Friday, November 2, 2007


  • If you spy Large out there, wish him a happy one and any other day or outcome he chooses. Because it's finally that day when, each year, we celebrate his specialness. Which is vast. Hence, "Large."
  • "'Pollution credits' are 21st Century indulgences (look it up), merely assuaging some public relations guilt while providing no disincentive to pollute. Please discourage the destructive policies of your corporate friends." Sometimes I just fill out MoveOn.Org petitions.
  • There are two city elections next Tuesday here on The Beach, and I'm really amazed. New Bedford is (by SouthCoast standards) relatively successful. Those empty storefronts downtown are filling up, crime is down, people are thinking about education and quality of life issues. And I can't find a candidate I even care to listen to for more than 30 seconds (besides the "unchallenged incumbent" Mayor, former Ant-Man, Scott Lang). In Fall River, though, the situation is exactly reversed.
  • A wicked local newspaper is choosing to wicked offend with a wicked promotion which (among other wicked stupid things) wicked over-uses the wicked Massachusetts colloquial term "wicked." From their real estate guide to their "blog," everything has to be "wicked." In the Seventies, a little record/comic book shop used the term (which was popular with yoots) in their advertising. Where it made sense. Somehow, I just can't picture that kid with the ripped jeans, Chucks, and J. Geils T-shirt sitting down to go through the real estate ads... Oh. Never mind.
  • What really got me about this "wicked" nonsense is that they're trying something the worst talk radio hosts would do to get people to call Fall River radio: They would encourage old ladies to call and describe Main Street. For 85 minutes (with breaks for news, promos, and comp ads), the gals would call and do so. "Then it was Cherrys and then it came Non Pareil..."
  • I used to get excited about local elections. I spent a couple of them as on-line radio show producer, although I was "board-op" (or "the kid back at the studio") to the narcissists I worked with and for. I enjoyed the inside tales that didn't get on the air shared by the jerks the management "hired" for the night to cover campaign headquarters. I knew everyone involved in local politics back in those days. When radios were oil-powered and you had to go catch a whale to fuel the crude motor.
  • The reason I knew these people was that my parents threw parties. Big suburban parties with the acceptable bossa-nova drone of Dad's Carlos Jobim records while the soon-to-be lifetime pols and their high school pals laughed and swore and promised each other jobs on phony-ass commissions and boards of directors and drank all of Dad's Jameson's and Schlitz. It was all very Dean Martin or The Lockhorns.
  • Speaking of dancing, the Bellydance Superstars are in town at the Z tonight. I'm really fortunate to have friends who belly dance. Not just as a guy who appreciates that sort of thing, but because they are great people who act as a tribe and care for each other. One of the tribe, Xenobia (Johana Krynyztky) has been enduring breast cancer. Please help her with your support. Johanna Krynytzky P.O. Box 530836 St. Petersburg, FL 33747. You know what to do.
  • Speaking further of dancing, Mates of the Watch The Dancing Dogs are playing along with MM4 (the Marcus Montiero Quartet) and El Caribé at New Bedford's highest nightspot, the top floor at Howland Place. Here's them in an awful video. (Really, doesn't anyone with editing facilities even watch teevee?)

No comments: