Halloween Countdown: October 25 - comfort and joy

Given the present state of the world, it's only natural to feel a little depressed. That's why I've decided to brighten your day with some uplifting content taken from "The Day Happy Died," a heartwarming tale from The Witching Hour #47 (October 1974).

Little Rusty Boland is in a bit of a funk. His house has burned down, his parents have abandoned him, and most devastatingly, his faithful dog Happy has trotted off to Doggie Heaven.

Rusty perks up a bit when he spots what appears to be Happy's ghost wandering around the neighborhood. The poor kid follows the pooch into the local cemetary, where a (not entirely) shocking revelation awaits...

Wow! Who didn't see that coming?

Well, at least Happy is safe, right?

"That's right, kids! Not only will you die horribly and your spirit will walk the earth for all eternity, but your beloved pets will waste away and die from broken hearts! Sweet dreams, little ones!"

I know I'm feeling much happier now. How about you?

Danse Society - We're So Happy (from Gothic Rock, 1994) - It's a repost, yes, but of a very fine piece of 80's gothica that fits today's theme so perfectly that I couldn't resist.

my kitten is a dream

After the tragic death of poor Tessie the Tortoise last June, my wife and the kindhearted folks of the Woburn Feral Cat Coalition tracked down and captured the combined litter of Tessa's and her sidekick Pepi's kittens so that they could be socialized and placed in good homes. One of wee kits managed to dodge the feral kitten round-up and started tagging along with Pepi to our house during feeding times. We named the orange and white ball of fuzz "P.J." as in "pajamas," "Pepi Junior," or perhaps as a subconscious homage to the Intrepid Mariner (and Friend to Felines) of the South Coast.

Over the past few weeks, Maura and the folks from the WFCC have been staking out the feral cat feeding sation in our driveway in hopes of trapping the dynamic mother-and-child duo so that Pepi could be spayed and released and little "Peej" could be socialized for adoption before his feral ways could become too ingrained (though I've yet to encounter a feral in our colony that didn't become human-friendly after spending some time around the wife and I. Maura tells me I'm a "cat whisperer," whatever that means).

Pepi, however, has turned out to be as elusive as Robert Denby, and can smell a set-up a mile away even though the irresistable aroma of canned sardines. While Peej has inherited his mom's cunning ways, the WFCC was finally able to trap the little fellow last night while Maura was at a roller derby bout and I was at Target trying to recapture my lost youth via action figures. (What, the Kid Flash shirt didn't already clue you in that I'm a major fucking geek?)

Pepi, alas, still remains at large, and quite possibly pregnant again, but Peej is now chilling out in a little pen we set up for him to feel secure as we try and get him acclimated to humans and indoor life. I've been letting him curl up on my lap while I read so that he can take in his new, strange surroundings from a safe vantage point, and it's been working out pretty well so far (apart from the savaging my right hand took when I tried to clean off some of the dingleberries he brought with him). Our house's resident feline population isn't sure what to make of the new arrival yet, but we're hoping they adjust fairly soon so that we can let Peej roam free and discover the many comforts of housecatdom.

The First Gear - Leave My Kitten Alone (from the Pebbles, Vol. 6: The Roots of Mod LP, 1980) - Here's some fine tooth-and-claw freakbeat from the British Invasion period, possibly featuring (the sources aren't entirely in agreement) the guitar stylings of a young Jimmy Page.

obligatory Oscar post

In keeping with current trends, Armagideon Time presents our own Oscar wrap-up..

...or is that "a wrapped up Oscar?"

A tense moment on the red carpet between Adeline McGillicuddy, Oscar Xavier Giuseppe Guevara, and the Plastic Dog.

Oscar celebrates his (half-)Mexican heritage.

An awkward encounter between Oscar and his estranged long lost twin brother.

Score! Oscar lifts a baby carrot from Maura's sack of swag...

...and efforts by the security staff to retrieve the purloined vegetable fail miserably.

"Hey, pal, are you planning on finishing that hamburger?"

Oscar responds to Ryan Seacrest's inane questions.

The Specials - Do the Dog (from The Specials, 1979) - Let's see if I remember the steps to the dance. Left-right-left-sniff your partner's ass, left-right-left-knock over the trash barrel in the kitchen, left-right-left-bark madly at anyone who passes by the house.

Boards of Canada - Oscar See Through Red Eye (from The Campfire Headphase, 2005) - Oscar see through googly eyes, actually. As a dog who takes his downtime very seriously, Oscar has a strong appreciation for well crafted chillout music and this track in particular.

Oscar & The Majestics - I Can't Explain (from Pebbles, Vol. 7: Chicago, Pt. 2, 1994) - Let me try to, then. As 60's British beat and mod groups took their cues from American soul and R&B music, American garage groups took their cues from the British beat and mod groups. It's a process akin to making a sloppy mimeograph of a grainy photostat, which sums up this wonderfully awful cover version of The Who's 1965 classic.

Friday (K)night Fights: The Hero You're Dreaming Of

(from Batman #111, October 1957; by Edmond Hamilton, Sheldon Moldoff, and Stan Kaye)
Why is Batman wearing medieval plate armor (complete with bat-insignia) and punching lions in the face? To conceal the radiation-proof suit he's wearing underneath from the crooks he's pursuing.

It makes perfect sense to me. In fact, the sense of causality is positively lucid compared to other comic stories from that era.

Link Wray - Batman Theme (from Rumble! The Best of Link Wray, 1993) - It's those few, brief spoken word parts that really make this version outshine all others. (Well, that and Link Wray's exceptional guitar work.)

(Viva Bahlactus!)

no room for ravers

I'm feeling a little wiped today, what with the time change and the staying up late last night playing videogames and so forth, and there's simply no way I'll be able to compose anything worth reading today.

Maybe one of the "kids" 'round here would be willing to pinch hit for me. So how about it, Carmen? Feel like writing today's post?

Hmmm...fine, then. What about you, Oscar?

No, I understand, little man. Sioux, wanna give it a shot?

That's cool, don't bother getting up. Witch Baby? Adeline? Are you two up to collaborating on something?

I see. Well, at least I know I can count on Jem; he's always such a bundle of energy and...

...oh, well. So much for "Plan B."

The Toy Dolls - Lazy Sunday Afternoon (from Covered in Toy Dolls, 2002) - A wonderfully loopy cover of the Small Faces' classic ode to weekend indolence and exaggerated Cockney accents (the actual title of which is simply "Lazy Sunday," but why waste time nitpicking?)

Halloween Countdown: October 28 – the litter of death

To honor the birthday of my wife, Maura, Queen of Animals, here's a heartwarming little tale from Unexpected #197 (April 1980). I'm positively certain she'd approve of its message.

Larry, a plucky orphan lad, has a job at the all-kill shelter run by the shify Mr. Griggs. (It's all part of the "This is how the world works; You better get used to it now, kid" vocational training/soulcrushing program enacted by the Bush Administration in 2002.)

Damn, and I borrowed against my cat-killing commission this week, too!
Larry hates the job, but apparently not enough to find work that doesn't involve the mass execution of felines. As his underdeveloped sense of morality wrestles with his need for pocket money, Larry has a fateful encounter with Miss Mildred, a somewhat sinister old woman who wants to repay Larry's previous kindnesses with a gift -- a pet cat.

Seeing as how you spend your day killing and cremating her feline kindred, I figured it would be just the thing to lift your spirits!
Because his orphanage has a strict "no pets" rule, Larry asks Mr. Grigg if he can keep the cat at the shelter. (Besides being morally confused, Larry is also a tad stupid.) Grigg agrees, but for his own sinister reasons...

This will bring me $1.25 closer to that new purple suit jacket I've had my eye on!
Gee, what a surprise. However, before Grigg can slip the poor kitty the needle...

Now, my children, now! Enact Attack Plan Felix! Meow!
And so, when Larry arrives at work the next day:

Wow, our feral cats usually just leave us dead moles as "presents." At least this crew left the head on their kill and didn't create Nasca-type patterns on the front step with Grigg's entrails.

My name is Midnight...and you'd better be nice to me.
Oh, and it turns out, by way of the the closing "host" segment of the story, that Miss Mildred was a witch, and the cat was a -- GASP -- witch's cat. That explains the accelerated maturation cycle of the kittens, although I think that the story becomes even better if one imagines Grigg being savaged to death by these kids. Milk teeth and undeveloped claws = a long, slow, horrific, yet highly entertaining and goofy death.

Cerrone - Supernature (from Cerrone III - Supernature, 1977) - I posted Erasure's cover of this Eurodisco classic as part of last year's Halloween Countdown, and now here's the original version of this danceable cautionary tale of the animal kingdom's vengeance. A musical and ideological favorite of Maura's, the track was co-written by Lene Lovich (who happens to be a musical and ideological favorite of my wife's, as well).

Happy Birthday, My Crazy Foo!

stinking to high heaven

Yesterday was supposed to be a good day.

Despite issues at work, despite the frustrating commute, despite the time lost while Maura fixed the filter for the koi tank at her parents' house, despite all the other little slings and arrows of everyday petty hassles, I went though the required motions with a gleam in my eye and a spring in my step. Why? Because it was Thursday, which per our domestic tradition, meant getting Chinese takeout and sitting down for the only block of network TV shows I actually look forward to: The Office, My Name Is Earl, and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia -- two anticipated season premieres, and three full hours of all-new episodes, through and through.

Between arriving home from work and settling down couch with a heaping plate of sweet and sour chicken, there were a handful of essential tasks to see to, mostly centering around animal care and feeding. I was eager to get my share of these obligations out of the way as soon as possible, wasted no time in leashing up Adeline, our beagle-boxer mix, for her nightly walk. It was the tail end of twilight, but I figured there was still enough light in the sky to chance a walk down to the end of the backyard, which is Addy's preferred spot for doing her business. It was one of the worst fucking mistakes I've made in a lifetime of dubious decisions.

We exited the back door in our usual fashion, Addy pulling hard on the leash and me doing my damnedest to keep my arm from getting yanked from the socket. It's something I've gone through at least a thousand times, only last night there just happened to be a fairly large and rather irritable skunk on the back steps. Skunks are pretty frequent visitors to our house on the hill, but they usually come late at night to munch on any kibble left in the feral cats' bowls. They've grown used to the our presence, skedaddling to the far side of the driveway when we step out onto the patio or take out the trash. We've even given names to some of the regular visitors: Frank Skunktone, the microencephalic Peanuthead, and Limahl (named for the huge fluffy white stripe on his head and back).

Addy caught sight of the skunk and the hound side of her family tree -- bared teeth, eager yawlps, slobbering jowls and all -- manifested in full force, while I tried in vain to being her to heel. The skunk made a brief, bold stand before turning tail and making a beeline for the safety of the bushes. At first, I thought we'd made it though the worst intact, that the skunk held off on spraying due to our longstanding relationship based on mutual tolerance and wary respect. Those hopes were soon dashed as the wave of concentrated stink washed over me.

Addy got the worst of it, sprayed square in the face and mouth. I was protected by the high ground of the back steps, but the contact stink was still strong enough to cling to my clothes and person. In the space of a few seconds, my much-anticipated plans for the evening went down the crapper. The rest of the night was spent giving Addy repeated washings with de-stink solutions and sprayings down with the garden hose. The sweet and sour chicken and crab rangoons were cold by the time I got around to eating them, and my enjoyment undercut by the lingering aroma of skunk stink.

I still laughed out loud a couple times during Sunny, though.

Pete Thomas - Funky Skunk (from Let's Boogaloo, Vol. 3, 2006) - As opposed to "Fuckin' Skunk," the subject of several freestyle acapella rants I performed yesterday evening.

Loudon Wainwright III - Dead Skunk (from Album III, 1972) - That's the problem this new-fangled modern age -- Where are this generation's Top 40 hits about roadkill?

The Panzant Brothers - Skunk Juice (from SuperFunk: Rare Funk From Deep In The Crates, 2000) - Another illustration of the unholy alliance between funk and skunks.

Y'know, even after the events of the past twenty-four hours, a warm glass of skunk juice still seems more appetizing than a cold bottle of Mountain Dew Game Fuel (brought to you by Halo 3, a Bungie Studios production presented by Microsoft).

put on your boots and walk with me

Oscar the chihuahua-pug supports the cause.

Do you?

Then sign the petition!

Beat Happening - What's Important (from Beat Happening, 1985) - Have you ever wondered how Iggy Pop's "The Passenger" would sound if it was written and recorded (with female vocals) in a basement apartment off of US Route 5? I imagine it would pretty closely resemble this track.

Vacation: Day 5 - Fish don't fry in the kitchen

Well, we're movin' on up...

To the east side...

To a dee-luxe apartment in the sky...
The kids are loving their new digs. (Skillfully assembled by yours truly, I might add.) Their moms might have been homeless beggar cats, but now the whole extended family is living the domesticated high life.

Only in America, I tell you...

Squeeze - Cool for Cats (from Singles - 45's and Under, 1982) - Sadly, Catside Estates does not offer central air in its condominiums. The motion was taken up at the last tenants' association meeting, but the members got distracted by a stray moth flying by and nothing was ever resolved.

Ja'net Du Bois - Movin' on Up (Theme from The Jeffersons) (from Television's Greatest Hits, Vol. 3: 70's & 80's, 1990) - Sing it, Willona!

or could it all just be me

Last night, Maura was feeding the outdoor cat colony when she noticed that one of the cats, Sioux, had an ugly, suppurating puncture wound on his back. I cleaned it out as best I could with peroxide and a topical antibiotic, but because it was so deep and nasty looking we called the vet’s office to have it looked at. The appointment was at 9:30 this morning, so we figured that we’d take Sioux in, have the cut cleaned out and sutured, then drop the poor guy off at our house before heading into work. If only it turned out to be that simple.

The wound turned out to be a fight injury, which means that we’ll have to crate Sioux up for a minimum of forty-five days. (If we hadn’t gotten him vaccinated for rabies already, we’d have to quarantine him for six months. Being proactive and conscientious pays.) As the pus pocket and scar tissue formation were on the severe side, Sioux also required minor surgery to drain and clean the wound. Maura didn’t anticipate that it would come to that, so didn’t think twice about feeding Sioux this morning, which meant that the surgery had to be delayed until the early afternoon (and we weren’t sure until a half hour ago if we’d even be able to bring him home tonight).

Taking into account the commuting times to and from our jobs and the possibility we’d have to drop everything to pick up Sioux, our plans to at least clock half a day’s work were scrapped and we decided to get some things done around the house instead. In my case, it meant mowing the lawn, a task I happen to love immensely. It’s especially enjoyable when the mower blades come unscrewed while the motor’s running full-bore. Getting to the underside to bolt them back on involves flipping the infernal machine over and flooding the carburetor, thus killing the machine until it dries out. I employed the wait time wisely, watching The Guru on USA -- or more precisely, watching five minute segments of the film (which wasn’t that terrible, to my surprise) intercut with ten minute blocks of commercials.

I did finally get to complete the job, though not without loudly announcing “This will end in either victory or the utter destruction of both the machine and myself….Hopefully not myself,” within earshot of my neighbor who I didn’t realize was out in his own yard. (Eh, if my wife’s singing to the feral cats hadn’t already clued the neighborhood in to what kind of people we are, I’d be more embarrassed…) Because it was still early, and I had nothing else on my plate apart from waiting for the vet’s office to call, I even broke out the weedwhacker and pruning shears and added some finishing touches to the yard. It’s very impressive looking at the moment, although my pride in a job done well is tempered by the knowledge that we’ll back to Crabgrass City by the weekend.

Afterwards, I crashed out for a while and watched Trevor Nunn’s 1996 version of Twelfth Night, featuring Grant Morrison Barry Andrews Patrick Stewart Ben Kingsley turn in a decent performance as the fool, Feste. I’m not so keen on the whole anachronistic setting/costuming trend when it comes to things Shakespearean, but my love for the play (my favorite of all the Bard’s work) kept me from getting too distracted by the faux Victoriana vibe. The idea that anyone could mistake Imogen Stubbs in drag for Steven Macintosh did stretch my suspension of disbelief to the limits, though.

I came away from Twelfth Night with hankering for more dramatic art of the highest caliber, which I was able to find in the form of Mark L. Lester’s 1979 classic attempt to address the problems of post-industrial capitalism, love across class lines, and which leotard looks best with red-sequined roller skates. Shakespeare may not have written Roller Boogie, but he damn sure wishes he had:

Alas, poor Bobby James! I knew him, Jammer: a fellow
of perfectly feathered hair, of most excellent satin hot pants: he hath
done the eight-wheeled cha cha with me a thousand times; and now,
what a major bummer it is! my buzz harshes at it.

(Not many people are aware of this, but Xanadu was based on an early Folio draft of Coriolanus. The Japanese-only laserdisc featuring the original ending where Gene Kelly eviscerates Michael Beck during an elaborate tap dance sequence goes for big bucks on eBay.)

In the time since I began putting together this post, poor Sioux has come home from the vet’s. He’s a bit groggy and depressed, but doing well otherwise:

So there you have it, my day so far – an epic tale of mundanity, otherwise known simply as life.

Here are two relevant tracks by two bands whose fairly impressive bodies of work were overshadowed by the public awareness singularities called the “signature hit.”

---

Simple Minds – Life in a Day (from Life in a Day, 1979)

Modern English – Life in the Gladhouse (from After the Snow, 1982)

arf arf effing arf

What’s that, Addy-girl? Andrew is buried under a bunch of household chores, made more time-consuming than usual by an unexpected trip to Medford? And as much as he’d have liked to have put up one of the long form essays he had planned for today, he had to cop out and opt for a really lame gimmick post?

Wow, Addy, that sounds…

The Primitives - Really Stupid (from a 1986 single, collected on Thru the Flowers: The Anthology, 2004) – Breezy, cutesy indie pop that I love just fine in small doses. More than two or three tracks at a time though and the sweetness gets unbearable.

is truly outrageous, truly truly truly outrageous

This is Jem, who has recently decided that I’m his bestest friend in the whole wide world. Unlike the other members of his extended feline family, who are content to express affection for their humans in a more mellow fashion, Jem is a cat of action and expects “Boy” to respond in kind to his current obsessions.

His name came from the white spot between his eyes, which I thought looked like a diamond when he was a newborn kitten, hence “Gem.” My wife changed the spelling to “Jem” when filling out paperwork at the vet’s office, most likely because she was thinking of Jem Finer of The Pogues. He also responds to Jemma, Jembo, JemJam, and “AAAAARGH! Those are my toes, dammit!”

I’ve seen other bloggers ghostwrite cutesy posts from their pets’ point of view. Since I pride myself for keeping things authentic here at Armagideon Time, I’d be uncomfortable putting words into Jem’s tiny mouth. He’s a very clever cat. Why couldn’t he express himself in his own words?

It wasn’t easy getting the little fellow to the keyboard. The first time I tried, he got distracted by some cobwebs on the ceiling, and proceeded to tug at my shirttails and cry until I lifted him up so he could swat at it.

Then he kept dropping a balled up twist tie at my feet in order to let me know it was time for some cat soccer practice. His goal tending skills are remarkable, and mid-air catches are his specialty. Another couple of weeks of drills, and he’ll be ready to sign with Real Madrid.

When Jem finally made it to the keyboard, he managed to type this:

Fdsifjsojvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

;[ppoo[[[[[[[[[[[

AdsfDSAEDWSADEWFRWFEP;SQW qhasjkfspgspo

…before he somehow stumbled across a hotkey combination that reset all my display settings. While I was trying to fix the problem, he snatched my Iron Fist Minimates figure off of the computer desk and ran downstairs with it. A mad chase ensued, first with Jem, and then with Addy the beagle-boxer, who picked up the figure after Jem dropped it under the dining table.

So ends that experiment. Next time, I’m going to get one of my wife’s pet turtles to co-host instead.

Jem and The Holograms – Theme From Jem – I never even made the connection between Jem the cat and Jem the cartoon until a couple months ago. Since then, I’ve found myself singing the theme to him whenever he’s engaged in his usual antics. Freezepop added a cute cover version of the song as a hidden track on 2004’s Fancy Ultra Fresh album.

The Cure – The Lovecats (from a 1983 single, collected on Japanese Whispers, 1983) – This song is the end of the road as far as my interest in The Cure goes. The Top was an interesting, trippy failure, but it all went careening downhill from there.

another battle was won and lost

I was going to skip posting anything today. I’ve spent the better part of the day dealing with an irritating head cold while trying to replace a fried hard drive on my work computer. I succeeded on the tech front, but the only person who can get me hooked back up to the shared network drive I need to use for my work duties is out of town until next Monday. Rather than sit around on my hands doing nothing except stifling recurring coughing jags, I went home early and crashed out while listening to Carbon Based Lifeforms’ World of Sleepers. The resulting dreams were interesting, to say the least.

I’m now wide awake, and still feeling, as a medical professional would say, “like shit.” Tomorrow has a whirlwind tour of veterinarian offices – one for our rabbit, Jack, in Wellesley at 11:30 and another for two of the outside cats in Winchester at 2:00. When it’s all over, I don’t think I’ll be able to tell where Super Lumina ends and I begin. We’ll be inseparably bonded in a man/machine gestalt by hours of the nastiest highway and surface road driving Massachusetts has to offer (outside of the Day Boulevard rotary, which is as close as one can get to The Road Warrior this side of the nuclear holocaust).

So in short, I’m feeling restless and sick, my paid work is backlogged by tech hassles, and I have a long day of driving ahead of me. At least I have my music collection to help take my mind off of things.

Generation X – Kiss Me Deadly (from Generation X, 1978) – In which a young Billy Idol and friends serve up the punk rock equivalent of a power ballad. Sure, it’s a little on the sappy side, but it really couldn’t work any other way.

The Hives – A Get Together to Tear It Apart (from Veni Vidi Vicious, 2000/2002) – Has it really been five years since this album was released in the US? Wow.

sipping eggnog with the Struthioniformes

I think my first hardcore experience with the roiling black sea of message board insanity was when I was scanning the SegaSages forums and came across a post asking whether or not chocobos, the emu-like flightless birds used as mounts and draft animals in the equine-poor Final Fantasy games, could be used as a foodstuff. The resulting discussion was as long as it was ferociously contentious.

Anime freaks bitched about how chocobos were cheap ripoffs of the horseclaws from Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. Final Fantasy purists bitched about intolerant anime freaks, and were outraged that anyone would even consider discussing the edibility of their sacred totem ratites. Trolls and would be wits flocked from all corners of the world wide web to weigh in on the subject, provoke others, and generally prolong the agony.

As I scrolled through the hundred-plus posts, my head shook in disbelief. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. It was too morbidly fascinating, like watching rival ant swarms devour each other over a bread crumb that turned out to be a pebble.

Besides, everyone knows that the bigger the bird, the gamier the meat.

Nobuo Uematsu – Christmas De Chocobo (from a 1997 single) – This is a holiday remix of the chocobo theme music, familiar to anyone who has ever burned away dozens of hours playing one of the installments of the venerable console RPG series.

Halloween Countdown: October 11 – seals keep crushing our heads

It’s 8:25; do you know where your pets are?

Sure, they pretend to be all lovey-dovey and cute, but that’s just an act, trust me. They’re just biding their time, waiting for the signal to begin their mass insurrection. I’m telling you this as a man who was once attacked by a ten pound rabbit. My wife insists it was a mistake. The “poor, sweet” bunny thought I was sitting on top of his snacks, but I know better. The public at large may have mocked Jimmy Carter back in the day, but the killer rabbit threat is all too real and represents only a part of the overall conspiracy.

We took our male kittens to the clinic today to be neutered. I was just in the spare room checking up on them, and I could feel their vengeful intent, dulled as it was by the vestiges of their anesthesia daze. One doesn’t have to be a Rex Harrison (or even an Eddie Murphy) to understand what little Witch Baby (Leon Trotsky in Felis silvestris catus form) was thinking as he glared at me with those sinister copper eyes. “Payback’s a bitch, you hairless ape. Now scratch my tummy and bring me some Pounce.”

Here are two spooktacular tracks dealing with the theme of animal insurrection:

Erasure – Supernature (from EBX 3, 2001) – Consider this my modest little nod in honor of National Coming Out Day. When I was first deciding on a tracklist for the Halloween countdown, I briefly considered using Cerrone’s original version of this Lene Lovich composition, but passed on it for some reason I can’t recall. (Credit goes to synthpop snob Kevin Church for reminding me of this excellent cover. )

Wall of Voodoo – Animal Day (from Dark Continent, 1981) – REISSUE. THIS. ALBUM. NOW. PLEASE.