I didn’t vote in the first presidential election I was eligible for. It was 1980, and my attention was elsewhere. I was right on the precipice of a fifteen-year hole that was to be my career as a rock and roller. Little did I know that America was poised on a precipice of its own.

I never made the mistake of not voting again. Even at my most fogbound, I would manage to do my research and get myself to the polls. But I never actually participated in a campaign until this year. I not only donated actual money to the Obama campaign, but I guilted my wife into doing the same. And then on election day, we both took off work and spent the day calling folks in New Mexico.

Most of the people we called weren’t home, but we were told not to leave messages; just keep going through the lists as quickly as we could. The folks who did answer were pretty evenly split between those who had already voted for Obama and parents of newly registered kids. “She’s at school,” they would tell me, “But I’m pretty sure she voted for Obama last week.”

We averaged about a call a minute, with the whole group tallying up about three to five thousand calls an hour, depending on comings and goings. Since we both had to work the next day, my wife and I declined to go to the downtown after-party and instead watched the returns at home. It was a pretty exciting spectacle — almost as exciting as when Nixon resigned.

Barack Obama has only been President-Elect for a couple weeks, but the guy we know from two years on the campaign has already vanished, subsumed by his new role. Now that the common goal he shared with his supporters is gone — now that he belongs to all of us — how can he help but disappoint his followers? It’s all downhill from here.

Anyway, here’s some music:

“The Big Bonanza” - Xanadu’s Pleasure Dome
“The End of a Love Affair” - Chris Montez
“Warsaw Concerto” - Lalo Schifrin
“Lay A Little Love On Me” - The Cuff Links
“All Night Long” - Barry DeVorzon & Perry Botkin, Jr.
“Goodbye Sadness (Tristeza)” - The Young Americans
“Cinnamon” - Glenn Miller Orchestra
“Let’s Do Something” - The Happenings
“Scorpio” - Vic Flick Sound
“The Town and The City” - Teenage Fanclub


Click here to subscribe to “Your Favorite Little Podcast.”

Add “Your Favorite Little Podcast” to your iTunes library.

No matter what your race, no matter your creed
It’s justice for all that we want and need
United in brotherhood, we will succeed

All together , all together, we are stronger every way
We will build together, work together for a better day



DOWNLOAD

About a year ago, when national treasure Merlin Mann took a brief hiatus from his blog, 43 Folders, he recruited a selection of substitutes to post in his absence. Much to my amazement, I was one of his recruits (due no doubt to Merlin’s love of the Meat Puppets and not anything he might have encountered in these pages). Time permitted the completion of only two pieces, and I fear neither revealed much in the way of useful tips and tricks for his life-hacking hungry readers. I was more interested in poking fun at the whole idea of “productivity strategy” than I was in actually being “productive.”

What better time, then, to “reblog” one of my 43 Folder articles. This particular piece was never promoted to the front page, so hardly anyone read it anyway. And after all, Christmas is coming, and daddy’s got to get out there on the street corner and hustle a flower or two. If a filler post helps give a man some badly needed breathing room, well, so much the better:

It’s the central contradiction at the heart of our all-too-finite existence that we cannot reconcile the uncontainability of our dreams with the futile limitation of our resources. It’s no wonder we’ve come rely on strategies to get through the day. In David Allen’s world, the metaphor is the overloaded information-driven workplace. For Merlin, it’s the in-box. Much like baseball, which employs elaborate rules to “score” the uncontrollable moment when pine touches horse-hide, or Civil War reenactments, which apply a comforting tactical grid to our nation’s most chaotic psychic trauma, GTD derives its power from our need to impose our will on random events. No matter what fate has in store, all we have to do is write it down and throw it in a box.

But some situations require us to think outside the box.

I’ve never been very good at handling demands from the outside world. I haven’t answered my telephone in decades. When it comes to something like getting a haircut, visiting the dentist or changing the oil in my car, I’ll either lie awake all night worrying about it or forget about it altogether. So I desperately wanted to believe in any strategy that could help me dispatch unpleasant tasks without the need to obsess over them. Once I made that initial leap of faith, the rest came surprisingly easy. Sure enough, I was amazed to discover how quickly I could swat down those hated chores with my very first trusted system.

As self-loathing abated, I looked forward to the promise of projects that might actually cause me personal satisfaction upon completion, and not merely relief. But external obligations sprout all by themselves, like weeds. I found myself spending far too much time whacking tedious projects off my plate and not nearly enough on the ones I truly loved. I came to understand that if my only motivation was avoidance of the pain from open loops, I’d do nothing but battle these impositions for the rest of my life. I knew I’d have to rethink my system.

Some stubborn projects defy the equation: the pain of doing them far outweighs the pain of leaving them undone. For these tasks, I’ve created an entirely new type of context, which I’ve set just above and slightly to the right of “deferred.” I call it “punishment.” Tasks falling into this category include certain home plumbing repairs, financial drudgery which I haven’t figured out how to automate yet, or anything that tends to remind me of my inevitable demise (such as pruning photo albums of recently deceased pets or trying to read anything set below 12-point type). In other words, this context would include any task that would tend to ruin my day if attempted.

I save those tasks for when my day is already ruined. Whether I’ve overplayed my hand somehow and allowed my demons to surface, or just simply made the colossal miscalculation of allowing myself to “believe” (whatever that means), that’s when I pull out the punishment list. Suddenly, the tasks on this list don’t look so foreboding — that’s when I know its time to jump on them. The benefits to this approach are threefold: first, I receive my self-administered comeuppance, second, I move a dreaded project forward, and third, if the project truly belonged on the list in the first place, then it ‘s likely I’ll get the opportunity to bang my knuckles against the pipes hard enough to restore emotional equilibrium.

This may sound a little extreme, but it works. The last time I tried this method, I was hoarse from screaming at my tools and there was a pile of broken pipes and kitchen paneling out behind the house. But my newly-installed under-the-sink reverse osmosis unit worked like a charm! Furthermore, I’d completely forgotten whatever was bothering me in the first place.

Give it a try, but make sure you have plenty of band-aids on hand.

I haven’t been to Chicago in over a dozen years, but I still have my memories. Unfortunately, most of them involve trying driving around the club trying to find safe legal parking for two vans and a trailer. So the next best thing for me are these postcards from my grandfather’s collection, some of which date back a hundred years, to the 1893 World’s Exposition.

Aside from the postcards, the closest I’ve been to Chicago recently has been through a book and DVD by “This American Life” host Ira Glass and illustrator Chris Ware, “Lost Buildings.” The DVD tells the story of a kid who’s love for the work of architect Louis Sullivan led him into the orbit of photographer Richard Nickel. Forty years ago, Nickel traced an ever-shrinking circuit, documenting the progress of urban renewal as it consigned more and more of Sullivan’s buildings to the wrecking ball. Increasingly frustrated by the loss of these historic monuments, Nickel finally met his end inside the old Chicago Stock Exchange building. Seems he’d been trying to rescue an ornate specimen of staircase railing from demolition when the floor above him collapsed.

No doubt, many of the older subjects of these postcards are long gone as well, and the ones remaining are not long for this world. Who knows? One day, I might actually get back to Chicago, create a circuit of my own, and find out.

In the early fall of 1996, my friend Bruce Sandig and I traveled down to Tucson to appear in a video for my brother’s cable television show. I guess Damon must have been desperate to fill time on his November episode. Why else would he invite Today’s Sounds on his show?

Any doubt I might have had that Bruce would balk at having to perform “Let’s Turkey Trot” dressed up like a pilgrim was quickly laid to rest. He jumped at the opportunity to appear on television. So, we visited the local party store for some paper hats and scored some shirts and vests from Goodwill. We completed the ridiculous ensemble with some black biker shorts from Wall Mart. Then we drove down to Tucson to meet up with my brother. I tortured Bruce during the drive with my off-key demos of songs that didn’t make it on the record.

As the video clearly shows, our holiday garb was an actual cut above our regular street clothes. For our pantomime studio performance, we both wore hideous shorts and polo shirts. Then we donned our costumes and hit the park, where we danced and chased the birds. We were supposed to be duck hunting (shade of Elmer Fudd), but I’m not sure our exaggerated expressions denote hunger so much as a kind of pained longing (for what, I’m not sure).

Your Truly is featured in the second clip as well, an unintentionally hilarious version of “MacArthur Park” by David Martin and “The Bostrom Arts Ensemble.” This is a live performance, of sorts, with Damon and I (on piano and drums respectively) backing up Martin, who sings and plays trombone. It’s an eccentric rendition to say the least. Martin’s howling performance is made all the more eerie by his striking “hippie” garb. Adding to the instability of the preceding, Damon insisted that he and I play along to a pre-recorded computerized track. There weren’t enough channels for a click track, apparently, so I was forced to comp along to the barely audible bass part in my headphones. Damon and I don’t so much “play” the song as hunt desperately for our places in the arrangement. If anything, Martin saves the mess with his oddball intensity and frankly misguided commitment to the material.



These ads are unrecognizably archaic. As one insists, “before your daughter marries, it’s your solemn duty to instruct her on how important douching is to marriage happiness. But first, make sure your own knowledge is as up-to-date and scientific as it can be!” In another, “color authority Carol Neuschaefer” touts the latest “miracle ingredient” in this season’s line of beauty products. Another one shouts, “She’s Engaged! She’s Lovely! She uses PONDS!” Next to a photo of the product surrounded by engagement rings (”diamonds for some of America’s loveliest girls!”), reads a list of “beautiful women of Society who use Ponds”: Mrs. Henry L. Roosevelt, Jr, Mrs. Richard C. Du Pont, Mrs. Anthony J. Drexell III, The Lady Victoria Montagu-Douglas-Scott and Mrs. Francis Grover Cleveland.

I’m ashamed to confess how much I paid for this museum piece. I was badly gouged. But I dutifully paid up and brought it home, tore it apart and scanned the highlights. I now present the best parts to you, not just for entertainment, but for your education as well. You never know when certain peripheral factions in our society might take the main stage and try to turn America’s past into its future.



I found this album as I did most of my records — for a buck at a thrift store down in Phoenix somewhere. But I had not idea how dear it was until recently when one of my fellow deejays at LuxuriaMusic told me he’d give his life for it. Seems its lead off track, “Swinging London,” was included on the second volume of “The In-Kraut,” a popular series of groovy German pop obscurities from the sixties and seventies. Oddly enough, this album doesn’t appear to have found its way onto any of the share sites on my short list. Either nobody else has it, or the blogosphere has issued a collective thumbs down on this album. Either way, I quickly passed it along to my friend — and his life was spared. And since the links are still good, I figured I pass them along to everyone here.

This is a terrific two record set. I’ve played several tracks on my own LuxuriaMusic show. Hopefully, listeners will find it enjoyable enough to overlook the fact that the first track from side four is screwed up. Perhaps someone else will crawl out of the woodwork and present me with a better copy. I’d be much obliged.

Marina Records, the label that released the “In-Kraut” series has a perfectly concise back story for Hazy Osterwald. And since the last couple of weeks have been kind of hectic (not one but two air conditioner breakdowns, two vehicles in the shop, and a storm that blew 85-miles-per-hour winds through town, causing millions of dollars in damage and demolishing thousands of trees — including one of mine), you’ll have to forgive me if I lift a paragraph directly from the Marina site:

“…one of Switzerland’s most successful music exports, and surely one of Europe’s hardest working men in showbiz. Starting out with the Hazy Osterwald Sextet way back in 1949, he constantly toured the globe - often playing up to 300 dates a year. He appeared in movies, scored huge hits (“Kriminaltango”, 1959), ran his own record label (Mabel) and even owned a string of nightclubs (Hazyland). Though his first love was swing (writing arrangements for Teddy Stauffer as a teenager!), he always kept in with The In-Kraut. After a couple of line-up changes he even renamed his sextet to the more “now”-sounding Hazy Osterwald Jet Set - and cut such cool tunes as “Swinging London.” Osterwald’s fantastic band - honed to perfection by constant live engagements - delivers a true knock-out performance. The Jet Set included John Ward (drums), Curt Prina (organ), Bob Glower (saxophone), Peter Meller (guitar), Franco Bussmann (bass) and Hazy himself on trumpet.”



DOWNLOAD SIDES ONE AND TWO

DOWNLOAD SIDES THREE AND FOUR

I know a lot of readers out there, especially those of you starting a new school year, have already said your farewells to Summer 2008. But here in the desert, folks are just getting started. Alas, it won’t truly be safe to turn off the air conditioner until around the time we start to make the stuffing and put the Tofurky in the oven.

I’ve been shut indoors now for over a month, venturing outside only to forage for food and to keep my plants alive. But my wife and I did manage to get in a couple quick walks earlier this season. As you can see from the photo documentation I brought back, even the sky itself seems to be ablaze. As far north as Meteor Crater, about an hour east of Flagstaff, where we took refuge one weekend, the terrain is achingly bright. (By the way, this is not desert, it’s forest country denuded of trees by the force of meteor impact.)

The so-called “monsoon” season commences in July. The heat sucks enough moisture from the ground to creates a thunder cloud theater every afternoon. Sometimes, the clouds are even strong enough to jump Phoenix’s concrete island and actually rain in town. The storms come up quick and brief, but if they’re heavy enough they can cool things down for a day or two.

During one such cool-down, we grabbed our cameras and lit out to the Rio Salado Habitat Restoration Project. This piece of dry river bottom reclaimed by the city on the south edge of town is not only wild and beautiful, but it also reminds me of the kind of open spaces Phoenix used to have a lot more of. Now that such areas are afforded the same protection as an endangered species, the city can hopefully keep it safe from taggers and teenage partiers.

The low point in the summer came last week when our air conditioner gave up the ghost. After pounding away non-stop for months, the motor finally shook loose from its brackets. Hundreds of units go down in any given day here, so we had to wait almost a week before it was fixed. Such is the backlog for repairs in a city where over a million people rely on these piuny machines to shield them from the extreme elements. In the meantime, we spent a couple days at a resort about five miles away. It was easily Priceline-able, so cheap and so huge that I’m certain we weren’t the only guests exiled from their homes, waiting out the repairman.

I made the best of it, however, rising early enough to scout out the surrounding hills and check out the great view of the city. I got good and soaked, but managed to keep the sweat away from the camera. As much as I enjoy the shots, I think I prefer to shoot when white hot highlights and fierce lens flare are mere technical anomalies and not unavoidable features of the landscape.

Why do I continue to drag myself out in the open like this, week after week? For one thing, it helps to counter the toxic effects of a 40-hour week in the name of another man’s dime. It’s also a great way to add extra enjoyment to my collection. In addition to the thrill of the hunt, the capture and the inevitable cataloging (always with the cataloging), I can also revel in the pleasure of sharing all this ephemeral crap with my visitors.

I also love it when the wrong people visit this site by mistake, venting their disorientation and discomfort in the comments. I especially love it when they use terms like “elevator music” as if this was incisive criticism. After all, some folks still obsess over “authenticity,” preferring “immediacy” and “spontaneity” above all other concerns. Somehow, the soundtrack to a long-defunct Saturday morning kids show or a 30-year-old vanity pressing from an unknown lounge singer just doesn’t work for them

But for those of you who just want a little mundane background music for your misanthropic existence, a little something to listen to while you put your pants on one leg at a time (just like the next guy), I hope this podcast fits the bill.


“Happy To Make Your Acquaintance” - Sammy Davis Jr. & Carmen MacCrea
“African Queen” - Pizzicato Five
“Wet & Wild” - Vandals
“Kiss Kiss Bang Bang” - Jimmy Sedlar
“I’ll Always Be True To You” - Salt Water Taffy
“Watermelon Man” - Artie Scott Orchestra
“Proxamatics” - American Standards
“Bend A Little” - Magic Disco Machine
“Make Believe” - Easybeats
“That Same Old Feeling” - Symphonette Brass
“Sweet Caroline” - Donny Brooks


Click here to subscribe to “Your Favorite Little Podcast.”

Add “Your Favorite Little Podcast” to your iTunes library.

Nowadays, there’s a thriving industry devoted to archiving the best of twentieth century periodicals. If it’s not being sold on DVD, it’s been issued hardbound on acid-free paper. If nothing else, there’s always the share bloggers. But when I was a kid, you could only read ABOUT the great comics. You might be able to piece together Harvey Kurtzman’s non-MAD/Little Annie Fannie career from third-party sources, but you’d never actually get to see of it without doling out some seriously hefty coin.

Sure, Peanuts never went out of print, and back then Pogo trade paperbacks weren’t yet impossible to find. And the occasional fan publisher would bring out the odd EC reprint or coffee table book devoted to classic newspaper strips. But for me, the real gold came from second hand book stores (remember those?) or rummage sales. I remember when I was twelve years old, finding a coverless copy of Kurtzman’s “Trump” Number 2 from 1957, for probably no more than a dime (ten comics for a dollar, no doubt). The following year, when I became a Kurtzman fanatic, I was astounded to realize what I had. The same goes for the odd paperbacks I’d pick up during a dull summer vacation day, or inherit from older friends and family. Years later, I’d realize that the poorly printed black and white paperback of sci-fi comic stories was actually reprints from EC’s “Weird Science!”

The days when you could find these kinds of old mass market paperbacks by accident in the back of a thrift store are pretty much gone. Reading them is out of the question. These things are so old, it makes my hands dirty just to get near them. Some of ‘em are so brittle I can’t even open one without the spine shattering and the pages turning to powder right before my eyes. But I can scan the covers and share them with the rest of you. Meanwhile, I’ll be pre-ordering my hardbound reissue of Kurtzman’s “Humbug,” set for release this fall. And if someone doesn’t hurry up and release reprints of “Trump” and “Help!,” I may be tempted to share them myself.