November

And this concludes November, which has ended just as depressingly as it began. I think I need meds or some shit. Emergency Music at the pill tonight, which should be fun, but damn, I'm just not feeling much of anything right now.

DJing at Redline tonight, and the Weekend Ahead

I’ve been hibernating all week in a haze of pot smoke and stale buffalo sauce, so it’s high time to break out of the Joker’s Palace at le Barrows and do something/anything/everything. Just in time, too, as there’s much shit going on in the week ahead.

Tonight:
Kane of the Lie Society and I will be hitting the deks last minute at Redline in Harvard Square. Chill vibe, no cover and laid back while I bust out the electro jams and Kane reps the indie. If undesirables roll up, I have a full disc of lost French synthwave songs from 1979, courtesy of the BIPPP comp coming out in February.

Friday:
Our brothers in arms Emergency Music hits the pill for Night 1 of their CD release party. These are always a blast, and you can score a free copy of E-Mu’s new album, the wonderfully-titled “You’ll Be The Death Of Us All, Honey.”


Saturday:
Two options, of which I’m undecided: There are the Boston Music Awards at the dreadful Orpheum Theatre, where Extreme, Bobby Brown and Township will all share the stage. And across the river is the December Sound’s CD release party at T.T. the Bear’s. (Speaking of T.T.’s, Buffalo Tom is playing one of the many “Benefits for Jeanne” on Dec. 29, to help cancer-stricken bartender Jeanne Sheehy fend off a mountain of medical bills.)

Sunday:
Fenway Recordings does it again, in bringing you a dope band you’ll love three months from now. This Sunday, it’s the UK’s Los Campesinos, creators of my new profile song. Good enough to replace Cascada, good enough to catch on a lazy Sunday night.

Monday:
Church, the new joint in the Linwood space, has the best show so far of its young existence, with the pill’s new friends the Wonderful Spells and MMOSS, a Granite State band of hippies with flutes and shit proving more than just Ben Protokoll’s new band.

And later next week, the Chinese Stars play a free show at the Milky Way, the Uni Watch Conference hits Boston Beer Works and NYC's Jupiter One takeover the pill. Good times!

Killer cell phones

As loosely prophesized in Terminator, the machines have begun to kill us. In South Korea, an exploding cell phone has taken hold of its first victim. And it’s not Paris Hilton. Let's just hope this isn't some Order 66 kinda thing.

Bindi Irwin raps about pandas

Truly, there are no words to describe watching Croc Hunter daughter Bindi Irwin rap about pandas and other furry creatures. This might be the single most horrific thing on the internet, and the single most laughable rap performance since Brian Austin Green dropped "One Stop Carnival" on an unsuspecting public in the early '90s.

Yes, I know she's like 10 years old. Yes, I know she's not even a real human. Yes, I know her “True Hollywood Story: Hobbit Edition” in 2011 will be must-see TV.

But if we can make rehab jokes about the luscious Dakota Fanning, then we can admit that Bindi's mom needs to go for a swim in shallow waters off Queensland. Where the fuck is a stingray barb when you really need one.

Hollywood takes Allston, Extreme back together, the Joker

So this morning Harvard Avenue in Allston came to a celeb-standstill as the Hollywood Invasion 2.0 continues to reinforce Boston stereotypes to the rest of the world ("The Depahted was a wikkd pissah bra!"). This time, scenes were being shot at the Grecian Yearning Diner - perhaps the only storefront on Harv-Ave I've never even looked in - for some new flick called "The Lonely Maiden," starring Morgan Freeman and Christopher Walken. Yesterday in Southie, Ethan Hawke, Mark Ruffalo, A****a Peet and Donnie Wahlberg were milling about filming "Real Men Cry." Jason Corey needs to move back here stat.

But more importantly on the Boston news front, Extreme has reformed, and will play the Boston Music Awards this Saturday. Peep my chat with Nuno Bettancourt. First I interviewed Kip Winger a few months ago, now Nuno Bettancourt. It's like I'm seeking out all the bro-dudes my middle school girlfriends were thinking of while making out with me before Mr. Athanasian's math class in Brentwood USA.

And lastly, check the cover of Empire Magazine, pimpin out Heath Ledger as the Joker in the new Batman movie. "Batman Begins" was phe-fucking-nominal, an opinion I maintained long after the vicodin wore off from my first screening of it on Long Island with the 'rents. So I'm pretty excited for this next go-round with the Caped Crusader.

Quiet Riot singer dead at 52

On a day I interviewed Nuno Bettancourt of Extreme, news breaks that Kevin DuBrow died. My glam rock metal past (when I was 11, of course) can never be denied.

Sad news about DuBrow, though. While I can't stomache hearing "Cum on Feel the Noise" ever again, there's no debating it was a massive hit in the '80s and helped, for better or worse, usher in glam metal to MTV audiences.

Nothing doing this Thanksgiving (and notes)

Ok, the Thanksgiving extended weekend is almost over and I couldn’t be happier. It’s been a strange past few days, experiencing the holiday by myself for the first time in 28 years of existence, and generally just reflecting on how great life was this time last year. I knew the Thanksgiving-Christmas season was going to fuck with me all sorts of ways, and if nothing I’m just glad Part I is over.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that people who shop at Petco alone on a rainy Tuesday night are the loneliest people on the planet. Random strangers, shopping for small furry creatures who love them more than any human ever has, trying to find a modicum of happiness in a relationship with four-legged animals. It didn’t exactly uplift my spirits, but it reinforced that I’m not the only one by myself these days.

So with that, I admit my Thanksgiving was pretty unremarkable, and possibly downright miserable. I enjoyed the rest, enjoyed the freedom, and Lola and I enjoyed some turkey (that took way too long to cook) but missed the entropic fun of the traditional family get-together. I’m heading to the Sunshine State for Christmas (and my birthday), so I reserve the right to change my opinion on Thanksgiving once the four-year-old mid-state town of Trinity has its way with me. But even then, there will be something of an escape to rest upon.

Other random shit:

My hockey jersey collection is 50+ strong, but nothing beats a game worn jersey, especially if it’s a game-worn from a dead Dallas Star who hanged himself amid rumors he thought he contracted HIV. (And in honor of my former copy editor Peg Finucane, RIP see below, I remind folks that pictures are hung, and people are hanged)

And somewhat related, a great find by Phil coming across a complete rundown of NHL players to die young.

A woman in Idaho was struck by lightning and instantly turned into Max Headroom.

I loathe few things as much as the Toronto Blue Jays’ black abortion jerseys, so if this alternate throwback design is coming in 2008, I’ll be wikkid psyched and my summers will once again be all rainbows and puppies. Reminds me of the Crime Dog.

Reports on largest bug ever. Alert the "Cloverfield" nerds.

Season ticket holders for the Edmonton Oilers donated their tickets to a weekend tilt to Canadian soldiers, and it looks like most took part.

iPod Touch has many "Boyfriends"

So the new iPod commercial is making several musicians people famous, according to yours truly in today's Herald.

Though the ad features CSS’s "Music is my Hot Hot Sex," people are hearing the first lyric "Music is my boyfriend," and searching for those words on Google. This misguided hunt leads them to songs of the same title by indie folk band the Hidden Cameras and some shit-tastic metal-core chick named Skye Sweetnam, who now boasts 70,000-plus listens to her song of that title on her MySpace.

Ironically, both bands are from Canada, where that pesky music is stealing mad bitches by the second, and surely Younge Street is littered by recently-single waif-like boys crying into their argyle scarves.

Nevertheless, this might be the first time an iPod ad made three bands famous while only playing one song. The Fratellis and Jet got undivided attention, but Cansei de Ser Sexy must share this Apple pie.

Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving.

RIP Peg Finucane

RIP to Peg Finucane, a former Newsday editor and one of my professors at Hofstra University, who passed away this week. She taught me copy editing (stop snickering), and was truly a class act. Seven years later, and I'd give anything to go back to my senior year at Hofstra.

The Internet is now complete

Just when you think the Internet has reached its apex, along comes a YouTube video of two chickens breaking up a fight between two rabbits. Amazing, and much more uplifting than singing murder reports in Morrissey's voice.