STUPID EXTORTIONIST TRICKS

Wave bye-bye to convicted extortionist Robert "Joe" Halderman. Go ahead, wave!



Bobby Joe is headed off to prison for a few months, having come to the decision that not lying even more about trying to strong-arm $2,000,000 out of talk-show host and ladies' man David Letterman was the better decision. Halderman, who hopefully will meet some burly pissed-off Letterman fans in the joint, will also have to check in with a probation officer for five years to make sure he stops trying to be a complete weasel for profit. His 1000 hours of required community service should be cleaning the toilets of poor elderly folks with intractable diarrhea. With a toothbrush. No...with a Q-Tip.

Of course, Letterman's penance will last the rest of his days. There probably won't be a time he looks at his wife without thinking about how he hurt her, and how cowardice in a character can take even the greatest accomplishments down to the ground. He's got a lot to think about, and a lot to figure out about himself. But that will be done privately.

To try to get rich quick off of someone else's personal failures isn't exactly uncommon, but in this case it was criminal. Have fun, Bobby Joe...don't drop the soap!

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WESTBORO BAPTIST CHURCH HATES YOU

Most days, I settle for the Anne Frank view on things – that most people are basically good. Good, or good enough. If they weren’t, life would be much harder, shorter, scrappier, and brutal…kind of like Hollywood, but everywhere. But there are bad people out there, whose natures and activities cause pain and misery for the people around them most of the time. And THEN there are the Bad People Who Are REALLY REALLY BAD. Sometimes you will find these people in prisons. Sometimes they find their ways to positions of power. And sometimes you find them yelling hateful slurs to grieving people and calling it free speech.

So there we have the almost-universally-despised Westboro Baptist Church members, better known as the “God Hates Fags” folks. As you might gather, they really don’t like the idea of homosexuality and they believe that their righteous God doesn’t either, and is smiting our United States left and right because of it. In what even Hitler would likely find over-the-top behavior, this group makes a point of picketing the funerals of gay people, anyone who doesn’t hate gays, students who died in a house fire, soldiers killed in battle, natural disaster victims, victims of random violence, atheists, Jews, Mormons, Catholics, Muslims, Hindus, Methodists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Episcopalians, Orthodox Christians, and, yes, Baptists. Their message is that unless you believe exactly as they do and join with them to preach “God’s hate,” you are going to Hell and should hurry up about it. You too, Grandma Betty, crying over your 5-year-old granddaughter’s hit-and-run death. Don’t you know God struck that sweet little girl down because America tolerates fags? Jump in the grave with her!

These creepy mental cases have stirred up enough trouble to earn themselves yet another day in court – this time, The Supreme Court of The United States will hear an appeal from the father of a dead soldier whose funeral was marred by Westboro church members. I don’t really understand how it all had to get this far. Think about it: if I decided to randomly attend someone’s burial service and started yelling at the top of my voice that Safeway had 2-for-1 pints of strawberries, someone would call the cops and the cops would tell me to move on or arrest me for causing a disturbance. RIGHT? Even if I were PASSIONATE about letting the mourners know about the strawberries, it would never be my right to so infringe on their personal business as to cause them distress. HELLO, LAWS ALREADY IN PLACE. Now, if I wanted to stand a few hundred feet away holding a large ad with said strawberry deal on it and wave it around a bit, that seems reasonable, even if I may know that the mourners are in fact allergic to strawberries or simply do not enjoy them at all. It’s weird and stupid and useless, but protects my right to Strawberry while reasonably protecting the mourners from my stupid weirdness.

The right to privacy may outweigh even our cherished unfettered free speech guarantee. There are moments in any life that are so difficult and that make us so vulnerable that if not protected, can disrespect and crush a piece of the core of what it is to be human. This goes past politics, current cultural mores, and religious ideology. Your voice defines your place in the world, but your privacy = human dignity. Don’t go anywhere without it.

I understand that the Westboro Baptist Church doesn’t really give a flying f about the laws of this country, or their fellow man. They believe that they are doing their bi-polar God’s work, and that goes above all other things. They have done a fine job of drawing attention to their outsider beliefs, haven’t they? Now…how about SCOTUS doing a fine job of protecting the good, or good enough, from REALLY REALLY BAD? Let Westboro have their say, but stop letting them destroy the privacy and dignity of others with HATE CRIMES (more laws in place there, folks). How very sensible, huh?

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MAVIS

You aren’t going to believe me based on this adjective-filled blog, but sometimes I am a little lost for words. Every so often, even though I have the mighty strength and flexibility of our fine English language behind me, it is inadequate to express what is. You and I are going to have to live with that, because after seeing Mavis Staples in concert at Seattle’s Jazz Alley, I know all the descriptive verbosity I could pull out of my creative chapeau wouldn’t really be able to explain what it was like for me and no doubt many of my fellow concert-goers. Maybe the best I can do is say that if you have ever had the feeling that something was so powerful, so real, so right, so genuine, and so joyful that you forget everything else and just FEEL IT right at your core, well, that’s maybe a tiny bit of what I’d like to express. Mavis says to the crowd at the beginning of her shows that she’d like to “leave you with some good feelings…at least for another six months.” Mavis and her band left me with that, but those feelings will last me the rest of my life.

You might not automatically tap me as someone who would be likely to go see Mavis Staples. Look at the concert reviews here and you will see that they are almost all British Invasion/indie-alt/garage rock bands – a bunch of pasty, smart, funny, irreverent white dudes with loud guitars, more or less. But fortunately I had two avenues to make my way to the very best of American blues/soul/gospel music, via the AM pop radio that was never far from my little ears in the ‘60s and ‘70s, and by eventually searching out the original versions of blues songs covered by the Rolling Stones or the Yardbirds or any number of bands I liked. Music was one of the big ways I could reach out of my cheese-and-polka infused Wisconsiness to hear and feel how other people heard and felt. All of the music of my early life sunk in, cell-deep.

Pop music in those days was often an amazing mix of the absolute freshness and fun of bands like the Beatles and the soul-pop grooves coming out of Motown, Stax-Volt, and Atlantic Records, all of them striving to make the perfect under-3-minute song. Two of those perfect songs on my radio – “I’ll Take You There” and “Respect Yourself” -- were by the Staple Singers. Here’s a 90-second bio, if you are unfamiliar.



If not for the Staples’ association with Martin Luther King, Jr. and the civil rights movement, it’s not very likely I ever would have heard their music. “Pops” Staples and his children -- Cleotha, Pervis, Yvonne and Mavis -- probably would have remained as the premier gospel performers of their time, but their records completely unattainable to me as a tiny white Midwestern atheist girl. The world spotlight on America’s racial struggles brought the Staple Singers blend of down-in-the-dirt-of-the-dirt Delta grit and unique multi-part harmonies to a much bigger audience, and to a career in rock music. The demise of classic pop radio, replaced by FM-AOR stations, talk radio, and further business-fueled music options, led to a downtown in the Staples’ sales popularity, but they never stopped making important, impassioned, and uplifting music. The Staple Singers were inducted into the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame in 1999, and five years after Pops’ death in 2000, received a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award.

So this brings me to last Thursday night at Jazz Alley in downtown Seattle. I had jumped on the chance to get tickets to see Mavis Staples perform, and was rewarded by a table just a few feet away from the low stage. I was really excited and eager for the show, confident that it would be excellent. As a beaming Mavis and her band took the stage, my expectations were more than fulfilled. For one thing, Mavis has working behind her a set of absolutely top-top-top-notch musicians: sister Yvonne Staples (background vocals), Donny Gerrard (background vocals), Eyvonne Williams (background vocals), Stephen Hodges (drums), Rick Holmstrom (guitar), and Jeff Turmes (bass and guitar). Particular stand-outs for me were Gerrard’s vocals (more than deserving of solo acclaim and more than once causing me to just drop my mouth in awe and admiration) and Holmstrom’s fiery Cropper-style guitar work – he’s a GOD, lemme tell ya. This was a ROCKING bunch. I wasn’t expecting quite such a NASTAY dirty get-down sound, but MAN, I loved it. This IS rock n’ roll, and if you don’t know that, you are a big-ass FOOL. Look at me all Mavis-ing here. But that’s how it was – everyone got swept up in the performance, with Mavis’ growly reach-down-deep vocals and happy gospel-style stage banter. She’s this tiny little dynamo of a woman, who sounds like she could kick the Devil’s butt straight to Mars with a single kick of a tiny pointed stiletto.






And then a few songs in, trouble. Yvonne Staples collapsed onstage.

Of course, everyone was shocked. The club was silent as a few medical professionals came up from the audience to help as everyone was trying to figure out what was happening. A man next to me called 911, and the paramedics were there within minutes. It was heartbreaking to hear Mavis call out Yvonne’s name over and over, to see her hold her hand, to not know what we were seeing. You just didn’t know as Mavis left in the ambulance with her sister how it was going to turn out for them.

We sat there at the table for awhile, glum and worried for them all, not sure if we should leave right away. After some time, the club owner appeared, thanked us all for our concern and said that the band wanted to go ahead and play for us, if we wanted to stay. We did, and Holmstrom, Hodges, and Turmes went into an bluesy instrumental tour-de-force that re-energized the appreciative crowd. When Eyvonne Williams and Donny Gerrard came back to sing the spirituals “Amazing Grace” and “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” I sat there at my table and tears ran down my face – this from the least-godly person I know, me. But when I brushed my face off and looked around a little sheepishly for the unintended emotional display, I saw I wasn’t the only one – there at the table across from me, a very hip-looking older guy was dabbing at his eyes with his bar napkin. A young woman’s tear-streaked cheeks a bit further away were reflecting from the stage lights, and an elderly woman rummaged around in her purse for a tissue for her. All I can say was that there was such a purity in the music, and it was deeply felt.

Two pieces of good news. Yvonne Staples’ was released quickly from the hospital (dehydration and exhaustion treated successfully), and although she was not quite well enough to perform during the rest of the band’s Jazz Alley 4-day run, the band would continue. The club owner very kindly comped a set of tickets to the Saturday 10PM show, so back I went, delighted to be able to see the full show. For YOU, I took this 15 MINUTE LONG video of “Why (Am I Treated So Bad)” which was Martin Luther King, Jr.s’ favorite Staple Singers song. Mavis tells the story of their first meeting with him, at his church. Enjoy.






Pop over to NPR to download a great recording of Mavis’ Newport Folk Festival set from last summer, very similar to the shows I saw. You’ll hear what I mean about that SOUND! I am more than a little stoked to hear that Jeff Tweedy of Wilco (another of my faves, as readers of DI know) is producing Mavis’ next recording, which should be out later in the year.

Well, I ended up as usual coming up with a few words here, but again, I don’t know if I can make you dig just how special Mavis Staples is…you just should try your very best to see her live if you can. She is a pioneer of rock, a soul sister supreme, as sweet as peach pie, and powerful as a volcano. She stayed rock-solid true to her beliefs and ideals, had the tenacity and faith to keep at them despite criticism and difficulties and the fickle nature of fame, and the generosity to keep singing for us, to give us some good feelings. There won’t be another like her.

Thank you, Mavis and friends, from the bottom of my little ol’ heart.

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B R M SEE: BLACK REBEL MOTORCYCLE CLUB IN SEATTLE

It’s either silly or wonderful that I still get so excited about seeing bands. That was my thought last night as I was sitting at a little round table in The Green Room at Seattle’s Showbox at the Market, waiting to see Black Rebel Motorcycle Club again after an 18-month absence. The cheeseburger and fries I was nervously mowing through entitled me to get a numbered card, which gives first-in rights when the club opens for the night. This would be my 5th time seeing the band, and I really wanted that front-row spot. They are one of my major favorites, and I was willing to stand and stand and stand to be able to stand some more and get some good photos/vids and take in the big blast of sound and vision up close. OOH! #2! THAT ME! In I went, and I got my spot, next to the same people from the last time at the Showbox. BRMC fans are loyal.

Camera? Check. Water? Check. Hearos? Check. The only thing I didn’t have that would be helpful was one of those lady-urine-catcher things, since you just cannot leave a front-row spot to go to the bathroom and expect it to be there when you get back. You know the thing I mean?



Oh, I’m kidding. That would be really disgusting to use at a show, or really really really really really really really PUNK ASS, but I guess I am not either of those so much. I’ll hold it.

After not-too-long of a wait, the first opening band started up. The Hounds Below told us that they were from Detroit, had just driven in from Las Vegas, and boy, were they tired, but still they put on a very well-received set. Most of them looked to be about 17 years old (well, to me, anyway), but played surprisingly-diverse material that told me they had done some good musical history homework, grabbing good sounds from all of rock’s eras seamlessly. It worked. Hmm, I thought, how’d they do that? Answer: lead singer/guitarist Jason Stollsteimer fronted The Von Bondies, and is also known for being the guy who got into a punch-up with Jack White. Oh, Detroit!



The Whigs, a trio from Athens Gee Aye was up next:

Parker Gispert — guitar, lead vocals, keyboard





Julian Dorio — drums





and Tim Deaux on bass and guitar.







Heh. Anyway, Eb, Animal, and Jesus Whig put out a LOT of energy, with a definite Southern Kings-Of-Leon-type flavor. I don’t know that their songs came off as quite memorable enough – there was plenty of rock, but not a ton of HOOK or anything that distinguished them enough out of the pack. That said, I did enjoy their set, as did this older guy who made his way front and center in his black leather jacket, Iron Maiden t-shirt, drinking can after can of Pabst.



Epic Maiden Man was throwing out the devil horns sign and headbanging and yelling with such classic rock fervor that he became the show, to the bemusement of both the audience and The Whigs. Before he apparently drifted off to a Drunken Metal Coma, he got his bro slap from Parker Gispert, which was completely Epic. We salute you, Epic Maiden Man!




During the set-up for BRMC, a pretty young thing with fuchsia lipstick spilled beer on me. A LOT of beer. TWICE. It stunk like the kind of beer that someone had thrown up without it spending much time in the stomach, just enough, and in fact I did check to see that it was not puke. She apologized profusely, and I gave her no trouble for it because she had come all the way from Utah to see the band, was on very high heels, and was wearing a really cute jacket. It wasn’t puke, right? Sigh.

In mere days, BRMC’s new album, “Beat The Devil’s Tattoo,” will be officially released, almost three years since the incredibly cool, sexy, and rock Baby 81. Since 2007, BRMC has also released a live DVD/CD, and an instrumental album called The Effects of 333, the latter of which sounded more or less like this:



“Beat The Devil’s Tattoo” is a return to what BRMC does best – their particular combination of bedrock American blues and folk + The Jesus and Mary Chain + a little Brian Jonestown Massacre (which makes sense, as BRMC’s Peter Hayes was once a BJM member) + well….ooohhhhh. You know what I mean. Ooohhhhh is that intangible thing that gets your adrenalin going, makes you take notice and makes you stay. BRMC has lots of ooohhhhh factor. My take on the new album is that it is solid – good, very good in spots. It is perhaps a reflection of the crap they got for 333, although certainly that release was never meant to replace a traditional record. In the end, fans pretty much like to hear songs like the ones they already like by the band. “Beat The Devil’s Tattoo” is not a re-tread as much as BRMC making a decent attempt at doing something people will like, and hanging on to their fanbase in a very harsh musical climate.

Set list helps me plan my vids. Thank you.




See that thing with the glowing green LED? This is Peter Hayes’ new stage gadget. Just a few toetaps, and each song in the set pops up, assumably preset effects for his guitars. It was so…orderly!

The band comes on to deafening applause, and goes to 11. Here’s “Love Burns,” the opening track from BRMC’s first self-titled album, released in 2001. My only complaint with being right at the stage is that it was hard to hear the vocals somewhat. But WE GOT GUITAR!



I was glad that they played plenty of new material. So many times, a live performance adds such power and depth. Here’s the new album’s title track, already a fan favorite as seen by the crowd reaction. It’s fun to sing along with, too.



I took a lot of photos, which is work, but it didn’t stop me from being in the music. I love those songs, and even if I am behind a camera I am mindful that I am there to experience a performance, not simply document it. I think this is often forgotten now in the age of cell phone cams and the ease of digital photography. The best moments in the shows I sometimes do not catch, but I have come to be OK with that over the years. I am busy watching and thinking and ROCKING. And hoping I don’t have puke on me. No. Wasn’t puke. No way.

My little damn camera does pretty well, considering. No good shots of drummer Leah Shapiro – I always seem to be in the wrong spot to catch her. But please to enjoy Peter Hayes and Robert Been. More on Flickr.










“Ain’t No Easy Way” from 2005’s Howl, a more acoustic country/blues sound from BRMC, and when I first heard of them. Sorry for the strobe freak out. My little damn camera isn’t a miracle worker, ya know.



It was a good set from the band – more smiles on the member’s faces than I recall before. They have plenty of reasons to smile, ooohhhhh factor included. It will be very interesting for me to see them again in April, a month into the tour and the new material, and in a different city. WATCH THIS SPACE.

After the show, I grabbed another water, downed it, and even waited to use the bathroom until I got home at 1:15AM. Epic, silly, and wonderful. Thanks, The Hounds Below, The Whigs, and BRMC!

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PLAY THIS MUSIC FOR YOUR KIDS

I hate kids’ music. I do, and I don’t at all feel bad about saying it. I didn’t even like it when I WAS a kid. “Puff The Magic Dragon” made me weep against my will for the neglected and possibly dead dragon, Burl Ives seemed like he would smell of old pipe smoke and deer sausage, and it all seemed to be, well, moronic. It was like, hey, I'm a kid, not some dimwit that needs you to talk in goo goo ga ga words or make everything sweeeeeeet.

It got LOTS worse when I had my own kids, and this crap started becoming an industry. Oh holy hell.

Raffi.



The Wiggles.



And for chrissakes, Barney.



No, wait, sorry. BARNEY. GOD.



It hurt, it did, but when the kids were really tiny they sort of dug it all, so I grit my teeth through the sonic saccharine because I love them THAT MUCH. And because I love them way way way even more that THAT, I always played them all kinds of music, from classical to jazz to punk. I never talked down to them, and I never wanted to assume that they couldn't appreciate music that wasn't all tied up in a tidy plastic Happy Meal premium or flogged by some creepy Disney child with a crack habit. There were songs we ALL could enjoy listening to together.

Well, guess what. I ain't the only parent out there thinking like this, and a delightful little response to the CHILD MUSIC PROBLEM I have found right in my proverbial backyard. One of my bestest pals in the world (and of the longest duration) has recorded this WAY WAY COOL album of traditional kids' songs with a decidedly and defiantly punky flavor, under the moniker Toothpick Elbow: Garage Band Nursery Rhymes. Vol. 1.





Todd and I have known each other since we were 12 years old, both in the drum section of the Oconomowoc Junior High School band in Wisconsin. Something that kept us connected all these years was our mutual devotion to all things music. Todd's been in the Bellrays, Doorslammer, plays regularly with Simon Stokes in Los Angeles, and does Toothpick Elbow gigs when he can. Something common to all his musical work is a great sense of humor and clever, diverse musicianship, with a ear for retro-cool sounds delivered by his collection of retro-cool vintage equipment. Come to think of it, Todd and I almost qualify AS retro-cool, just by virtue of our birthdates, only a few days apart in April. This I celebrate by singing along on the VERY ROCKING "Do Your Ears Hang Low," which you can find on my player if you choose.

Garage Band Nursery Rhymes is kind of like if you had your Uncle Iggy Pop and Cousin Jack White over to babysit, maybe with them stage diving off the bunkbeds, slurping down Gummi Worms, and reading Goodnight Moon by the little red glow of an amp light. The police might be called for a noise complaint, but everyone would end up having nice cups of cocoa and discussing Link Wray, and the kiddies would go to sleep and dream of the perfect Townshend windmill move, smiles on their baby faces.

I think you should buy this CD, also available here and I would think so even if I didn't know Todd and his awesomeness personally. I like what he's doing here a whole lot, and I think you and your kids will too.

F U, Puff!

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DEBBIE KADIDDLEHOPPER?

Anyone? Huh?

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BLOTTER 8

The Chilean earthquake may have shortened all our Earthly days forevermore, but who cares when we’ve got SMALL TOWN POLICE BLOTTER ROUND-UP for the month! Vamos!

PUBLIC NAKEDRY AND WEAK BLADDERS

Lewd,Lascivious: Police cited a man who was sitting in his truck naked in the parking lot in front of the former Stark Candy plant Feb. 28.

According to the report, an officer on patrol saw a man in a vehicle in the parking lot of the company, 700 Hickory St. The officer was suspicious because the company has been closed for nearly two years. The officer turned around and saw the pickup truck was driving off, and the officer stopped it. The officer saw the driver, Dale Effertz, 45, of Brookfield, had only a jacket over him and in fact he was naked.

Effertz admitted to police he had been masturbating. Effertz said that on Sundays he normally watches trains go by from that location. He was cited for lewd and lascivious behavior.

Indecent Exposure: A 53-year-old woman in the 6600 block of Windsor told police that, at 6:50 AM, a male neighbor, known to her only by his first name, knocked at her front door. When the woman answered the door, the man asked her whether she had a small stand for his TV. As the woman looked around for something to give him to use as a TV stand, she noticed the man—clad in naught but a T-shirt and boxer shorts—had his penis protruding through the slit in the boxers. When the victim pointed out his exposure, the man told her it was an accident, then put his arms around her and stated, “We are two lonely people.” After the man left, the woman complained to the landlord, who told her to call police.

Public Urination: An officer witnessed a man walk out from behind a fence at an apartment complex on Miner Drive around 7:32 p.m. on Jan. 23. Upon speaking with the officer, the man confirmed that he had urinated behind the fence. The officer determined that nobody would have been able to see the man urinating, so the offender was only given a warning.

Indecent Exposure: Police received report of a man walking in the road on W. Friendship St. around 11:09 a.m., Jan. 12, with his pants dropped to his ankles. Was it in honor of American Idol-sensation Larry Platt’s comical song “Pants on the Ground”? That much is unclear. The man got into a red truck and rode away before police arrived.

DUI: Renee Terry, 40, of Fairbury, Ill. was charged with DUI after police allegedly saw her silver 2010 Ford Windstar veer across the yellow line on 16th St. She allegedly told police that she had been visiting her mother in the hospital and had left her drivers license at home. When she urinated in her pants during field sobriety tests, she explained that she was “nervous.” She was charged with driving with license suspended, DUI and driving with an open jug of beer in the car.

THICK BEARD CRIME

Theft: Police are investigating the theft of $90 worth of razor blades from Walmart, 411 Pewaukee Road March 1. A man, about 30 years old, was seen taking the razors and left in a car.

THE LEGACY OF THE WHO

Vandalism: Police cited Michael G. Johnson, 20, of Cudahy for vandalism after he allegedly trashed a motel room Jan. 24.

According to the report, Johnson rented a room at La Belle Motel, N57 W39755 Wisconsin Ave., and then damaged the room. The damage included substances thrown on the television and refrigerator, garbage strewn about, and cigarette butts and ashes throughout the room. An estimate for damages was not listed.

Disturbance: A Medina resident told police that a group of children were smashing a guitar in the roadway near Continental Drive and Lipke Court around 1:33 p.m. Jan. 24. The caller was concerned that the debris would be left in the road. Upon his arrival, the responding officer determined that mess had been cleaned.

GETAWAY VEHICLE COURTESY MEDICAID

Reckless Endangerment, Burglary With a Dangerous Weapon, and Possession of a Firearm With an Injunction: Police are seeking charges against a 58-year-old Brookfield man they say broke into his estranged wife's residence and threatened her with a gun.

According to the police report, officers responded to a call at 6:10 p.m. on Feb. 2, from a home in the 300 block of South Elm Street. The woman told authorities that she arrived home to find her ex-husband in the home. She said the entry door from the garage to the house opened suddenly and he was pointing a gun at her and threatened to kill her, according to the police report.

The woman said she moved backwards down the driveway so as not to lose sight of the man, who was yelling threats at her. She was able to get her to her cell phone and call authorities at this point.

The police saw the man leaving the residence on a motorized scooter, due to a disability, and he denied the accusations against him. The man told police his vehicle was parked one block over and when an officer went to check it, he saw what appeared to be a gun box and lock on the floor of the vehicle. The gun was recovered at the residence where it was determined that items were taken without permission.

Due to a previous incident with the law, the man had a temporary restraining order and was not to be in possession of a firearm. Police have forwarded the case to the Waukesha County District Attorney's office for review.

HITLER YOUTH

Retail theft: Police are searching for a white female, 18 to 22 years old, with brown hair who was spotted taking two 20-ounce sodas from Pick 'n Save, 1010 N. Rochester St. at 11 a.m. Feb. 20. The woman fled from store employees when they tried to confront her because she left without paying the $2.98 for the sodas. Employees obtained the license plate number of the vehicle she fled in and police are attempting to track down the vehicle.

Disturbance: A group of boys was going door-to-door around 2:15 p.m., Jan. 31 in the area of Yorkshire Drive and E. Smith Road requesting water or another drink. One resident contacted police, but not until 15 minutes after the incident, and officers could not locate the boys.

Theft: An officer responded to Garfield Elementary School Jan. 29 and spoke with a student who kept stealing markers from one of the teachers. The officer also contacted the boy’s father.

THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE

Questionable Actions: A W. Washington St. resident called police around 3 a.m., Feb. 1, informing officers that it was “highly unusual” for her neighbor to have his lights on inside the residence. The neighbor was reading a book.

Suspicious Persons: Two men in dark clothing walking down Welf Lane made a resident feel uncomfortable.

Improper Signaling: A motorist called to report that a police vehicle did not use their turn signal in Evergreen.

Soliciting: After being asked to leave a local casino, a man and a woman asked people for money in the parking lot and hid behind dumpsters.

Suspicious Person: An unknown male called police Feb. 12 and said “388 West Union 6” and hung up before any further questions could be asked. Police spoke with a resident of the apartment, who said that everything was OK.

Possible Theft: A shopper at a N. Court St. grocery store told police that her wallet had been stolen from her purse around 11:14 a.m. Sept. 12. Later, the woman found her wallet at her house.

HOME SWEET HOME

Safety Concern: A Dawn Court resident called police on Dec. 30 because he was worried about bacteria that might be growing in the apartment.

Safety Concern: Someone on East Many Lakes Drive called to report a funny smell in their home. The caller also indicated that the ceiling was expanding and a “bubble-type thing” was forming. The problem was determined to be a plumbing leak.

Possible Fire: Reports of an electrical smell and smoke on Electric Avenue turned out to be unfounded.

PARTY TIME!

Theft: 100 block 110th Avenue Northeast. Two male suspects stole four breast pumps from a Babies R Us store.

Noise Complaint: A N. State Rd. resident informed police that the individual living in the apartment above was making excessive noise around 10:10 a.m., Dec. 14. Officers arrived and found the resident had been causing noise by jumping. Police advised the subject to keep the noise down.

Disturbance: An officer responded to a disturbance complaint at a Carver Drive residence around 10:05 p.m., Jan. 30. Police determined that the occupants of the home were arguing over a game. After speaking with police, all parties agreed to go to bed.

Vandalism: On Highway 2 West, someone evidently ripped down several no-trespassing signs and puked on the reporting party’s property.

S’NO CRIME

Man in Snow: Police were notified that a man was lying in the snow on E. Washington St., near St. Francis, on Feb. 12. An officer responded and transported the man to a coffee shop on the square while he waited for his ride.

Public Intoxication: A drunk man fell into snow on S. Elmwood Ave. around 11:32 p.m., Feb. 19. Police took him to Medina Hospital for treatment.

Suspicious Behavior: An officer witnessed a suspicious man running near Giant Eagle around 2:17 a.m. Feb. 19. The man told police that he was cold and was attempting to warm up.

Man in Snow: Someone in Columbia Falls reports that a man was standing in a snow bank near a local storage business.

I SWEAR, THIS WASN’T ME

Theft: An unknown assailant stole a pound of coffee and two mugs from the counter-top at a N. Court St. restaurant on Feb. 16. The items are valued at $32

ANIMAL CRACKERS IN MY BLOTTER

Loose Animal: Police found a pet rabbit, wearing a collar, hopping near the roadway on W. Sturbridge Road around 2:53 a.m. Jan. 19. The officer attempted to catch the rabbit but could not.

Missing Animal: A Hungry Horse resident called to share information regarding their schnauzer that disappeared in late January.

Possible Animal Theft: Ten to fifteen tom turkeys went missing yesterday from a Bigfork home. The reporting party notes that someone in a truck recently drove by and made admiring comments about said turkeys.

Dog Bite: A mastiff chomped a person on Caroline Road.

Possible Animal Neglect: Someone called to report that a dog had “the mange” and was being neglected in Evergreen. The dog in question was actually just old.

Animal Accident: After hitting a deer on Highway 2 in Columbia Falls, a local driver obtained permission from authorities to remove and keep the creature’s legs. The legs will evidently be used in a study of wolverines.

Possible Sick Animal: A concerned citizen called to report that a dog was lying on the ground and foaming at the mouth near Sweetgrass Lane. This behavior is in fact quite normal for a Saint Bernard.

SCROOGES

Possible Theft: A W. Smith Road man contacted police around 2:43 p.m. on Christmas Day, wanting to bring charges against his girlfriend’s son. Allegedly, while the couple was out, the boy opened his Christmas presents without permission.

Police told the man that the incident was not a theft because they were the boy’s presents.

Property Damage: A W. Sturbridge Drive resident notified police that a Christmas decoration light cord at the home had been cut around 6:20 p.m., Dec. 26.

Domestic Disturbance: After responding to a Springbrook Drive residence around 2:58 a.m. Dec. 20, officers spoke with an intoxicated woman who was agitated because her boyfriend was repeatedly touching the Christmas tree in the home. Police told the woman to go to bed. The involved male party slept overnight in a neighboring apartment.

ANGER, PUNCHING, KICKING, TATTOO PETE, AND THE SMOKING JUDGE

Disturbance: A man called from a local body shop to report that another man was “being a jerk to him.” The situation was resolved without violence.

Disturbance: A customer and cashier began arguing over a 6-cent difference on the bill Feb. 8 at a restaurant on Medina Square. Police responded to mediate, and the manager waived the bill in order to maintain a good relationship with the customer.

Assault: In Columbia Falls, a teen male punched his father and then took off on foot. Officers found the subject sitting in a boat in the garage.

Assualt: In Somers, one boy kicked another in the groin.

Assault: One young man hit another on Sulky Lane. The confrontation apparently began over household chores.

Property Damage: A woman on Old Morris Trail kicked in a bathroom door when her husband locked himself inside. Although the parties did not physically harm one another, the door sustained fatal injuries.

Assault, Theft, Disturbance: A Cicero man reported an incident he said occurred on February 13 at Bootlegs bar, 2717 Ridgeland. He said a man known to him only as “Tattoo Pete” approached him in the bar and accused him of having an affair with his wife. The victim said the offender slashed his tires and threw a beer bottle at him; he also stated the offender fought with him, pulled a knife, and yanked off the victim’s gold chain.

Asked why he waited so long to report the incident, the victim said he had wanted the bar owner to “handle” the situation, but now he wants the return of his gold chain, which featured a 2-inch long Jesus pendant.

Public Intoxication: Diane M. Didonato, 51, was arrested for public intoxication in front of her residence in the 6900 block of Stanley after allegedly accosting a passing police officer with, “Mother f^&*ing police, you God@$#^&* ^holes, I got a question!” She reportedly continued to spew obscenities and was observed by the officer to have a “strong odor of alcoholic beverage and difficulty maintaining her balance, and spoke in incoherent, incomplete sentences.” She allegedly told the officer she was “smoking with the judge”, someone she described as a “rude asshole” who kicked her out. The judge in question was not identified.

And my pick for the month…

SHIT-FACED

Vandalism: A S. Court St. residence informed police that her ex-boyfriend had allegedly broken into her home, possibly by prying the front door door open, and threw dog feces into her make-up bag between 4:45 and 7 a.m. Jan. 9. The woman did not know if anything had been taken from her residence.

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STARBUCKS 12

Sorry, Starbucks, I'll take my coffee without righteous creepy gun nuts, thank you. You guys that desperate for business these days?

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SONIC KIDS

From a recent in-studio performance at the very excellent KEXP, here's a cool version of the Sonics "Shot Down" by some of the kids from Seattle's very own School of Rock. GREAT vocal!

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WORST. FAKE ID. EVER.

(Me, arriving at rock club in the mid-1970s. A large Bouncer is sitting on a wooden barstool at the entrance to the club.)

Me: (trying to seem aloof, handing bouncer ID card)Hi.

Bouncer: (takes card from me and stares at it, then looks at me and frowns heavily)

[note: This terrible, terrible card was purchased from a ad in the back of CREEM Magazine, made from an ungodly awful Polaroid photo I had to send in with my $14.99 or whatever it was and my signature. It looked absolutely NOTHING like a real Wisconsin state ID.]

Me: It's my work ID. I don't drive.

[note: This was reasonably true -- I sometimes did work at school, and I didn't have a driver's license because I was too young to get one.]

Bouncer: (frowns, massively rolls eyes, hands me back the card and waves me in)

Me: (internally ecstatic, externally aloof, takes card back, nods at bouncer with slight smile, slinks quickly into the darkness of the club.)

Terrible. But funny.

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THE FAMOUS BRITISH MUSICIAN: A COMPLETELY ONE-SIDED PARODYABLE*

Once upon a time there was a famous British musician. He lived with a drummer, a bassist and a guitarist.

They all lived in a 2-up-2-down-semi-detached house which the famous British musician liked to keep clean and tidy. The famous British musician worked hard at his music all day. The others helped in their ways. Although they said they meant to and wanted to do more, they seemed to be too busy with other mod things. The drummer liked to drink at the pub, the bassist preferred to ride his Vespa scooter all day, and the guitarist enjoyed many romantic encounters and also liked dressing as a pirate and thinking about aliens.

One day the famous British musician was working in the semi when he found a half-written song on a piece of tattered old paper.

"Who will help me finish writing this song?" he asked.

"Not I," grunted the drummer from his barstool at the pub.

"Not I," quacked the bassist as he whizzed by on his Vespa.

"Not I," purred the guitarist, with a dollybird on his lap.

So the famous British musician went to look for a nice tablet to write on and a piano to sit at, scratched at the tablet with his pencil, played some ascending chords on the piano, and finished writing the song.

During the summer the song’s popularity grew. First it grew into a regional hit, then it ripened on the pop radio stations until it became a worldwide smash. The famous British musician saw that more new songs were needed to keep his band going.

"Who will help me write more songs for us all?" asked the famous British musician.

"Not I," grunted the drummer from his barstool at the pub, in a new Ossie Clark suit.

"Not I," quacked the bassist as he whizzed by on his Vespa, with a cute girl now on the back.

"Not I," purred the guitarist, with a dollybird on his lap and a dapper retired Army Major massaging his shoulders.

"Very well then, I will write them myself," said the famous British musician. Over the next few years, he wrote many, many, many new songs, and began producing them by himself as well.

"Who will invest their money with me in a fine recording studio, so that we may always have a place to work, and that shall also generate further income for us all?" asked the famous British musician.

"Not I," grunted the drummer from his barstool in the pub, in his new new Ossie Clark suit, smoking a Cuban cigar.

"Not I," quacked the bassist whizzing by on his Vespa, with a cute girl on the back, holding a key to a chic London private club.

"Not I," purred the guitarist with a dollybird on his lap, a dapper retired Army Major massaging his shoulders, all three wearing frilly swashbuckler outfits with thigh high patent leather boots.

So the famous British musician bought the studio himself, and asked his business managers if he would be so kind as to give small shares in the studio to the others, in return for some occasional filing work and publishing rights.

In time the business managers sent a little bag of money down to the 2-up-2-down-semi-detached house where the famous British musician lived with the drummer and the bassist and the guitarist.

"Who will help me to make this money into more bread?" asked the famous British musician.

"Not I," grunted the pig from his barstool in the pub, in an alpaca overcoat, smoking a Cuban cigar, and wiping some residual blood stains off of his cymbals.

"Not I," quacked the bassist, whizzing by on his Vespa, crashing, and emigrating to Canada.

"Not I," purred the guitarist, with several children in his lap and Marvin the Martian massaging his shoulders.

"Very well," said the famous British musician. "I shall make the bread myself." He went into his neat little studio. He mixed the tracks into dough. He invested the dough and put it into the bank to multiply.

Years later there was a lovely smell of hot fresh money. It filled all the corners of the studio and wafted out into the Lane. The drummer came into the studio from his pub, the bassist came in from his Vespa tours of Canada and Denmark and the guitarist momentarily parked his astral plane. When the famous British musician opened his bank statement the dough had risen up and had turned into the nicest, most delicious looking financial portfolio any of them had seen.

"Who is going help me cash the hefty royalty and studio rental checks and enjoy all the fawning attention and admiration of the public?" asked the famous British musician.

"I will," grunted the drummer.

"I will," quacked the bassist.

"I will," purred the guitarist.

"Oh no, you won't," said the famous British musician. "I wrote the songs, I produced the songs, I bought and maintained the studio, and I made the bread, all by myself. I shall now cash the checks all by myself."

The drummer, the bassist and the guitarist all stood and watched as the famous British musician made a large bank deposit, all by himself. It was delicious and he enjoyed it, right to the very last crumb.



(*sense of humor required for reading)

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MEMORY TEST

Ooh, I really like thinking about the brain, even though the brain can be a real ass. It prevents me from remembering to bring important things with me when I go out and it sometimes rambles busily on while I would rather be sound asleep. Yet, since the brain also keeps me breathing and stuff I can’t really bust on it too much. I am especially interested in the mysteries of memory – the function and biology of it, what goes in, where it lands, how it is retrieved again and how it comes out. So much over a lifetime gets lost, or we just aren’t able to retrieve it from some dusty grey matter corner. Some people seem to have good memory abilities, and some people insist they just don’t and there’s nothing to be done about it. Some types of memory retrieval seem to be linked with intelligence, but many aren’t. Our facts, figures, names, dates, faces, places, feelings…all add up to who we are. It seems dreamlike, incomplete, fuzzy so many times, hard to rely upon, hard to know if the brain is telling you the truth or playing tricks.

Yesterday, in the random way that things go, a perusal of mid-20th-Century high-definition color photography got me thinking about how the picture from 1942 I was gazing upon was only 20 years before I was born, and 20 years doesn’t seem as long a time span to me now.



Those people were about the same age as my parents were then, who were both born in the 1920s. Then to get even more ancient-y, I thought about my paternal grandparents, born in 1892 and 1887! Then I got to thinking about, well, who was the oldest person I actually ever came in contact with, how far back in time does that go? A memory floated to the surface – something I hadn’t thought about in forever – about a very old man I met that, I believed, was born around the time of the Civil War. Could this be true?? How could I find out? Fortunately, three things could help me figure it out: that I remembered that the man was an author and what he authored; my mother, who is still around and should recall what I was thinking about with possibly more accuracy and detail, and; I have the fabulous internet at my disposal. This would be a good and fun test of the accuracy of memory.

So, here is everything I can now recall about the man and the situation, before talking to my mom or poking around on the ‘net – we’ll do this investigation real-time!

1. For some reason, we were driving this very very old man around in the back of my mom’s car, and he was important. He was the author of a book about the famous silent film, “The Birth of a Nation.” I can’t remember his name.

2. The book had a yellow cover with red writing on it and showed a battle scene. We had boxes of the book in the trunk of the car. The cover of the book had a cross-hatch distinctive texture to it.

3. The man was mostly silent and seemed grumpy and fragile. I didn’t talk to him much, and I sat in the front seat of the car while my mom drove him where he needed to go.

4. I was very young, no more than 4 years old.

5. I think he was born around the end of the Civil War.

6. We didn’t know him well, but he lived reasonably close to us in Wisconsin, a few towns away.

That’s all I have left. So now I am going to phone up my mom, age 83, and see what she has to say about it. It’s going to be really hard to get her to stay on topic and not veer off ten times about earthquakes or dolls or the neighbor’s crappy son, but I’m going to give it a shot, and not lead her with my own memories. What can she access? Ooh.

(TWO HOURS LATER.)

Good GOD. People, think twice before you try to hack out 40+-yr.old history between one person’s 3’ tall childhood memories and an elderly person’s MENTAL SALAD. I’m exhausted. I’m not going to be cruel enough to make you read ALL the notes I took while my mother TALKED AND TALKED AND TALKED, but trying to edit it down is going to be a challenge. Bear with me. God, you have no idea. Anyway, in some kind of summary, let’s go back to my original memories point-by-point, added to by mom and then the ‘net.

1. There was a very very old man in the back of my mom’s car, and he was important. His name was Roy Aitken, and he was one of the earliest notable figures in the motion picture business. He and his brother Harry formed some of the first movie production companies, one of which was responsible for D.W. Griffith’s 1915 “Birth of a Nation” film.

2. The book Aitken did with writer A.P.Nelson was published on January 1st, 1965, and it looks exactly how I remembered it. Mom said the cover has kind of a fabric-y texture, and that it was inscribed to my dad by Aitken. She doesn’t remember the books in the trunk.



3. I was in the front of the car, but Mom remembers Mr. Aitken very differently: “Roy Aitken was a delightful man, sharp as a tack, charming and intelligent.”

4. Because of a second person* that was in the backseat of my mom’s car, we can pin down the time for this car ride to somewhere in the last few days of March 1968, a few days before I turned 6 years old.

5. Roy Aitken was old, but not that old. He was born in 1882. I must have made the assumption about the Civil War because of the cover of his book, and that 1882 and 1865 were pretty much all the same to me then.

6. He did live close by, in Waukesha, Wisconsin, where he died in 1976. How did we know him? Roy and Harry’s little sister was my dad’s landlady when he lived in Waukesha in the early ‘50s, so he heard lots and lots of cool old stories about her brothers' exploits. People are friendly in Wisconsin.

When I asked my mother today why Roy Aitken was in the back of our car, this is what I heard, fixed only for my typos as I furiously transcribed THIS:

“Well, we were driving to Mukwonago with that movie star. Your father was mayor [ed. - of Delafield, WI.] and at the time, the liberal democrat running for president [ed. – Eugene McCarthy], well, one of his supporters was Paul Newman [ed. – * second person and MOVIE STAR], and Delafield was on their tour thing. Your dad arranged to have a gathering for them downtown, and then I got so excited when I heard that I would be the driver in our Humber Super Snipe station wagon, which was the same car the Princess Grace died in you know, and I was so excited that I was fixing my hair and I had gotten out of the bath and I went to spray it and I used deodorant spray instead! The hairspray was on my underarms! Oh what a mess! Your dad was already downtown with you and I met you down there.“

“Your Aunt Dorothy, who wasn’t really your aunt, was the second district chairperson for the Democratic Party and they had the honor of serving lunch at their home on Lower Nemahbin Lake to Paul Newman and his hangers-on or whatever you would call them. He walked in right in their house and helped himself to a bottle of beer from their fridge! We got him t-shirts from St. John’s Military Academy [ed. -where my dad worked at the time when not being mayoral] because we had heard he and his family liked t-shirts.”

“So, while this all was being set up, your dad thought that Mr. Newman would be interested to meet Mr. Aitken, as they were in the same industry and Mr. Aitken was such an important figure. Newman was very excited for the opportunity, but his schedule was so tight that the only time the two men would have to speak was in our car on the way to his next political speech. Mr Aitken and Paul Newman were both in the back of our car. The two visited intensely in low voices all the way to Mukwonago and then I took Mr. Aitken back to Waukesha. I remember that Paul Newman had elegant lovely clothing and he was very fine-boned.”

“Newman didn’t speak to me. At all. I wasn’t insulted; it was still exciting.”

WHEW. OK. OK.

Yes, I remembered that I was in the car with Mr. Aitken and with Mr. Newman, but I remember these as completely separate incidents – once with Mr. Aitken and once with Mr. Newman, and I placed the Aitken trip earlier, with no tie-in to Newman’s very brief stop to our tiny town. My mother and I went over and over the possible driving scenarios and the logistics to the day, but time has washed it out and there is no one else left to check it out with. Aitken, Newman, “Aunt” Dorothy, and my dad are all gone. It’s just me and Chatty Cathy.

I have zero memory of Aitken and Newman in the car together. Why? It’s possible that I wasn’t on that leg of the trip I suppose, but not probable. Maybe my mom had told me not to look at them or talk to them? I spent part of that day with my dad and part of it with my mom, that we can agree upon, but neither one of us can remember if the day was a weekday or a weekend, if I had gone to morning kindergarten or not, or where my older brother was, other than not there. Newman’s tour of Wisconsin was whirlwind – he went to a whole lot of little towns, including Kenosha, where (in some odd timing here) the subject of my post yesterday, Roger Ebert, had this to say about that day.

My memories of Paul Newman aren’t much more detailed than what I have left about Roy Aitken. I recall that he was handsome and wore a very nice black suit. Photographs I found today of him at his Menomonee Falls stop confirm it.




What no one else will likely ever be able to confirm is my recalling Paul Newman bending down to my level and smiling while talking to me, close to the high wooden stage my dad had someone construct for the actor’s 5-minute speech. No one will ever be able to tell me that yes, they saw Paul Newman pick me up, laughing, and toss me into the overcast spring sky, catching me as I gasped in surprise and smiled back at him. But that is what lives in my brain now, and has formed some part of my experience, which of course, forms me.

Roy Aitken was not born during the Civil War, my mother’s beehive ‘do drooped from misplaced deodorant, Paul Newman was mega-cute, and the brain can sometimes be a real ass. That we know for sure.

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