jeff conlin - fall 2006 archives

(its got what it takes)
Shrink-wrapped the windows, caulked the cracks (snicker), put foam around doors... the house is still damn cold. Oh well, that's what hoodies and socks are for.

Had a minor communications overhaul here this week... now you can only reach me via "jeff" or "jc" (or for Moto's sake... "boots") at this address. All other names will bounce. The number of eastern Europeans emailing "asdf1234@jeffconlin.com" about my repeatedly disappointing my girlfriend with tiny manhood and/or the promise of major penny stock action got old.

In the name of simplicity, I also got a new phone (T-Mobile Dash) that handles all of my email accounts, IM, web, streaming media, and has a decent camera on it. Plus it has wi-fi. It doesn't sound like simplicity, but I've barely used my laptop in the last week.

Ignignokt says, "F U H2... I'm doing this as hard as I can"

New music on your right... for throwing toilet paper, stealing street signs, hanging out at Silver Diner, flirting with waitresses, flirting with eachother, driving a little too fast and thinking you're invincible. Early high school had some good years that tend to get forgotten. Just the right mix of faux-rebellion, angst-lite, irony, and sweet naivete. I think kids these days miss out on all of that.

Speaking of whippersnappers, what the hell happened to "modern rock"? A months-old copy of Spin in the shop's breakroom declared "Panic! At the Disco" to be "groundbreaking". They weren't even alive when Rites of Spring broke ground. Admitted, I was 9... but I make no such claims.

You want groundbreaking? How about :

The Monks - Monk Chant, 1966. says Colin : "nineteen fucking sixty six man, come on. that bass tone makes my eyes bleed. anyone have any more questions about the origins of punk rock?"

Can - Mushroom Head, 1971 : blown-out, driving breakbeats before most actual breakbeat sources were even originally pressed. atmospheric guitars and effects, lack of verse/chorus reliance... and a creepy accompanying film that makes Anton Corbijn's work with Depeche Mode seem predictable.

Inspiration. Had another great Egg Babies show this past weekend. If you're unfamiliar, its an ever growing band made of members of other Baltimore indierock/pop bands doing covers of great songs of the last 30 years. The mix of irony and actual musical greatness make your head esplode. Each show has a sort of major triumphant moment for me. Back in October, I had a vocoder solo in the middle of ELO's "Mister Blue Sky". A vocoder solo. When I was 8 and watched BBC's "RockSchool" on Channel 22... all I ever wanted in life was a vocoder solo. This past show, after dragging out the ending chord in The Bangles' "Manic Monday", I started the synth arpeggio for The Who's "Baba O'Reilly". Looking out at the crowd in that 5 second transition from one absurd masterpiece to another even more absurd masterpiece was like standing next to God, and looking down at Tennessee on a Sunday

Rollin' in my fo' wit sixteen switches...

(hi there)
Well well... here we are in the Holiday Season, whether you were ready for it or not. I'm not. Largely because I'm super-poor. And yet I ate a fantastic filet and 2 glasses of merlot last night. Some corners can't be cut, especially when you're out with old friends, which seems to be the new (very much welcome) trend. There's something strange about the people I grew up with; we just didn't change that much. Friends I had in kindergarten are still pretty much the same people, and even when we get together without seeing eachother for over 10 years, we pick up where it all left off.

Sara and I have been talking a lot about the differences between types of friends, and in her case, when you're surrounded by law-school people (undeniably the most miserable on earth), there's no real hope of having someone you can trust and share vulnerability with immediately close by. However, the more distant friendships reveal their true value in those times, ...and that will be another pull quote from the cheesy self help book I should write that will get me on Oprah and propel me to faux-psychological-academic-superstardom. (without getting too sappy, my personal thanks are due to everyone who has stayed close and just put up with me over the last few years. they've been filled with plenty of crap, yes, but its a new era and I hope to make up for any unnecessary amounts of sullen-ness that occured there)

In other news, I decided I'd put my edit of the old Mike Roy "Songs From the Valley" CD release show at the Patterson up on YouTube. The project was shelved (much to my dismay) two years ago, but many people in Baltimore still talk about it, and ask about that show in particular. So here it is, in its entirety. I also just realized that the old hosting company never turned off that server, so the archive of Mike Roy live shows still exists here.

I've also added new music to your right (the one-year anniversary of my online mixtapes is fast approaching... does anyone even listen to them?). I give you a multimedia cornucopia this Thanksgiving weekend, because I care.

( )
Yesterday marks two years since Mom's passing. In some ways, it seems all too recent, in others a lifetime ago. It set in motion a chain of events among both family and friends that none of us would have ever imagined, and I don't think any of us are really used to quite yet. Over the last few years, we've had a complete family overhaul of sorts. My maternal side of the family no longer exists whatsoever, and we're just getting to know people on the paternal side, not to mention whatever connection will be established with Dad's wife's family.

But I am not feeling the need to be too sentimental or introspective right now. Actually, I just rememebered a great moment with my late grandmother (Muv) while looking at the label of a vermouth bottle. We were on a TWA flight to St. Louis to bury my grandfather (Fado). As we reached cruising altitude, the stewardess asked my grandmother if she'd like a drink.

Now, my grandmother was a woman of elegance who, while raised in a strict midwestern home, tagged along as a little girl with her flapper cousins whenever she could. She came of age in the 30s, and was a mother and housewife through the 40s and 50s. While it was a tough lower-middle-class existence, they did everything they could to disguise it as a Norman Rockwell painting. Even in the early 80s, when we'd go on a Sunday drive, she'd wear a pillbox hat and white gloves.)

So there we were... on a bankrupt airline in early 2000... in coach... enroute to a city she hadn't seen in over 40 years, with massive uncertainty before her, yet that solid, unwavering elegant dignity she carried with her everywhere...

"I'll have a Manhattan."

"Umm... we have... Diet Coke?"

... two years later, we were back in St. Louis, burying her. At her burial (also in Jefferson Barracks - they're one of the few WWII-era couples to be buried alongside eachother at a military cemetery due to both being veterans) I took one of the most hauntingly absurd photographs I've ever taken. Following her service, we walked by the gravesite and found a bucket loader dumping a final layer of dirt on her casket. Obviously, it has to happen somehow, and its a job for some people. But there is a genuine disonance seeing something like this following the dignity of a military funeral. The look in Mom's eyes says it all.

Then again... this is an image I'll always have in the back of my mind. (the white powder on my hands is... Mom)

Point is... life's short. Sad but true. Make the most of it, and honor those who help you in the process. The lasting memories I carry of my relatives gone before me involve not boring day to day details, but stories of genuine adventure, revelry, and a good strong laugh... not to mention the occasional Manhattan. (though truth be told, Muv's guilty pleasure was actually pizza and a pitcher of Budweiser - brewed in St. Louis, of course.)

(every vote counts, unless it doesn't)
I never heard back from the Board of Elections after both a phone call and an email last month trying to straighten out where I'm registered. Went to the Curtis Bay polling place this morning, and was told I wasn't on the list, but "needed to" fill out a provisional (useless) ballot. No one left without submitting one of those. Not wanting to, I left.

After work, I went to good old Prince George's County... Reig Special School to be precise. The line went out the door. I've voted at Reig for the last 10 years and have never seen anything like it. One hilarious elderly marshall screamed in disbelief (on the half-hour), "We're so sorry... please be patient... we've never seen anything like this!". What amazed me is that everyone was quiet, orderly, almost happy. It was a 1h 30m wait to vote... not one person walked away from the door or grumbled. It was a surprisingly upbeat group. Neighbors saying hello, people cracking jokes about the machines and the race... but everyone held out. Maryland was at a real turning point, and its clear it was important to people (finally!).

One thing that caught my eye were the various "voting guides" the parties had on hand outside the polling places. Designed to look as official documents issued by the board of elections, they essentially gave instructions on who and what to vote for. The Dems' said, "Democratic Election Guide"... which doesn't quite indicate that it is the Democrat Party's guide... because technically, we're all participating in a democratic election. But the Republicans won the last-ditch balls-out misleading move of the day by putting, "Steele Erlich Democrats" (PDF front, back) in large, bold letters on the cover of their voting guide, then scrambling to explain that they were "clearly just reaching out to their Democrat friends with that brochure."

I won't really pretend to have profound insight on the national legislative shift (I personally think its more good than bad), but I'm sure we'll hear more than we care to about it in the next week. My biggest fear is that the highest levels of the Democratic establishment will view this as a self-congratulatory "they really like us," when I think its actually more, "most dislike the current state of the Republican party." Unfortunately, I can't stand the state of the Democratic party either (Pelosi as speaker?), and this rapid a swing back their way will undoubtedly result in solidification of major party operatives. I think America has clearly spoken tonight, but what its said will be spun so hard and fast that no one will remember in a month. Not unlike 1994.

"The people have spoken, and apparently they're tired of freedom." -Stephen Colbert

(abesnce heard, presence felt)

(Morgantown, WV by moonlight at 350mph - 6s hand exposure)

East by Northwest, I'm back home after a fantastic recharging weekend in Minneapolis. The schedule was tight Friday and I had skipped both lunch and dinner to make it out there. Within 5 minutes of walking through the door, there was a plate of homemade bourbon ribs in front of me (and people wonder why we stick with hassles and complexities of a long-distance relationship...)

Learning from past mistakes, Sara and I didn't really have anything planned out for the weekend save for a trip to see Body Worlds at the Science Museum of Minnesota. (I didn't know what to think of it going in, and... I still don't. But go see it if you can. Just for the love of humanity don't take two year olds and/or your cellphone into the exhibit).

Later that night, we caught up with my cousin Matt and his fiancee Sherill, as well as Sara's friends Stacy and Dan at Psycho Suzi's, a tacky punk rock tiki bar in an old A&W building. The menu rates their drinks with three cartoon tiki men. The weakest features Tiki Man smiling. The medium strength features Tiki Man a little sideways, somewhat disoriented. The last shows Tiki Man waving his pants over his head and howling. I had two of these. Actually, far more. After a single-serving One-Eyed Willie, I ordered a Volcano Eruption meant to be shared by Sara, myself, Stacy and Dan. Nope. I was left flying solo, not that I minded. Matt and Sherill felt a sense of duty/pity once I was about halfway through the 50 oz flaming monstrosity to help out (and prevent my death). Much to my dismay, I don't remember the rest of the night. From what I hear of it, I wish I did. Sorry, baby!

The rest of the weekend was doing what we do best : checking out great little restaurants and shops, walking/driving around the lakes, or just staying in and being lazy. We both needed a lot of that. Sara's in the middle of some shit right now that makes the previous law school drama look like an afterschool special.

I always tend to think deep on flights. Heading home, I focused on importance of streamlining and simplifying. Get rid of what I don't need, sell what I can, basically get both my environment and finances in the most sparse but comfortably functional position however possible. This summer may very well be time to pack up and walk away from the house, and if that's the case, I want it to be as easy as possible to do so (especially after watching Dad deal with 1518, as well as a few other good friends who have had big moves this year)

Of course, if I found a really good job locally, the long term plan would be an outright levelling of Little Yellow, regrading the lot, pouring a basement, and putting a Rocio Romero LV Home in its place. Though, I guess my $120k or so in construction costs would go a lot farther on a better piece of land than this south Baltimore white trash wonderland. Last month, I found a beautiful cliffside lot buried deep in the woods along Gwynn's Falls for only about $75k - and the thought of owning a legendary architect's custom modular perched above a scenic stream for only $200k makes me sick, especially since it'd probably go to $360k market AT the time of building, and God knows what in a few years.

What the heck am I doing with my life??

One step at a time...and right now, I think I need to pay attention to some angsty kittens.

Voting tomorrow. At least I hope I am. By the look of MD's primaries, electronic democracy may die an early (though welcome) death tomorrow. Not that the process wasn't already bureaucratic enough... I never got an answer back from the board of elections after both an email and phone call a month ago regarding where the hell I'm voting this year. The two most important races (MD's US Senator and governor) feature boring, predictable, party-line kinds of guys running vicious campaigns that never really get into actual issues. The third-party candidate (endorsed oddly enough by Libertarians and Greens alike) has some very strong ideas when it comes to changing the system, but the inevitable Nader effect isn't looking too good. I think I have the lesser of evils figured out, but I really hate going ~~into the booth~~ in front of the touchscreen monitor and still not being confident. "I'm the decider."

(i didn't come here to have fun)
Quick catch-up. My great periods of melodrama seem to be behind me, but I can't deny that inherent Irish Zen when everything around you leads up to that one defining moment you were led to by some sort of abstract passion that may or may not even be real to begin with. That brooding, introspective, dark, yet completely balls-out place that I hate to say I love being in. Luckily, my brother stepped in to carry the torch. A combination of literally running into a burning house, then physically putting his heart on the table 12 hours later. The older we get, the more we realize we're made of the same stuff. A very strange mix from both parents' families, and in different concentrations... but just slightly.

Godspeed to Matt who has officially moved out of his cozy duplex in Hatboro, PA for Suzhou, China. I was able to get up there last weekend and help him clean out the liquor cabinet (true friends go to great lengths).

My good friend and longtime musical conspirator Mike Roy is alive and well, almost a double-daddy and is playing in a new duet down in Raleigh. They were in-studio on WKNC the other day, and you can listen to that fine segment here (35min, ~29MB).

In other music news, I'm going to Memphis... for the third time... for the International Blues Competition. This time, I'm backing up Clarence Turner (one of the first people I played blues with 10 years ago, when I threw my Hammond and Leslie in the back of the Volvo and drove out to Food for Thought in DC for a Sunday jam at the tender age of 18). Clarence has been in the running for a long time, and I'm really happy to see him finally getting his due.

I saw a side of me tonight that really surprised me. Our time came up way faster than we hoped, our drummer and bass player were 30 miles out in different directions. We were unprepared in a lot of ways, and it looked like we were headed for a grade-a train wreck. My high school reunion was going on, and I was giving that up entirely for this show. When I came into the club, I ignored almost everyone who came up to me and made a beeline for Clarence. He shrugged and said "We'll just do our best and have fun." I replied with something to the effect of, "Fuck that. I'm not here to have fun. I'm here to win. Otherwise, let's just call it quits and I'll go have fun somewhere else." I guess there is a competitive edge in there somewhere.

Everything came together at the last second and it was probably the best set of live blues I've ever played. After the results were announced and our encore set was over (around 1am), I headed out to Bethesda and was able to catch up with a few old good friends who were at a bar next to the hotel the reunion was in. From what I heard... the $85 I saved was worth it.

And all the while, I looked damn good. I should have a few pix from the blues competition up shortly.

Selling the V-Strom this week... Dad & Ann's reception is next weekend and my cousin and his fiancee are going to be in town... then heading out to Minneapolis the week after next. At some point in there, I may sleep. Or not. I need to get the mountain bike out more. Or just sleep. In my hammock. Mmm, hammock.

(of pig and chrome)
Had the day off. Tinkered with the Stella for a bit this morning (no spark - and still no spark). Decided it was too nice a day to keep doing that, so I jumped in the car and headed north for PA. Trying to avoid I-83, I headed north on York Rd, but was getting hungry (and remembered I needed an oil change - too nice a day to do that myself). Perfection achieved as I found a Midas next to a barbecue joint.

THE barbecue joint. Andy Nelson's Southern Barbecue (the safety for your Baltimore Colts in the early '60s) is the real thing, and that's something I'd never just casually say.

Literally a roadside shack like it should be. Shallow order area where you can look right back into the kitchen, then some seating scattered through a few small rooms. The place was full of Hunt Valley middle managers in blue power-shirts, twiddling away on their Treos... but their mouths and fingers (and a few Treos) were stained with orange-brown goodness. I never thought I'd see the day.

Andy was from Alabama, went to Memphis State on a football scholarship, then got picked up by the Colts. His dad was a barbecue man, and when his football career ended, he decided to stay in Maryland and carry on the family tradition. The sauce recipe was actually a gift to him from his father on his wedding day.

They have a little bit of everything (including Baltimore pit beef), and do it right with a real fire and real hickory. For $7.95 I had a pork sandwich, greens, potato wedges (shoulda got cornbread), and sweet tea. Everything was perfect... which blew my mind considering the location and clientele.

On my way out, the older woman behind the counter (Andy Sr's wife) said she hadn't seen me before and asked if everything was ok. I told her I have spent a lot of time in Memphis, and couldn't believe how perfect everything was. Andy Jr. smiled and shook my hand, "that's what we like to hear. Come on back." Ok.

So I continued north into Hershey for the Antique Auto Club of America's massive festival going on this week, thanks to a tip from Omar yesterday just before leaving work. I spent 6 hours there and only saw about 1/4 of what was going on. Auctions, flea markets, and that general good-spirited mingling that car events tend to bring about. Very cool finds, but nothing came home with me. I was about to trade the Subaru for a '79 Mercedes diesel wagon, but couldn't find the owner. Such is life. No euro-vegetable oil wagons for me just yet...

Did get some great pictures, though.

On the way home, I saw the exit for Yocumtown, PA and thought of beer mecca (and once frequent blues venue) Kclinger's Public House. Fresh Troeg's or a slice of Guinness Pie would have capped the day off perfectly, but no dice. Looks like they're out of business? Damn.

Came home to a full litterbox, backed up main drain line (essentially the same thing, oddly enough), vacuuming, laundry, realizing that I had no more paychecks before the next mortgage payment (mistakenly thought I had an extra this month), and a few other mid-level stresses.

Troeg's it ain't, but Sam Adams Oktoberfest is in the fridge.