Peaches

I have written a song. I am convinced it is a masterpiece:

There's a reason I'm unhappy today
My lady took my peaches away
It's a misery I need to convey
My lady took my peaches away

I just want to go out and play
But my lady took my peaches away
Now there's only one thing to say
My lady took my peaches away

I rather wish my peaches would stay
But my lady took my peaches away
I remain so why wouldn't they?
My lady took my peaches away

As you can tell, it is a plea from the heart. About peaches.

That Ain't Workin'

Certainly, I do want my MTV. More than ever I understand Mark Knopfler's bilious sarcastic tirade against those who deride his chosen profession and the blood and guts he sweats (yes..he sweats guts! That's how freaking hard it is being a rock star). He didn't want to do it but he knows someone has to do the shit jobs...and it is thankless. So hard is it that Mark had to wear sweat bands on his wrists and around his head....he works really really hard. No question about it.

In fact, listening to the staccato blues of the over-driven riff and Sting's ethereal backing vocals on the Jonathan Coleman Experience today I actually felt for a moment that I had written the song.

Why? Because the hard graft has come home to roost (yes...graft roosts when it gets home...usually after it has been out watching Mark and learning a thing or two about its own definition in the process) and in the mail this evening was a sweet cheque for $19.04 from the good folks at APRA (see scanned document above) who have worked hard (not as hard as Mark but hard) and collected money so that we may be properly compensated for slogging it out. It's not as easy as it looks playing the guitar on your MTV (how should I know?) but $19.04 goes quite some way to easing the pain.

Dan Tastic!

The name of this post may trick you into thinking this is going to be about the longest squid, shortly to return from the Shaky Isles. But nothing could be further from the truth! This post is about one man's quest to satisfy his sweetie's fondness for little eggy pastries. And Yea, so it came to pass that the Harpo squid set about making Dan Tat on a chilly wet Sunday with nothing more than some ingredients, a die-hard will to make an enormous floury mess in the kitchen, and rockin tunes. The ingredients, I should mention, included a whole stick of butter and a quarter of a kilo of actual, pure lard. Mmmmm. Lard.

Harpo and Fluffy do enjoy an occasional Yum Cha, and never fail on these excursions to enjoy a Dan Tat or three. She once likened the delicate synthesis of pastry and filling to the complimentary relationship between a squid and a lady squid. Each on its own, neither would be especially great. But together they equal more than the sum of their parts.

NOM NOM NOM.

Films to See before you die (perhaps immediately prior)

The first in an occasional series.

Those who know me know I love both movies and music (those who don't will immediately sense it when they hear the cinematic way in which I linger over a strummed chord).

Sometimes, yet rarely, these twin passions combine, as in fine rockumentaries like I Am Trying To Break Your Heart, concert flicks such as The Last Waltz or even the occasional overblown Biopic.

Here's a corker, though, that I just can't wait to see.

Former Poison frontman Bret Michaels (real name Bret Michael Sychak) is perhaps better known these days for being a fat, diabetic ponce who stars in the semi-comical reality TV show Rock Of Love.

This is a seedy take on the modern dating/bachelor type program in which Bret proudly sleeps with as many of the contestants as possible (receiving nightly blow-jobs from one it is alleged) before choosing a winner who becomes his "girlfriend."

The winner of season one -- Jess -- promptly dumped his ass immediately.

Anyway, it turns out that Bret has other talents not related to his love of the Unskinny Bop.

I'm talking about the 1998 feature film A Letter From Death Row.

The film was written by Bret Michaels, Produced by Bret Michaels and Directed by a young whippersnapper by the name of Bret Michaels.

It tells the story of Michael Raine, a former rock star and convicted killer who sits on death row but maintains that he is innocent and has been framed for the murder of his girlfriend.

Raine is played by an up and coming actor by the name of Bret Michaels. As the action unfolds, a young researcher fights to prove Raine's innocence in what IMDB describes as a "psychological thriller."

Bret Michaels does all of his own stunts, which is pretty laudable for a guy in his late 40s.

In a surprise turn of events, Martin Sheen plays the convicted man's father. A clue to the origin of this strange casting choice lies with the cameo of Bret's Hollywood drinking/nailing strippers buddy Charlie Sheen, who plays Cop #1.

The soundtrack is written and performed by Bret Michaels and was also released as Bret's first solo album. But Brett couldn't handle it alone and old Poison pal Rikki Rocket helps out.

Songs featured in the film, such as The Devil Inside, Sounds Of Sex, 69, Steel Bar Blues and Violent Endings have a prophetic ring when one considers that Rocket (real name Richard Ream) is currently in prison for rape, after fleeing New Zealand on a plane to Los Angeles earlier this year.

I can understand why Rikki needed his nom de plume; Dick Ream is a pretty bad name for a rapist.

I'm rambling here but if anybody has this film on DVD, I'd love to borrow it. Can't do Blue-Ray, sorry.

Also, I've never seen Gone With the Wind, so should probably take care of that one some time too.