Music Isn't Scary

When I was a kid I loved Alice Cooper. He also scared the hell out of me. I was pretty young to be listening to Alice, but there I was, five years old and loving it to death. During the daytime hours I was in awe of "Welcome to My Nightmare", Vincent Price was magnificent, but come dusk, that shit got scary.

Fast-forward to adulthood, yes adulthood.

I have come to the conclusion that music isn’t scary, bands aren’t scary, the mere fact that they are musicians excludes any such notion. We are talking about musical notes and the usually pretty fucking boring people who play them, not “oh my gawd their music is terrifying, have you heard about them, they display carcasses on the stage”. They didn’t kill those animals, someone else did. THEY, are musicians. No one can murder you when they are playing music, it's impossible. Just because musicians aren’t to be trusted doesn’t mean they are scary. From Narcocorridos to Gangsta Rap, to Bach’s Tocatta and Fugue in D minor, music isn’t scary.

Justin Bieber Thoughts.

I was a little too young to go ape shit over Bobby Sherman, but on the other hand I always felt too mature for the Defranco Family. The same sort of dichotomy was needed for the given choice between two rated G movies that my daughter wanted see, Gnomio and Juliet and Never Say Never, The Justin Bieber movie. I never get to see movies, I would probably go see Black Swan if it was up to me, but these were my options. Justin Beiber, as a person is intriguing, and Gnomio and Juliet has a gross version of Crocodile Rock by Nelly Furtado and the appalling Sir Elton, the choice was pretty easy for me. Sadly enough both movies are in 3D. Bummer.
I heavily steered Lucy’s hand by stating that I was going to see Never Say Never, and reminded her that I was her ride. She understood that and fell happily in line. After watching this movie I’m not going to say that I have Beiber fever, but I will say that Justin Bieber is easily better than Lenny Kravitz, and quite possibly better than Vampire Weekend. The movie is a straight up pop-oganda film, you almost get the feeling they are grooming Justin to be a Mayor or something, except for the fact that they didn’t get into his thinking and point of view, I figure he has some, but they just give you a couple facts about his upbringing and leave it at that. The kid does look pretty good in purple, but most importantly he is a drummer. His upbringing is that of a drummer, big points for that. I’ll give him quite a bit of leeway, like I do other drummer/singers like Phil Collins and Karen Carpenter. I give Phil some space, but he has committed treasonous acts upon my sensibilities with songs like It’s No Fun Being an Illegal Alien, and being in a band with a guy that was in Mike and The Mechanics, there are limits to my leeway, but still a little space. I am a song lover and there really is only one song of Justin’s that I like, “You Smile I Smile”. It has a super pretty sentiment, and dang pretty hook, that I’m sure is ripped off from somewhere else, I just can’t place it. That feeling of not being able to place a ripoffed melody is a pretty big compliment. So to recap, I liked the movie, the slo-mo hair flip ruled, and the crazy screaming and crying kids made me mist up. I didn’t like the stylist/best buddy guy at all, but I did really like the vocal coach. Usher ends up kind of looking like a hanger on who has invested some money into Bieber’s career. I didn’t learn much about Justin, but I now have one question for people who hate Justin Bieber: Why?

AllStars Donuts

Living and working in SOMA provides one with a myriad of options for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Personally, I’d love to eat at Basil Thai and Rocco’s everyday because the food is delicate and tasty in both spots, but I would be so broke that I couldn’t afford to live here. In this neighborhood, it’s always handy to have an inexpensive eatery to fall back on a couple times a week, and if your stomach can take it, Allstars Donuts is just the place.

Walking into Allstars is not unlike entering a dilapidated Chevron station in Indio California: it is hot, stinky, and surreal. I don’t scare easily and had been given an insider tip that the chicken teriyaki bowl isn’t a good choice, so I ordered the 1/3 lb. burger special for $2.99. A cheeseburger, fries, and Coke came to $5.25. The burger was pretty good and definitely worth the price. Make sure you don’t show up before 10:00 AM or after 10:00 PM because you will have missed the burger special, and you and your date will be sad.

The regular clientele that fill Allstars’ dining room mostly come from the St. Vincent de Paul’s homeless shelter down the street. There is always some extracurricular activity afoot in the ordering line. When a babbling and bleeding man who ran through the door needed to order immediately, I shared a commiserative wink with the employee behind the counter and let him step in front of me. After all, his needs were more pressing than mine. While I was there I also saw one patron pull a vodka bottle out of his boot and start chugging. The lady who works there politely asked him to please put the bottle away instead of kicking him out. I thought that was nice.

So, if you are looking for good company, a cheap meal, friendly service, and a barely clean enough spot to eat, run down to Allstars Donuts. Your pockets will be happy, unless they were just picked by the guy behind you in line.

Allstars Donuts is located at 399 5th Street. Open 24 hours a day. Cash only, no pets, no open vodka bottles.

The Wild Side West

My friend Damon and I were at a local SF bar the Wild Side West one eve circa 1997. Let it be known I have always loved the Wild Side West, and none of the following events are looked upon disparagingly, in fact, they encourage my admiration of this fine establishment. All of the names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Randy wasn't able to bring his dog into the Wild Side West, a sticky rule for a bar in a neighborhood nicknamed Dogtown, but because it was raining and Randy needed a drink, he leashed his dog Arfie outside in the rain.

Upon sussing the situation, and knowing Randy never went anywhere without Arfie, the co-owners had a small chat to themselves about the dog. One owner thought it was too cruel and thought it humane to let the dog in, the other thought the dog should stay outside, or more than likely just thought Randy should go. Randy bought Damon and I each a shot of tequilla. We liked Randy and I figure a dog can take a few raindrops. So as Brenda, co-owner #1 asked Randy to go ahead and bring Arfie in, Randy said aloud to the whole bar, "People you are my witnesses, I don't want to bring my dog in, but Brenda says I can, so I'm going to, Brenda, I won't get kicked out right"? Brenda stated that she would not kick Randy out for letting his dog in out of the rain. As soon as the dog was let into the bar, Shirl, co-owner #2 screams at Randy, "GET OUT! I told you not to bring that dog in here, now get OUT"! Randy acted as if he couldn't believe it and said "oh no, oh no". Randy then proceeded to step behind the bar and turn a large bottle of cheap red wine upside down into his lips and chugged a good 1/3 of the bottle before Brenda stepped up to take the bottle from him. Randy stiff armed her to the ground without missing a chug. Brenda walked with a limp, used a cane and did not have a graceful fall. Shirl ran out of the bar yelling for the police, a weird move for a bar owner, they generally don't like the fuzz hanging around asking questions. Damon and I really wanted to stick around, but we both had warrants out, Damon's warant was a bogus grand theft auto charge, and mine a trumped up petty larceny rap. I thought we should probably leave and as we put on our coats we noticed Arfie had found the giant bag of popcorn used to feed the hungry bar patrons during happy hour. Arfie had it good, and that made us happy as we got wet walking home.

Carl The Small-Time Hustler

My band, The Mensclub, was on tour in the Great Northwest in the late 90's trying to get noticed and not become roadkill on Grant's pass. It was in these green rolling hills that I found the true essence of the word HUSTLE. I had never really thought about hustling until I met a cat name Carl playing pickup basketball in the suburbs of Seattle. Carl was a nice enough guy, an above average basketball player, but noticeably sketchy due to his preachy-ness around the subject of sobriety. Well, feeling sort of sorry for him, (i.e. taking the bait) we invited him down to our show that night before parting ways.

Not thinking much more about it, we showered up at a friend's house and went down the Lake Union Pub for our "promotional" gig. We unloaded our gear and started to relax before our set, when in walks Carl. He was wearing a blazer, baseball hat and sneakers. I didn't know it, but that is the uniform of the hustler. His sneakers squeaked out the theme from "The Sting" as he walked.

It didn't take Carl long to get to his spiel, "Hey Tommy, I noticed you talkin' to that blonde over there. "Why yes Carl, that is my friend Susan, I replied. "Well, Tommy, I'll get straight to the point. I'm a small time-hustler" stated Carl with the confidence of a lion. I didn't reply and I didn't feel good about where this was going, but it didn't curb my curiosity, either. Carl added, "Yeah, I could hook up your friend with some guy, hey even you for a small fee".

I thought that was rather friendly of Carl, offering me the first shot at being my friend Susan's john. It was then that I learned Hustlers, whether small time or big time, can be classy that way. It is nice to know that even in the face of cold-ass, hard-scrabble lives, Hustler's sometimes take the time to look out for a brother. Carl, even though I had to strongly dissuade you from approaching Susan, most importantly because it was our fault you were even in the same room, I have forever respected Hustlers due to your gracious introduction.