New Milford Makes a Statement: Farming Is Staying

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/24/nyregion/nyregionspecial2/24farmct.html?ex=1377230400&en=cf64980dda7f77be&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalinkIt's nice to see people sticking to their guns and thinking out side of the big box.

ramblin

Here’s the cover of BYOFL 97 that we did with Maximum Rock N Roll which is now an awesome website www.byofl.org. anyway.. here’s a rambling piece.

It’s been a while since I wrote anything even remotely related to the Model Citizen columns in Under the Volcano. One of the things I noticed after the fact was how much of an expert editor ol’ Black was, and a lot of my “good” writing was the end result of that editing and not necessarily what I was writing. The above thought has been a state of mind that has been crippling in a lot of ways. Since the zine isn’t in print anymore, Rich isn’t editing “my work” anymore, and I’m faced with the fact that I feel my work is shit.

So then I don’t write, I go into long periods of stagnation. No writing, no music, no art. When I’d try to break out of this funk my brain would beat me up, write a line.. delete.. write a paragraph…delete. Over and over and over.. nothing produced. I often get asked why I never pursued writing as a full time gig or more seriously since I possess a wealth of knowledge in regards to music, art and “culture” and I really have no answer. In order for me to write I have to have certain conditions and constellations in alignment and often times all the “things” I need don’t occur. Some people can relate to what I’m saying, most don’t.

Other times people would ask me, please stop writing. One of the arguments I received back in the day on my “work” series of pieces was that they were exhausting, redundant, and hopeless. Which is funny because I would run into “fans” while I was merchandising washing machines at 4:30 in the morning and they would love that shit because they realized the piece was about them. The people that get lost in the rank and file. Clocked in and breaking their backs for some crumbs. I found their opinions more sincere and valid the those who wanted to hear the scoop on the latest hoopla stirred by this weeks scenesters.

I did meet the anti MC people halfway. I said this a million times and here is a million and one. I stopped writing reviews because I felt that since I was trying to sculpt my own noise projects, my opinion of someone else’s stuff was irrelevant. There are a lot of bad poetic phrases and clichés I would never use in my own work. There are a lot of images and parameters that I wouldn’t use as founding stones or formulas to adhere to. One would argue that this is why all of my endeavors have been monetary flops. BUT I’d rather have a monetary flop then pen some ditty that ends up being covered by the KIDS BOP all stars.

So I stopped reviewing music to avoid any conflicts of interest and I thought this would be appreciated. All of my loyal musician “friends” stopped calling me because I was a dead end in the promotion spectrum. Which is okay. The people who never asked me for anything in this “business” are still my friends. The leeches and misers come around from time to time, throw out some lip service and usually try to pick my brain as to who should they try to utilize to hawk their goods. I have to tell them the truth, I don’t know anyone anymore.

Who’s a good opening act with a following? I just repeat what everyone else is saying.. uhh.. Vampire Weekend are pretty nifty, there’s also this group called Voxtrot who remind me of Housemartins meet The Smiths. I don’t know if that last comparison was written some where but that’s my take on the track that I heard.

Then I realize they're looking for a Pantera esque meets Fight opener for the HC kid who's first entree to "hardcore" was some bastard spawn of a bastardized hellspawn of hardcore punk rock and not the actual thing. You know the type of act that isn't embarrassed by the poster merch, the over priced tshirt merch and a group with the aspirations of playing some sneaker sponsored tour outside the Mall or Amerikkka.. and this is something I just can't relate to, can't stomach and I'm sure I sound like a crotchety shit bag, I can NOT tolerate. If you want to a rock superstar cool, be it. Don't disguise your intentions with glitzy videos cut with rapid image riot footage and civil disobedience icons... cuz that's not you and you're not fighting that fight. You're essentially the bread and butter for the smart bomb tech share holders.

So where am I at? The essence of Model Citizen is the angry, disgruntled shit worker rants. At least that’s what I imagine them to be. I’m always pissed off about something. Though there has been a big different in the past three years of writing is welp… I have accepted that I have a pretty good life.

I have the greatest girl in my life. There’s a picture of us if you scroll down. We have an awesome rabbit, who is slowly building trust in us. The hardest thing about writing is, it doesn’t always have to be about venom. The engine isn’t solely running on hate. There is a lot of love. There’s a lot of positivity. There are a lot of moments where I realize I have a great girl by my side, she’s with me through the thick and thin. I’m a lucky man.

I’m sorry if this is running all over the place but like I said earlier.. I haven’t written in a long time and I’m just letting this roll.

Small space composting

The SubUrban renter's dilemma – small space composting.. We drink a lot of coffee, read a lot of papers and get a load of junk mail. I was trying to figure out how to get some composting BANG out of the aforementioned materials. I was thumbing through this book the other day entitled The Complete Compost Gardening Guide by Barbara Pleasant, Deborah L. Martin.
I actually was very inspired. In it they had a solution to my problem, and it was simple. Take a garbage can, put some holes in it and then voila. You have a composting can that you rotate and mix around without having to shell out the big bucks.
I found two nifty videos that will help you visualize better as to what the hell I’m talking about.

http://link.brightcove.com/services/link/bcpid271521142/bctid1409430679


http://link.brightcove.com/services/link/bcpid271521142/bctid893738512

wholly cats

It's the original Model Citizen logo!!! - This is what ran with my column in Under The Volcano fanzine. Nothing screams unique voice of reason than some corel draw (if I remember correctly it was cd 3) clip art and stock house "ska" font. Very high tech for poor punk rockers in the early 90s.

My MiSo

There are these moments that I am glad to be attentive enough to experience. Awake, in the moment to recognize the substance from the trite, meager and irrelevant. That stuff comes and goes, passes by and is gone..

Then there it is, that special thing. The feelings of Elation, joy a visual representation of the spirit that provokes it, radiates it.. it is of someone who I refer to as my better half, my soul mate. The one who I will spend the rest of my life with, the one I will have a child with. The co-author of that work in progress entitled “the future.”

She brings me joy, I think to myself. I smile..look in the mirror to witness the visual. It comes when my panic turns to calm, holding her in my arms, chasing our fuzzy bundle of joy around the kitchen.

I got up at 4am this morning, turned to my side.

felt her warmth, listened to her breathing.

Thought to myself, I am very very lucky.

Went back to sleep, pleasantly dreaming ‘bout our future.

Nebraska has a clue, how 'bout you?

So many people get outside of their hipper than shit metro area and make the assumption that nothing progressive is going down.If you thought all the anti sodomite banners, tires hanging on trees along I-80 is what Nebraska is all about. Mmm.. perhaps think again. READ THIS.
The link is to NY TIMES article, which always starts with a dumb ad first.

A NEW BEAT

Melissa bought me a nifty set of cocktail drums for my birthday.
Playing, performing and composing music has been an interesting journey. Considering I really wanted to quit taking lessons at school my third year in.
--here's bit and pieces of the story--
The first year I was learning drums from someone who wasn't a drummer in this echoey closet at the back of the Eagle Elementary cafe-torium. I held sticks in a matched grip with my thumbs up, which should've been caught and corrected (due to the fact that you can develop tendinitis had it not been). So we'd alternate in this room from snare to practice pad. bang, bang, bang. You'd leave the room with your ears ringing. Which starts the beginning of my hearing damage.
The second year we had a cooler teacher. They stuck him in a different closet next to the janitor's office. He left his window open all the time and so he could get his smokes in without having to smoke wherever the teachers smoked during those days. real cool, real mellow teacher. I ran into him some time in the late 90s and thanked him. He was also happy to see I was still playing.
Third year. UGH... i was being taught by a music phd who wanted to be referred to as Doctor. Even worse than the actual Dr. were the other drum students. It was no longer the same three kids, but three more and they were...em... jerk offs. They had egos and perceived themselves as being older and more talented "percussionists" with influences as boring as whatever ranting and raving drumming moron that was in print at that time.
"I'm really into Rush, yawn, yawn. ", says blowhard 1.
"I've been playing the shit out of Suicidal Tendencies, Crucifucks and Run Dmc"
"Run Dmc, those black guys, that's not music!", says Blowhard 2 (Remember: This is 85 or 1986)
Blowhard 1 "what was the other at band?"
I ask "Crucifucks or Suicidal Tendencies?" .
"Dr Douchie, Greg said the F-word."

tangent: Blowhard 1 was a "talented musician" fat fuck. Story is he'd get upset with his brother and steal his knobs from his stereo to spite him. People stroke his ego at how good of a percussionist he is. Years later he becomes a teacher in Texas and can't hack. The fanfare is removed and he's a whack hack. Academics.. you have to love them.

Dr. Douchie gives the older kids the priority, my cohorts get stuck playing all the percussion toys. Which sparked my interest in creating disharmonic tones, improvisation and some chaos. One of the best moments of 86 was randomly kicking over a ride cymbal in the midst of a concert performance. smashingly brilliant. BH 1&2 faces' turned red with embarrassment. Mission accomplished.

YEAR 4 - had to of been tough on the ol' Doc. The untalented toy players now have to carry the "band" and welp.. we couldn't give two shits about doing so. Having been painted as dimwits, we thought well.. might as well make people miserable and enjoy it. Sight read? What do you mean Doc? I'll just rattle these things here and there and hopefully it makes sense. The highlight of the year was meeting up with the other elementary kids and finding equally jaded souls bashing drums and bending ago go bells for no good reason. These are the people who were going to get me through middle school. I think the ol Doc retired from elementary school music instruction and took on a more sophisticated job doing a 1800s reenactment band for more high brow music connoisseurs.

YEARS 5,6,7 (grades 7-9).
The instructor was a complete douche face wolfman jack looking guy who'd throw fits, toss chairs, music stands and have temper tantrums all the time. The drum line (yuk yuk yuk) also received instructions from a semi uptight asshole and whatever bendover boy aspiring professional percussionist he'd had taken under his wing.
One of the funniest lines I received from a bb who quit second instruction in was "oh.. you like black flag, you should check out Missing Persons. They're my favorite band." I had to explain to him I was given a writing punishment for humming Mental Hopscotch in third grade. He said in a real serious "Mental Hopscotch..great..great song." Out of his fucking mind.
Blowhards 1 & 2 had whole new entourage of equally boring and "talented' sidekicks to discuss Rush, Journey, and all the other exciting music that 15 year old percussionists listen to. I found some new cohorts who were into metal. Punk and hardcore was still to foreign since..welp.. since MTV didn't play it and Record Town/Tape World didn't end cap it.
So I went through the motions played rip off jazz, since we never would play license fees. bad latin-y turned marching band shit. did my time. played awful music. stopped following the confines of "traditional" music further and further. Got a hold of a mix tape from some friends that had Einsturzende Neubauten, Birthday Party, Lydia Lunch,Premature Ejaculation on it. I got further away from what other kids were into at the time like: NKOTB.
Ninth grade hit. my last year as a "band musician". hearing still getting hammered every other day. even in the acoustically designed band room.
--more poorly written composition later--