Sunday, May 3, 2009

2009 Kentucky Derby










The guy calling this race really sucks at it in a major way.

Is there any Sunday of the year sweeter than the first Sunday in May when the top errand on your list is to return to the track and cash in your winning Derby tickets? No, not really.

I actually made it the whole way to the morning of Derby Day without hearing any substantial clues about what the word on the street was about the field and now that the day was here I needed to settle on my bets, my cunning plan was to go for trifectas. You pick three horses to win, place and show. There are other things you can do with your bets and I was planning on boxing mine, which means that if your three horses finish in the top three in any order, you win. The only horse info that had managed to filter through was that the favorite had just been scratched. He was number thirteen, which is one of my favorite numbers, but I usually go against the favorite, though with boxed trifecta bets, favorites can turn out all right in the final analysis.

Moment of Truth time, Saturday morning I sat down with a Sharpie and a piece of cardboard and started messing with my numbers. Ones, threes and fives had figured prominently in my car repair bill so I felt strongly I had to use those. So well had I avoided the horse news that it did not even register that this was the 135th running until after I had placed my bets and was looking at the derby t-shirts. I wonder if I would have discounted those numbers if I had realized that before I bet? Kind of like how the first pancake or crepe of the batch always comes out fucked up. That's what makes it all so maddening, sure the signs are all there, it's reading them correctly that's the trick. As my dear, dear friend Garry Cook used to say...It's always too late, and THEN you realize...Truer today than ever. In hindsight, I would say the fact that 135 had so caught my eye was a sign that I should bet this year for sure, not necessarily a sign that those would be the winning numbers.

Honestly, I can't even remember my roundabout logic in picking my other numbers, four were Kennie Mae related, one came from the numbers on a run of records. I ended up with eight 4$ boxed trifecta combinations. You do the math. A crane flew over my path on the way to the track and for some reason the number 8 popped in to my head.

The road that leads to Rockingham Park winds down and to the left when you get off the highway. I pulled all the way over to the left lane and as I drew nearer to the turn into the track I hugged the rail closer and closer, thinking that this is how a horse must feel hugging the rail and riding it into the turn down the homestretch and then I was around the corner and into the parking lot, but not before the number 28 jumped out at me from a sign above the highway. I pulled into a space and some hasty perfecta bets were cobbled together using ones, twos and eights.

At the window, I read off the first eight bets and the teller took my note for the four perfecta bets to enter them. At the last second I asked for 5$ to win on number eight. Unusual for me to place a win bet. Bets to win are like a toy bet, not even really worth it to bother, you never make much off it, it's the exotics that give you the really nice pay-outs. Hedging my bets, as it were. It didn't occur to me then that I was making a thirteenth bet, but if it had, I would have been tickled because, I do like thirteen. If I had thought longer on it and realized that five dollars plus horse number eight equals thirteen I would have been further pleased. The five-eight combo didn't even ring a bell as the birthday of my Tuscan grandmother. A fleeting thought of Eight Belles passed through my head, poor girl, but mostly I was thinking that I had just spent two hundred and thirteen dollars on one horse race. It was madness.

As I left the track, I flash backed to the big red-headed guy I had overheard telling one clerk that it was Dunkirk's day. I kind of hoped he was wrong, because I only had one combo with his name on it. Oh well, a quick stop at the packie and I was home to dig in and enjoy the race.

It took me a little bit of time to sort out my bets and make some charts and familiarize myself with which horses I had bet on. My list broke down to fourteen horses. Fourteen out of nineteen, it would be impossible to keep track of all my combinations during a two minute race so I just decided to have a big ass bottle of beer and watch. I had a fistful of bets and a good part of my strategy depended upon a tiny gelding whose name, Mine That Bird, I didn't even know when I placed my bets. A horse who had been bought for less than ten grand and had been hauled to Kentucky by pick-up truck. It turned out to be a great race and my guy won, but in the end I was very reluctant to believe that my number had come up.

The length of time the jockey rode my winner around afterward make me really nervous thinking something was wrong. I had forgotten that Mine That Bird's trainer had a broken ankle and had insisted on walking his horse to the starting gate, refusing to use a wheelchair or other assistance. Now, he was walking to the winner's circle on his crutches and it was taking some time. I think I love this guy. When an announcer shoved a mic in his face asking a question about his ankle and winning the Derby, without slowing down, he made the snarkiest remark about how now maybe people will stop asking him about his fucking foot!

Fifty to one odds. Nice. The cruelest cut, and isn't there always one, is that the place and show horses finished at nearly the same time. Separated by a nose. If the show horse had placed, one of my perfecta bets would have paid out to the tune of over four grand. Big sigh. Still, coming out fifty bucks ahead is pretty damn good for me. At least it covers the cost of a good bottle of Kentucky bourbon.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Derby Week Already?

At the Twin Spires, even the hats have names. The Queen Has Arrived...Not this queen and certainly NOT in this hat! The only way you'd ever catch me in a hat like this is if you rammed it onto my cold dead head.

Time certainly flies and here's hoping whichever horses I bet on do too. Yes, this year I have had such consistently bad luck with few exceptions that I have decided the odds are good that I may actually pick a winner. Sooner or later something has to give, right? I hope.

My plan this year is to totally avoid any information on the race. It has not been easy to turn away from the stories in the paper and on the internets, but I have. I feel like going with a numbers only strategy but most likely, I will go to the track early on Saturday and pick up a racing form and see if I can divine clues that will mean something only to me. It's all about significance and hidden deeper meanings. Then again, I should go with my first choice and pick by number. Oh crap! I'm already boned by indecision. I could get so addicted to gambling.

Therefore I will now change my focus to fashion and one of the more campy aspects of the first Saturday in May. The hats. It's all about the hats...Gotta keep that nasty old sun off of our peaches and cream complexions.

This one is called Emma and is the bargain of the bunch at three hundred dollars.

Steppin' Out is gonna cost you a grand.

This one is called Spunky and prompts me to ask the age old question "Are we not men?"

Organized? In what way? Perhaps they are referring to crime because this one is over a thousand dollars.

I might actually be seen in this one at my next croquet match, even though I think Mary Jane is a stupid name for a hat.

Queen Liz and her consort at the Derby two years ago. I loved seeing the odds posted on what color hat she would wear. It was the one thing I was right about that year.

Our own inimitable Hat Sisters. A Boston P-towne institution. Wonder what they'll be wearing on Saturday?

Monday, April 20, 2009

Kenmore Square Neon Citgo Sign


Remember when the Citgo sign was a distant second place in the neon contest along the Charles? Oh the Coca-Cola sign in Allston was truly breathtaking. And the White Fuel sign was no slouch either. Now the Citgo sign seems much the worse for wear, yet it still manages to retain much of its majesty. I love the look of it now, a little down on its luck maybe, but so gracefully combining the many mismatched colors of replacement tubes. It's like a quilt made of light. Humble folk art that evokes some of the most precious and sacred memories of us all. In miniature it would make a great headstone. For the love of God, would someone send me guitar part for this bass line?






Thursday, March 12, 2009

Happy Birthday Jack, here's some Fisheye Brothers for you. Everybody wins!


I was born in Lowell. Never lived there, but I was born there. At Saint Josephs Hospital which was later absorbed by Saint Johns, a different Catholic hospital in Lowell and that amalgamation is now known collectively as Saints. Saint Josephs was deep in the heart of some of Jack's territory. Pivotal scenes from Dr Sax take place virtually across the street at this insane sort of drive-thru Stations of the Cross. If anyone is interested in touring some Jack places, message me. It's been awhile since I've had a willing victim and it would be fun.

Once I got to college my friends and I visited Jack's grave regularly, often skipping classes to do so. One after hours visit involving a bottle of Wild Irish Rose led me to make some shaky decisions. First of all, do not visit Kerouac's grave on the anniversary of his death. It's way too high profile. And take it from me, do not ever use the hood of your car to boost yourself over a chain link fence when you are wearing round toed hightops. Naturally, this was the night the cops showed up and we had to make a run for it. There was no time to spare and after some spastic high speed windmilling I managed to make the top of the fence. Hmmm...top of chain link sharp! I have a scar on my inner thigh that I can say was the result of a leopard attack and be believed by an otherwise reasonable person. Thanks to the Wild Irish Rose it didn't hurt a bit. Until I had to explain what happened when I got the tetanus shot. All things considered it was so worth it. I mean really, what a great scar to have in reserve to show to Willie when I met him in another year or so.

Willie's a big Jack fan and I just fell in love with his song Kerouac when I heard it. To me it was such an intensely local song and that's one thing I really love about Willie's work to this day. His deeply detailed and compassionate homages to people or places that he knows up close are still fascinating to me now and sounding better than ever. This Fisheye Brothers project I've posted here is something that Willie collaborated on with one of the drummers he works with, Jim Doherty. Jim has recently opened a recording studio in downtown Portland Maine. For these songs, Willie sang from his notebooks and played piano and Jim took the tapes home with him and added all the rest. I hope you like them as much as I do.

Here's a photo I took of Willie one summer in front of the Stations of the Cross drive-thru.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Old e-mail to Ra about Kennie.


This was at Martines place on the Vineyard, The last time we were all together. Only Jeri-Ann was AWOL.
This picture was taken on Martha's Vineyard, the last time I saw Kennie. We stopped at the liquor store on the way home from the airport and she bought a gallon of vodka. She drank it mixed with Gatorade, rarely slept and ran the television constantly. We couldn't get her to go for a ride to the beach, but we did go out to dinner one night at the Harbor View Hotel, also pictured above. We sat on the porch afterwards as night fell, looking out on the tiny harbor and light house. For some reason we started talking about The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down and it came out that she felt like Joan Baez had done the definitive version. I made a sound like I'd been shot and started choking and sputtering about the Band. Laughter from the street made me shout out "Baez or Band?" and harumph with satisfaction when "Oh BAND!" came back in retort.

A message dated June 1, 1999

Hi, how is everything? It is so fucking hot here I am sweating like a whore...it's embarrassing. I was at the studio doing my chores and I was just dripping, and I was only standing around yammering.

Spoke to Kennie Sat. night. She sounds well considering what she's been through. She's convinced the nurses are taking her meds and I wanted to say well, they're junkies and all they care about is getting high, but I thought the better of it. No sense in reminding her of better times. ha ha.

One thing I have to tell you. She was talking about how she ended up in the hospital. I couldn't quite understand where she said she'd been. (And I wrote this down at the time I was so blown away.) "I only got a little cut on my foot. They had this little fountain and I was walking through it and stepped on a broken champagne glass." I just love that she's having all these fabulous visions. Like I told you before, I wouldn't take it so much to heart that she asked for her 'birthday bourbon' as she isn't totally coherent yet anyway. She seems like she's still in that half awake and yet still dreaming kind of state. I LOVE IT when that happens.

I wonder where Jeri-Ann is?

Love QT

Ra went through so much taking care of Kennie and being there for her. He can never be thanked enough. We later found out that Jeri-Ann was hopping freight trains and riding aimlessly around the country. God, I miss my friends...

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Beachcombovers

I suppose if you're a Beachcombover the surf is always up, but for you 'normals' out there it looks like this weekend will be a good time to haul out the old Woodie and dust it off and get down to waxing those boards. Spring is still officially two weeks away but I know you're all gonna jump the gun today so here's some inspiration for you.

I know there was talk of adding a singer and/or keyboards so the line-up may have expanded but these are the credits for the video that I lifted off of YouTube:
Beachcombovers at the "Church" nightclub in Boston, MA USA 8/21/08 play Nokie Edwards
"Surf Rider"
Tommy White - Surf Guitar
John Cahill - Surf Drums
Bruce Scott - Surf Bass

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Geezers Garage Nite at the Granite Rail



What with the Depression soon to be upon us I look forward to lots more cheap entertainment being available. Keeping it fresh and local and one step ahead of the big crash is my buddy Geezer. He's gotten together some musicians and a local tavern to start up a showcase of both homegrown and not so local talent. I freely admit to being a north of Boston girl, and I don't mean North Shore either! I'm well inland and a little freaked out by a big ass city like Quincy, but one day I hope to overcome my fear of driving south of Boston and get myself to one of these shows. The line-up this week looks very impressive. Can I get a volunteer to ride shotgun? I managed to corner Geezer and get the scoop on what's coming up this week and beyond! Here's what he told me...



Quincys only Garage Nite!
FEB 27th GARAGE BLOW OUT
7:30 Lonesome Lil and the Boy's ( lillian donnelly)
8:00 The Peculiar ( great Local alterative ROCK band)
8:30 Adam Earley ( comming down from Maine solo set)
9:00 Jay Allen and the Arch-Criminals (Catchy old school)
9:30 Frank Rowe (Classic Ruins) solo Set
10:00 The Ten Foot Pole Cats ( great blues band)
11:00 Jeff Crane (Classc Ruins)solo set
11:30 Geezer Deluxe (the RAW garage stuff)



A long time Quincy tavern known for good pizza the Granite Rail Tavern at 16 Cottage Ave in Quincy (617-479-2726) has opened the place to local musicians and beyond. A night of old and new friends, musicians and family. The opening act "Lonesome Lil and the Boys" is my daughter, 17, singing and on piano, my son, 15, on drums and me on lap steel or acoustic guitar, playing Hank Williams Sr. covers, folk songs and some original americana. From then it's garage r'n'r bands, old school boston r'n'r guys, local alternative rock bands and solo folk/americana blues band. Classic rock, just a mixed bag. We're no music snobs at Geezers Garage Nite, I want everyone to play that wants to, I get as many acts up as I can. The garage nite is once a month, usually near the end of the month and hosted By Geezer Deluxe. We ask for a 5$ suggested donation that is stuffed into an old oil space heater. The bands can sell Cds or merchandise. Basically, it's a night out for us old Guys/Gals to get together and pick out some tunes and bring younger musicians in on it so if any musicians want to throw in with us, the more the merrier. Just get in touch on the Geezers Garage Nite at the Granite Rail Myspace

And just a look at next months March 27th Garage Nite:
the Dirty Shames (New York City)
Tokyo Tramps (Fun Band playing Bluesy country)
Rustbbucket (great jammin r'n'r)

Hi, it's me, Tontileo, again. I couldn't find any vids of the Granite Rail. We have to rectify that in the future, but here's some footage of a brush fire in Quincy. The tapes of people jumping into the quarries were pretty cool, but I don't want to encourage that type of dangerous and possibly illegal behavior here. Besides this one has firemen! Putting out a fire with push brooms. I wonder if that's why they call it a brush fire?

Saturday, February 7, 2009

The Unattached. Genetically Stupid NOT!



I got this great Metrowave tape from Jaded Jase and I've been looking around to try and find some info on The Unattached and can find very little. How funny is it that I just had to change the spelling on the widget. Unattached only has one N, your queen, not two. I managed to find this little blurb from Chuck Warner on his Hyped to Death site.

Unattached -EP (Bisque-18) The last thing that we released. Jaime Sever had started out in the Jetsons, and helped run the legendary Gulcher collaborative/ cooperative back in Bloomington, Indiana. He moved back to Worcester, MA where the Unattached recorded some demos (Volume insists there was a 19822 Unattached cassette in circulation). Jetsons fans have some idea, perhaps, of how great "Genetically Stupid" was, live. They played Boston on occasion but they were superstars in Wormtown...they just never thought about putting out a record. Oh yeah, and they broke up all the time. I got them to re-form for the Let's Breed! record-release parties (10 bands, two nights at the Rat) and again for the first Chain Link Fence record-release party, I think, but it wasn't til '87 that they stayed together for any length of time. Anyway, the EP is sorta over-polished and over-raw at the same time, and it might have launched a very profitable career, except that Alice Cooper heard one of their demos and loved it --though he wanted to write new lyrics for it. He even invited Jaime and Mark to come and play on "Trash", which was of course a big hit and re-established Alice's career, but Jaime and Mark celebrated this brush with fame by firing their long-suffering rhythm section and that was the end of them. And Throbbing Lobster.



I am further intrigued and decide to do more research. Genetically Stupid
has long been imprinted on my brain. Very catchy stuff and I follow some clues and find a site for The Jetsons, the band who first did the song and have been kind enough to include it on their page. My quest for info on The Unattached continues in my immediate circle of The Coalition of the Fabulous with a call to a dear friend I'll call...oh, let me see...Deep Throat. I'm going to both protect the identity of my source and try to ward off more taunts that I am a name dropper. I admit, that made me wince. In my defense, I am trying to maintain a somewhat historical perspective here and you can't have history without details and names happen to be an important detail. Besides, no one reads this shit anyways and we're all friends here, right? Well, mostly friends. So I ask DT and he tells me I should ask Gerry Lehane. Oddly, the same answer I get to about 37% of my questions. Gerry emailed me back. "Jamie Sever, he's around. I'm not sure how you would get in touch with him though. I believe Simon Ritt was in the band."

Why Simon Ritt is the love of my darling old friend Jan, yet another member of The Co-Fabs, and I write her to find out what she has to say.

"Yes, Simon was the bass player and is on their EP which we have a box of down in the basement! Jamie Sever used to walk around Kenmore with a white rat on his shoulder...Mike Zadroga was the drummer, Mark Frazier was the guitar player. They had the number one local single on BCN for a bit and they were in the Battle of The Bands...I don't think they won..Jamie Sever went on to be in the Fighting Cocks..."

With her encouragement, I wrote to Simon for more and he graciously responded.

"I played bass w/ the Un's for a few years through their Rumble/Throbbing Lobster era or what I prefer to think of as their 'Golden Period'. I do recollect doing a couple of live radio broadcast's w/ 'em....was metrowave on WERS? F.Y.I. Jamie (the singer) Is a stay @ home dad of 2 great little girls. He's NEVER been on a computer but I'll let him know I heard from you via the traditional telephone talking device. I'm also glad to inform you that Mark Frazier the boneheaded guitarist gave up music & left Boston years ago. The drummer Mike Z lives In NYC & Is a T.V. sound Tech. with a great job working Pro-Sporting Events."

I have left out some of the more salacious details of their emails, hysterical as they were. I do TRY to be discreet. Sometimes. Check out The Darlings to see what Simon is up to these days.

Poking around in the internets a little more yielded this nugget of lore from sleazegrinder. This guy's stuff is great. It is like crack to me. Or whatever highly addictive illegal substance the kids are all doing now. Frankly, I can't be bothered to keep up to speed on what the kids are doing these days. I'm going to post a quote and hope that they don't kill me, but really, check out the stuff this guy writes. It's pretty cool.

"So anyway, we're waiting to get in on the guestlist and these two beat-looking tattooed, cowboy junkies are on us like flies on sherbert with the "Yo, Vinnie" Reveah-Beach accents, completely covered in bad tattoos--even worse than mine---glammed-out, to the hilt. Headbands, stretch jeans, pirate hoops, cowboy boots, scarves, Lip Service vests---babbling about Dogs D'Amour and G.G. Allin. They embraced the whole cliche'. Us, too. Immediately, they're talking over one another, telling us how they're, "Like, da only glam dudes in Boston-except for dis one other guy, Simon, from the Unattatched, and uh, the Voodoo Dolls, and
Tony Triggah from da Love Junkies, dis Cats 'N' Boots guy. And uh, Desi and Jimmy from da Touch Me Hookers, and Rafe from da Royal Pimps, who used ta be da Blackjacks, and anotha band called, uh, Jet Black Somethings, and dis hot girl singah from da Seventh Veil. She's gonna go crazy when she sees you, dude!" I can still somehow remember their names were Eric and Rob and I later went to a David Bowie concert with them, but that was pretty much my first conversation with any Boston locals. My initial introduction to Boston.
Not everybody there was like Rob and Eric."

So that was my adventure researching The Unattached. If anyone has any photos or other information or memorabilia on them send it along and I'll put it up.

Many thanks to Jaded Jase for having the wits to tape some of these fantastic Metrowave shows. I have one more from him up my sleeve that I'll put up soon. I know there are issues with the sound on the tapes I've posted from Metrowave and other MBR and ERS shows. I don't mind at all. They sound just like I remember, hell, I only lived 25 miles North of Boston and I could only hear those stations on a clock radio in a house across the street. The tapes I made on fucking Charles Street have rough spots on them and Emerson was just four blocks away and MIT was just over the river. Crazy. These tapes are beyond precious since someone at Emerson dumped boxes and boxes of the originals in the trash when they moved. Feel free to be pissed about that and send me any tapes you might have and would like to share.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

You Got Good Taste...





Always, always a good time and a good show. Sounds simple, but not so easy to pull off. Never underestimate the searing power of a shirtless man wearing spike heels with trousers that look like they've been painted on with black nail polish.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

A Taste of Honey

Is it lame that I am really amused by this clip?

You don't see production values like this every day. And it reminds me of a Magritte painting called A Little of the Bandits' Soul too. It's win win!


Rene Magritte, photographed by Lothar Wolleh in Brussels, 1967

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Groinoids



It may sound like a strange thing to say, but I found the Groinoids to be very refreshing, aside from the fact that some of them could have passed for semi-grown-up Opie Griffiths. Mongee always sounded so earnest as he screamed out his gut wrenching words. Rico made sure that things went fast, churning whining noises out of his guitar and somehow managing to sound a little low profile at the same time. Cheese on bass ended up being the workhorse, holding it all down while everyone else was messing around and having a time. Big Daddy seemed to just pull random shit out of his ass and yet it all worked! Some of their songs appeared originally on the seminal This is Boston Not L.A. release and now we've been treated to a 7" vinyl of a session from Radiobeat. I say get it. This disc would make a fine addition to anyone's collection. I happen to be lucky enough to have scored a colored vinyl copy, and you can too. According to the dude who put out the record they are available for $6.25ppd in the US or $8.50 international. Paypal payments go to orders@i-dealrecords.com The 1st press is 500 records (350 on black, 150 on green/brown vinyl). Mail orders get color copies till sold out. Some of the original band members are planning reunion shows. Check their website for the most current details on where and when.

Friday, January 23, 2009

By the way intrepid blog followers...


Happy New Year. I've decided to lower my standards and post more often. Yes, I hear the howling among you...feel free to add any smartass remarks about my standards below. Then bite me.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Button, button. Who's got the button?

We need a MySpace page for buttons. Here are a few cherished ones from my collection. Two by the illustrious Betsy Sherman, at one time a fixture at any and all rock or wrestling events. I'll post more as they turn up and now that I've shown you mine, I'd love it if you'd show me yours.