Pillow Talk

Its too cold to do much of anything again today. So in trying to keep the Blogmentum going, I putzed around the house for a few minutes after breakfast (Breakfast was at 8am, for anyone thinking it was already past noon at this point!) taking pictures and debating what the weird noises coming from Jason's room were.  Still not sure.  The following image presented itself to me as I looked from the hallway into Matt's room:

I understand why Matt uses the Penus Pillow.  We've been conditioned to be content using the standard 20" x 26" pillow, so when a pillow presents itself in new and exotic size and form, we're intrigued.  This pillow is soft, it's full body huggable, ya know?  Though he refused to demonstrate his method for the purpose of this blog, he said he sleeps with the Overballs at his knees, hugging the shaft.  I'm sure it took some getting used to, but it seems physically comfortable and lends itself to a goodnights sleep.  It's not the first time something risque has appeared on the Overhouse radar.  Back in the Jimi Frey era, I came home one evening to find Jimi drilling holes in the ceiling of his room.  He had purchased a swing!  I had visions of the band in a big white picket swing in the front yard, with guitars and banjos and pots and pans.  But Jimi hadn't purchased that type of swing.  It was more of an adult swing.  It still functioned as a traditional swing, but had certain straps, bars and angles that allowed for grown up activity and passing judgement.  Oh Jimi.  I'm not sure if he, or anyone else for that matter, ever used it as it was meant to be used, but it was attached to the swing set in backyard for a period of time, gazed upon with curiosity by many churchgoers:

While we're on the subject, there was also an incident with a rubber-breast-replicate-ball-novelty-thing that was filled with goo; "Boob Goo."  Think of it as a breast implant for a Smurf.  One Saturday morning, after a trip to Malnar's, we starting playing catch with the Boob in the living room.  For whatever reason, it turned into a competition to see who could thrown it into the ground hard enough to make it explode!  Amazingly, that tough little boob must have lasted 40 or 50 full-blown whips into the hardwood floor, it was wearing us out.  Needless to say, the buildup to the explosion was intense, and when the rubber finally broke and the Boob Goo exploded onto the floor, we erupted in laughter, cheer and satisfaction.  We done good.  I remember the Goo being spread on people's faces like warpaint, flung about the room like kids splashing water in a pool.  To this day, a ring of its glory remains gracefully stained on the living room ceiling.

Now I have Jimi's old room and have been thinking about using those three holes in the ceiling, as they are at a spot above an open area in the room.  A potted plant perhaps?  Maybe a pull-up bar?  Wind chimes would be nice in the summer.  It is nearing the time to start show preparations, Doug's Rockhouse in Aurora tonight with OD Jo and Clifton Roy and Folkstringer!  It promises to be a good night. 

It is quarter past five on Friday and the dishes are growing into antiques on the counter.

He's Got Dirty Dishes on the Brain

We have dish weeks at the Overhouse.  Each month we draw up the dry-erase calendar, marking down gigs and other days of significance, and assign Sunday Dish Days.  That is, a 4-man dish rotation, with each person responsible for having the kitchen sparkling clean by bedtime Sunday night.  The board looks like this:

As my finger indicates, this past Sunday, the 11th, was Russell's dish day, a light one at that.  Now I'm not doing this to call Russell out or anything like that, well kinda, but mostly because we have created an interesting system, full of interacting entities, quirks, variable and ethics, in an attempt to keep our kitchen clean: One person is responsible for the kitchen per week.  A foolproof and forgiving system!

The fact of the matter is, we absolutely loathe doing dishes.  Not so much that act I suppose, I always enjoy putting on a record and cleaning the kitchen into submission, but rather bringing ourselves to pick up that first dish.  It's tough sometimes.  Maybe its Sunday afternoon, after a good Saturday night, the games on the tube, a non-dish week roomie is napping in the recliner, you're on that magical love seat strategically placed right above the heat vent *niiiice* the last thing you wanna do is get up and wash a few notoriously brutal loads of Overhouse dish.  It doesn't feel natural to do dishes on Sunday.  Sometimes you get them done on Monday, sometimes Tuesday, nobody's perfect.  It's Wednesday night, for instance, and this is how close Russell has come to finishing his dish week:

He even managed to pull off the somewhat rare "dishes-are-in-the-dish-washer-and-ready-to-be-washed-but-are-just-sitting-there-useless-to-the-world":

I will say, to call Russell out is to call us all out.  There are no winners, no superstars in this game.  We eat our Nachos Locos together from the same bowl, at the same time, and we like it.  If the bowl sits on the counter for 6 days before someone washes it, so be it!  At least I know that next time I eat out of that bowl, that beautiful bowl, someone had to scrub the hell out of it to get it clean.

But seriously Russ, you gonna finish those or what?  

Blog 2.0

Hi.

2009 has come in with a bang thus far: birthdays, show cancelations, TV appearances and one-on-ones with Tom Skilling, political representatives coming to the house to solicit our services, RVs burning to the ground and the subsequent investigation and knowledge that there is a real loose cannon within 100 yards of our house and, of course, all the residual  excitement that comes with living at the Overhouse.

A lot to blog about, right?  Well, in an effort to be more consistent with my blogging, and to encourage Matt, Russ and Jason to do the same, I'm going to adjust my approach.  I'm going to upload a picture a day, or 5 per week (we'll see how it goes), in an attempt to not only stay on top of my Overblog, but also to add some insight as to what life around the Overhouse is like: not normal (and I wouldn't want it any other way).

So while I'm going to capture the RV and WGN/Tom Skilling experiences in blog form very soon, this picture series should grow into something interesting as well.

Beautiful icicles, seen from the upstairs window...

...that will surely emerge from the freezer in the spring and produce the following statement: "How do you guys not have bandaides?!?!?"

It will not be the first time these walls have heard that, uttered in pure terror and disbelief.

Feel free to request to see certain things that may hold special intrigue: Russell's room, the basement, Jason sleeping, feeding time, etc...

Peace!

Scotch Season is Upon Us

I give you my word, that before too long I will write a song about my disdain for whisky; Scotch whisky in particular.  That loathsome, offensive "spirit" that "people" drink when they give up on life, when they want to taste defeat drip down their throats.  What really grinds my gears is that there always seems to be a bottle of cheap Scotch lurking around the house.  Names such as Clan MacGregor, House of Stuart, Scoresby, Passport and Hawkeye (blended whisky) have become common vernacular around the Overhouse.  Scotch enthusiasts Russell and The Enemy separate the year into two seasons: Ginnin' Season and Scotch Season.  (As I understand it, Ginnin' Season runs approximately from April to September, Scotch Season from October to March.)  The Ginnin' Season I understand, appreciate and embrace, I'd go so far as to call my self an enthusiast.  The Scotch Season, on the other hand, I only recognize as an alternate way of sinking into a deep winter depression, like a bear hibernating in a dank, molding cave of malted barley and carmel coloring.

Its difficult for me to take a shot of any kind of whisky and not gag.  I am not ashamed to admit that I don't think I could tell the difference between Johnny Walker Blue and any of the $10/750ML brands mentioned above.  What daunts me is that I think I am becoming a minority in my Scotch disdain.  As I craft this blog, Jason (our fantastic new drummer) is sitting next to me, sipping on a rocks glass of Scotch he first poured 3 days ago.  Unable to finish it, he put it in the fridge until tonight, extracting and merrily finishing it before scouring the bar for more booze, settling on a gin and tonic (he's mixing seasons!!!).  Though, he too dislikes the taste enough to have added a healthy dose of sugar to his glass.  Regardless, he's demonstrated the ability to drink cheap, stale Scotch and, seemingly, enjoy it.  

I fear that I'm next.  In fact, somewhere deep down inside of me, I want to appreciate and critique Scotch and be able to tell the difference between different malts and barrels and Clans, like any good troubadour should.  Maybe if I age it in the Overfridge like Jason did it will pick up some of the "flavor" of the environment and be more appealing to me.  There are, after all, a lot of different flavors melding in our fridge; maybe Jason was on to something: "A 3rd Shelf Overfridge Blend."

Better start that song before I lose my inspiration...

  

I'm An Oil Man

Underachieving is no fun.

Analyst’s expected big things from Exxon Mobile in the second quarter of 2008. Unfortunately, Exxon, the world’s largest publicly traded company, failed to meet analyst’s expectations, underachieving to the tune of $320 million. That’s three hundred and twenty million dollars. One quarter. What Exxon did manage to achieve in the second quarter, however, was $11.68 BILLION in profits, breaking their own record for biggest profit ever by a U.S. corporation. Three months at $90,000 a minute. Failures nonetheless, these good ‘ol boys from Texas couldn’t reach the $12 billion that was expected of them.

I hate to complain, as I know I have it very good compared to other people all over the world, but how this can continue to happen is incomprehensible to me (lack of energy regulations, Enron loopholes.) The voice of the consumer has been strangled, strategically silenced by a frightening marriage of Big Business and Government, storming down the aisle for a sanctuary of captive consumers who wear second-hand suits and stuff wedding cake in their pockets to take home with them. This shouldn’t happen, especially in America. “No Taxation Without Representation” was the battle cry in the mid-18^th century, when the seeds of a revolution were planted and growing rapidly.

What we need now is a 21^st Century revolution. I picture our version to be far less dramatic than what we might typically associate with revolution: informal mass mobilization, governments being overthrown, crowds of people yelling and cheering, buildings burning, CHAOS! No, no, ours will be digital. It will be endorsed by celebrities and conducted in a politically correct and civil manner. Our revolution will be waged to keep strip malls, Chili’s and convenience alive, but more importantly, to show ourselves, and the world, that we are capable of identifying the need for change and know how to achieve it.

Maybe every generation has something to complain about, maybe things are never that bad, I acknowledge that possibility. It just seems to me that we are at a very distinct, defined, incredibly important crossroads right now. I believe that electing Barack Obama President, this election, will be one of the greatest and most significant things to happen, politically at least, in the history of the world. I’m moving to Mexico or South America if we elect anybody else.

I was recently asked to play “Come Home Soon,” a song I starting writing when I found out The Enemy was coming home from his tour of duty in Iraq, at a party for another solider, a marine, who comes home in September. Aside from playing “Goodbye” for my Dad at his funeral, I think this will be the most emotional performance I’ve played to date. When Vanessa asked me if I’d do it, I immediately said yes, that’s not a “gig” I’d ever turn down. Though I might not agree with, and often speculate as to why we’re over there, our armed forces deserve more recognition, credit and admiration than we could ever give them.

So when I saw that “$12B quarter for Exxon” headline, I got to thinking about Dennis, happy he’s coming home in one piece, but saddened to know that there is a definite correlation between him and that headline. I wondered if there might be a way to work out a lifetime of free gasoline for our service men and women; I think it’s the least we can do.

When Wisdom Teeth Attack

Merriam-Webster defines pain as "localized physical suffering associated with bodily disorder."  Perhaps as a visual representation of pain, they might consider putting next to their definition a picture of me at 3AM, wisdom teeth throbbing, unable to sleep and biting a highlighter in an attempt to challenge the pain (pain usually wins...usually): 

Tomorrow, however, I'm dropping the proverbial A-Bomb on those 4 bastards and putting an end to this nonsense!  All 4 wisdom teeth are being pulled, kicking and screaming, tomorrow morning at 11.  Sure, they'll go out with a bang and may even cause me to bite my tongue and/or cheeks to a bloody pulp, but these 3-month cycles of unbearable, mind-numbing pain will be over.  It's one thing to be kept up by Russell and his, um, company, it's another completely to be kept up by throbbing wisdom teeth...though it's not explicitly clear which is worse.

Full report coming after, or perhaps during, imminent vicodin binge.

Wish me luck. 

Neil Young Knows How to Write an Opening Line

Good surprises are great! One Saturday morning, in what I estimate to be April, Matt burst into the Overhouse, home from a night out in the cold, speaking frantically about a surprise he had for me. He fled to his Saturn and retrieved an Insignia iPod home docking station. Amazingly and intelligently, he picked up a few of them from Best Buy for a mere $12 apiece; a deal that would satisfy any tech-savvy grandparent. I gave the other one to Ernie Claycomb, resident graphic design guru at THAHT Company, on behalf of Overman. He was touched and listens to a lot of Genesis and Todd Rundgren on it in his office.

So here I am fiddling around with my new Overblog, early on a Saturday evening, my iPod steadily shuffling on the Insignia home docking station. The last five songs have been "Every Rose Has It's Thorn" (I know) by Poison, "Countdown to Armageddon" by Public Enemy, "At My Window Sad and Lonely" by Billy Bragg and Wilco, "Steel Bones" by Michael Gordon, and "Roll Another Number" by Neil Young. When I heard "It's too dark to put the keys in my ignition," the first line of "Roll Another Number," I began to think of Neil Young's impressive ability to write a really good opening line to a song.

For example:

People, pick up on what I'm putting down now, welfare mother's make better lovers - "Welfare Mothers"
My my, hey hey, rock and roll is here to stay - "My my, Hey hey (Out of the Blue)"
Tin soldiers and Nixon coming, we're finally on our own - "Ohio"
Old man look at my life, I'm a lot like you were - "Old Man"
Used to play in a rock 'n roll band, but they broke up - "Buffalo Springfield Again"
Look out Mama, there's a white boat coming up the river! - "Powderfinger"

Up until I heard "Powderfinger," I couldn't really, really get into Neil Young. I knew he was involved in one of the few rock 'n roll feuds that carried over to song, with the boys in Lynyrd Skynyrd, which was sort of cool. (I'm sure there are plenty of "rock feuds," but the genre doesn't make a habit of it like hip-hop does) The opening of "Powderfinger" from 1979s Rust Never Sleeps was all I needed. Anyone who could be that cool deserved serious examination. I'm still not a Neil Young buff, per se, but have gone on to discover that he has a lot of really good, really rocking, songs. Plus, he's just an overall badass. "Powderfinger" is one of my favorite covers that Overman plays, it's right up our musical alley. Maybe if you come to our next show, we'll play it for you!  Listen for the single strum of a G chord that so appropriately and beautifully starts the song.

Thanks again for the iPod station Matt!