre to demonstrate how certain phrases in rock are found only in rock songs, DNA wants to focus on one phrase, and in particular one word, that really is only used in the way DNA will describe in the rock and roll vernacular. It is a strange word in that it is so common that the fact that it is used contextually very differently in rock and roll will become obvious to you once DNA says it. From Led Zepplin to AC/DC to Belle and Sebastian, this word has wormed its way into our consciousness and it just ain't quite right.

The word is "shelf." Strange, huh? In rock and roll, when songwriters refer to a shelf, they usually write something like "don't put my love up on no shelf," or "leaving me up on a shelf," or "she left my heart up on a shelf." Very rarely do you get something like, "She put her books up on the shelf," unless "books" is a metaphor for pussy or something. In the rock and roll idiom, someone pushed "shelf" to make an ingenious leap from being a place on which you might store or set something, to meaning a person being put in his or her place, or having a person's feelings "put away" (discounted, forgotten) like dry goods in a pantry. The interesting thing is, despite minutes of research, DNA can't find the song or link in which somebody makes this leap of meaning. There isn't a song from the 1930's in which Stump Leg Willie sings, "She cut out my heart, canned it with tomatoes and wrote one word on the label --- She put it on the shelf next to the beans, where you could read the word 'love' if your eyes were able."

Basically, "shelf" has become a metaphor that only finds purchase and plausibility in a rock and roll lyric. If you don't believe DNA, then try this metaphor out when you are talking to someone. You won�t believe how abhorrent it is to say out of that context.

"So Randy, you gonna ask out Stacy?"

"No, Jeff. I've been through that before with her. She'll just put my love up on a shelf."

"What did you just say?"

"She really wouldn't validate my feelings in a positive manner?"

"No, what you said first was 50 times gayer than that. What, were you in the Georgia Satellites after you quit high school?"

Get DNA's point? There is no common usage for "shelf" as a place where hurt or unrequited feelings go, outside of rock. Why did this metaphor develop in the first place? Did someone need a good word to rhyme with "self?" That is DNA's educated guess. If anyone has more information about this little word and its rock and roll heritage, please let DNA know.

Until then, remember, if you like a girl, do what Gene Simmons of KISS would do, and tell her that you want to put your log in her fireplace, or more subtlety, like Paul Stanley, that you want to eat it like a piece of cake. This is why rock and roll will never be considered more than pop art, thank God!

Don't put DNA up on no shelf!

Permanent Historical Record: 7/16/07

Gettin' My GRE On...

Which means, that despite having 10 songs ready to go for the new album, DNA must take a break from blogging. If you do not know, the GRE is the graduate record exam, or a fancy way for a testing company to say, "Want to get into grad school? $140.00 please."

DNA is taking the test as part of the requirement for the Ph.D. program it is applying to. Yeah, motherfucker, pretty soon it will be Doctor Vibrator.

But, that means DNA has to study, has to take the test, and also has to do his job thing. DNA probably won't post until next week.

Boast about your academic credentials on your own website.

Permanent Historical Record: 7/25/07

Learning A Small Truth...

First, the bragging. DNA isn't the sharpest wheel in the zoo, but he got a 590 on the Verbal and a 590 on the quantitative sections of the GRE. Not bad for a 40-something spud who hasn't actually studied a scholarly subject in about 15 years. The analytical section has to be judged separately, so no score yet on that, but, DNA can tell you, he fucking rocked on it. Let DNA have his personal moment in the sun. When you were derisively called "professor" as a kid for being the one who read the encyclopedia for fun, it's nice to savor a moment in which a national test score validates your geekiness.

Oh, and real quickly, off topic----DNA just saw a commercial for intel which DNA is sure featured a new DEVO song in the background. DNA is excited, cuz it sounded pretty good.

Okay, now that that is over, DNA actually learned something important a couple of days ago. This is something that DNA has simply taken for granted as a FACT for so long, it surprised him that something he took as being fundamental in the construction of his world was wrong. That doesn't happen all that often, at least in a verifiable way.

Truth revealed itself simply. DNA was called upon to wash his daughters' hair. He has twin girls. So, DNA herded them into the bathroom, and when they were ready, grabbed the nearest bottle of soap, and got started. It was from some fancy bath shop, it smelled of fig and brown sugar, and soaped up just fine. Then DNA rinsed out their hair, and found it was difficult to get it all rinsed out, and found even more puzzling, that their hair was almost more tangled after the shampoo than before. However, he worked at it, and got their hair clean and then dried.

The next day, DNA's wife commented about how she didn't know what the girls got into, but their hair was a mess, and if she didn't know better, she would swear it hadn't been washed in awhile. However, she did know better, she saw DNA wash their hair.

This sounds pretty mundane, huh? You see, up to then, DNA simply assumed that the 30 different kinds of soap that his wife insists on buying were really pretty much all the same, and it was a 'girly-girl' thing to have one kind of soap for your hair, another for your face, another for your feet, and so on. DNA is no dolt, it knew the difference between say, shampoo and conditioner, but the difference between green tea and aloe body wash and vanilla and strawberry shower gel? That, DNA assumed, was the difference between his money and Loreal's bank account.

But, DNA was wrong. It was obvious by the results of his daughters' hair that you can't use fig and brown sugar bubble bath to wash your hair, instead of vanilla fields shampoo. They are different. Different soaps do not constitute proof of some corporate conspiracy, or the subversion of masculinity brought on by domestic living and the hidden feminist agenda. Until recently, this is what DNA believed.

DNA remembers, when it was younger, that any old soap would do, to wash his hair, to make bubbles for a bath, to wash his face....but that is not true anymore. Perhaps it was never true, really. So this is the small truth revealed: That sometimes, despite what you believe, things are different than you expect, in the most basic and fundamental ways. It takes so much more energy to try to explain the need for different soaps to fit DNA's world view when he didn't think different soaps were needed. Now that he has proof that different soaps do different things, it all seems so easy. You'll never learn that shit from the GRE, no matter how many times you take it.

Talk about yer own old school lernin.'

Permanent Historical Record: 7/26/07

My Wife Has A Special Talent...

My wife has a special talent---no you pervy bastards, no matter what you were thinking, and DNA knows it wasn't very flattering to her, it is not THAT. Among many positive qualities, the most important being that she has learned how to put up with DNA, she has long had the talent to be able to take two unrelated metaphors, and mix the elements of them with great comedic effect.

DNA long thought that this was done unwittingly, that is, without her wits, or in other words, by happy accident. But DNA noticed that it happened so often, and so interestingly, and each time was so damn funny (in context) that it couldn't have been done unwittingly. It was almost as if it was being done subconsciously, but that wasn't quite right either. You see, while she was talking, some part of her brain, like happens with all of us, was thinking just in advance of her mouth, choosing the right phrase or direction to capture the meaning she intended. For most of us, this subtextual linguistic thinking is automatic, with most words or phrases appearing more or less in sequence, and in complete units of meaning, metaphorically speaking. There are often many metaphors which might fit a particular situation, or several which have similar structure which fit a class of situation. So, as we barrel along with our speech, we don't have to think about exactly the right twist of phrase to fit the context of the sentence. It happens naturally.

Haven't you ever wondered, though, why this guy or that girl always seems to say the right thing, or the funny thing, at just the right time? It's because for most of us, the process of preselecting units of meaning, either words or phrases, works adequately, but for some people, it works amazingly well. The little sorting machine which provides those people with their language choices in the split second before they say something is quick and efficient. For some people, the process of preselecting units of meaning is laborious---they are the ones who might have something very funny to say, but never say it right then, or they are the ones who don't mind speaking to their brother, but can't put two words together to their boss, or are the ones who really don't know or can't decide the right phrase to use in conversation, and so either say the wrong thing, or choose to say nothing at all.

And then, there is my wife, who thinks of several units of meaning, particularly certain types of metaphors, and finds a way to say elements of both (usually she mixes two at once). DNA is sure a psychiatrist has a name for it, and so does DNA---Damn Funny.

Just like hyping band names, now that DNA has built this concept up, it surely won't seem as funny on paper. DNA doesn't care, DNA lives with it everyday, and it always puts a smile on his face.

"That's the way the cookie bounces." See? Isn't that shit funny? She said this just last week. As in she took the best part of two separate and similar metaphors, "that's the way the ball bounces," and "that's the way the cookie crumbles," and preserved the meaning of the metaphor but made it funnier. That is hard to do. For example, if she would have said, "That's the way the ball crumbles," it is in essence the same thing, but that version does not have near the same immediacy, fluid movement, or poetic appeal of "that's the way the cookie bounces." Also, the actual image of a cookie bouncing, coming from the stove of a domestic goddess who is not quite used to the role of domestic goddess, kind of an "I Love Lucy" moment, is so much funnier than a view of a ball, crumbling to dust, a la the Terminator's Sarah Connor atomic war nightmare.

"Whatever floats your bucket." DNA doesn't want to deconstruct that one. Just smile. It's funny.

"Don't walk in my parade." Sometimes she just replaces a key word, so it's not truly a mixed metaphor, but a new metaphor, which is funny in context of our understanding of the original phrase. In this case, "don't rain on my parade," was made six to the funniest times funnier by making the event that fucks up the parade YOU, instead of an act of God. However, there may actually be a mixed metaphor here---she may have taken two opposite metaphors, such as "walking on cloud nine," that is, achieving a state of satisfaction, and "don't rain on my parade," which expresses a fear of falling from that state. But, that one may be a stretch.

"Does the Pope shit in the woods?" DNA ain't lying. She said it. But this is one of those phrases that DNA has heard elsewhere, so as a phrase, it has reached a high enough level of cultural consciousness to be said by others. But, it is much more likely to be a case of parallel genesis in my wife's situation. Of course, it comes from two similar metaphors, "does a bear shit in the woods," and "is the Pope Catholic?" Equally funny, but not as likely to be heard, would be, "is a bear Catholic?"

"I'm gonna make like a tree and split." DNA laughed for about 10 minutes straight when she said that. It is the artful combination of "I'm gonna make like a tree and leave," and "I'm gonna make like a banana and split." Underneath the ludicrous image is the subtext of a log being split, so there is a bent logic which makes the phrase work.

She has done several variations on this theme: "I'm up shit creek without a spoon." "I'm up shit creek without a creek." "I'm up shit creek without a canoe." "I'm up shit creek without a pot to piss in." "I'm up shit creek without toilet paper." It seriously can't get much funnier than that.

"You couldn't piss on a boot." "You couldn't pour piss out of a boot." Both simplifications of the phrase, "You couldn"t pour piss out of a boot with the directions on the heel.� The original is condescending and spiteful in it's derogation of the subject's idiocy. Her takes, though not examples of mixing metaphors, are simply put, funnier. It takes the completely unrealistic image of a boot with directions on it, and makes a more objective statement of a person's stupidity. Why would a person piss on a boot? Also, from this same camp, she minted this beauty: "I wouldn't piss on your ass if your face was on fire." Of course she wouldn't.

This next one is subtle. The two original metaphors are: "You can't tell your head from a hole in the wall," and "you can't tell your ass from a hole in the ground." It felt much dirtier when she said, "You can't tell your ass from a hole in the wall." DNA wondered, for a moment, what truck stops she might have frequented in her youth.

She said, "You're dumb as a box of stumps," which was much funnier, and more accurate, than if she would have said, "You're dumb as a stump," or "You're dumb as a box of rocks." Imagine how big a box of stumps would be. That's pretty dumb, huh?

Not to bring things down a little, but not all of them are funny. Once she said, "Once in a blue Sunday," which DNA thinks rings culturally more true today than saying either "Once in a blue moon," or "in a month of Sundays."

DNA could go on, and probably will, as he thinks of more of these. DNA could probably fill a book with the product of her special talent. She read through this and said that she was glad that she amused me. She agreed, that some of these phrases were "funnier than a three-dollar whore."

(DNA is kind of seious about the book idea---ka-ching---oh, yeah, all of these phrases are copyright Brainmilk Publishing, and yeah, it is a real publisher, ya thieving dicklickers, so don't think about stealing my book idea, or DNA will sue you faster than shit through a shingle)

This is why DNA loves that woman.

This isn't rocket surgery.

As of a few minutes after DNA posted the above posting, Mr. Kamikaze tagged the guestbook with this:

If I could put time in a bottle- I'd be DNA and have mixed it with sausage and gin and barfed it forward a day. Making like its the 26th already when the damn fool knows very well its still the 25th.

To which, DNA responds: Well, well, well, somebody turn a year older and think they smarter than the old man? Not so fast. What are you doing up now anyway? Don't you gotta work in the morning? Shit, DNA was already in bed when he wrote that shit. Wireless. Wireless router, wireless keyboard, wireless mouse. DNA is synonymous with wireless. You know that.

Believe it or not, when DNA goes to update its website, on the ftp interface, yahoo geocities displays a universal time, which DNA guesses must be Greenwich Mean Time, which currently, as of the time that this is being typed, reads Jul 26 03:36 am. BAM! Don't blame DNA for being all international on your ass. DNA gots to look out for his British bloghounds.

From : Mr. Kamikaze

"They don't have wireless where we live. Oh. This thing? Yeah. I got wireless." - DNA

Now, Mr. Kamikaze and DNA are having a little fun here, see. We have known each other a long time, some may say too long, and are awfully close friends, some may say, too close, and very regularly, our families visit each other. Not long ago, DNA was happy to have Mr. Kamikaze and his whole squadron of holy Japanese warriors fly down to DNA's neck of the woods. Even though DNA lives in a cultural backwater, DNA gots the internet, satellite TV, porn on demand, and the town DNA lives in has a fine liquor store. So, Mr. Kamikaze brought down his kick ass Mac laptop, and was wondering whether DNA had a wireless connection in his house. To which DNA replied with conviction, "Fuck no. Nobody down here has wireless. I checked into the cost of wireless, and it just wasn't happening." Imagine the harummmphing in DNA's voice like the old dude from the Autolite sparkplug commercial from years ago (and if that allusion is too obscure, fuck it, DNA can't think of a better one---just imagine a pompous old bastard, absolutely sure of himself, and absolutely wrong). Now, open your eyes. That's me, DNA!

So, Mr. Kamikaze came over to inspect the computer set-up in DNA's room, and says something like, "Isn't this a wireless router?" To which DNA says something like, "Well, sure, the router is wireless. Of course the router is wireless. I mean, when I said that nobody the fuck down here has wireless, I meant, like, y'know, satellite hook-ups, and no phone wires or cable coming into the house---but sure, the routers are fucking wireless. Why wouldn't they be?"

At that point, DNA felt like Sarah Silverman, when she said that she wished all the people who were retarded would become resmarted. Sometimes DNA says some utterly stupid bullshit, with such conviction that DNA knows other people want to believe him as much as he believes himself, but, they just can't, the little fuckers.

This kind of thing happens pretty regularly. Case in point, which Mr. Kamikaze and DNA will never forget (or let be forgotten): When DNA first went to college, he had led a sheltered farm-boy's existence. Even though he had listened to some good music, he had listened to a very small sampling of music, period. Yet, ignorance of a subject had never kept him from speaking up and out. Underneath this willingness to insert his foot in his mouth is his own confidence, so really, don't hate DNA for being arrogant. He is willing to accept the consequences of speaking with authority when he has none. Well, anyway, one night at the dorms in college, everybody was talking about music, and in particular, we were talking about the song, "Relax." Somebody asked who did that song, and for no reason in particular, DNA said as if he were Casey Fucking Kasem, "Bruce Springsteen," which even now, is so obviously ignorant and WRONG as to embarrass most people to never speak in public again. Deaf drunk developmentally delayed people couldn't confuse Bruce Springsteen with Frankie Goes To Hollywood. On no level could you hear one and think the other. Yet, fearlessly, DNA opened his mouth.

That happened about 20 years ago, and DNA still can't forget that shit. Nor can Mr. Kamikaze forget to remind him. Sometimes, to quote my wife, DNA is "Dumb as a box of owl shit." So, Mr. Kamikaze, with your very accurate bullshit-o-meter, yes, DNA posted the above post on the 25th, even though he wrote the date as the 26th. But it is also true that the yahoo-geocities ftp interface does list the current time as 26 Jul 04:10 am. So, DNA guesses that this time, he can have his cake and cry if he wants to.

Permanent Historical Record: 7/26/07

Moving Day...

Not moving physically, moving digitally. DNA has transferred a lot (20?---30?)of songs from its computer at work to the website. Please look on the [link borken] Music Download Page if you haven't been there lately and see how like kudzu, tendrils of songs have spread down the page.

Also, it is about time for DNA and the boys to get moving on wrapping up the new album. DNA is shooting for lucky #13, and then the rough tracks will all be done. It is still waiting on the mechanical licenses on two covers, and after that, album photos, etc., but that will happen in due time.

DNA has a had a chance to listen to the live tracks recorded by Mike Lescelius from Misunderstudio, and there are some worth mixing down in the studio. These will probably be released online only, just because there isn't enough good stuff there to do a live album. Hey, at least DNA is honest, not that we sucked, but the shit sure ain't studio perfect.

What are you moving today?