Friday, August 30, 2002

mrs. p and i watched the mtv vma's last night, and i was gonna do a little spiel about it here. well, i'm glad i was stuck in the randy rhoads zone, because whatever i'd produced would not have held a candle to jim treacher's spot-on perfect and hilarious take on the whole eminem vs. moby thing and the whole show in general. check it out.

it's weird you'd think i'd be over this whole randy rhoads thing. but i'm not. it's getting worse. i'm playing some morissey to get my mind elsewhere, but for some reason i can't stop thinking about the rhoads man, dead so early. the more i hear him play, i'm thinking this guy was a serious madman at the guitar. he's speaking with that guitar, using it as a gateway to a musical place that they thought only existed in dreams of insane madmen. it's like he found total concentration but is just wingin' it too. he was the first to ever have a jackson guitar, vintage old school. i've been checking out stuff about randy's life part of the morning, and i never knew but we were born in the same hospital, st. johns in santa monica. I was thinking that, like 17 years and a months earlier, and i could have been the baby next to him in the hospital:

ap: whut's up man, here we are, life! whut a trip

rr: yeah. cool.

ap: so whut are you gonna do with your life?

rr: guitar

ap: really? damn that's pretty cool.

rr: whut are you gonna do?

ap: write. oh and toil daily for corporate america.

rr: word.

also it's weird but i never knew the cicrumstances of his death, just that it was a plane accident. But here's what happened:

they were just fucking around. the bus-driver, who had an expired pilot's license, took a few of the guys in the band for a joyride in a little plane, and they were dipsing and diving, and flying real low. so anyway, they land and chill out. then randy rhoads and his girl go up with the guy. ozzy and sharen and most of the others are asleep on the tour bus. so the plane keeps flying really low and buzzing the bus, just to fuck with every body. a few runs later, the wing of the plane hits the bus as its buzzing over it, (flying at like 10' in the air) and the end of the wing snaps off, sending the plane spinning into the large house of the property they were on. the house goes up in flames, all on the plane dead, a guy that had been in the house got out unhurt.

randy rhoads dead at 25.

this weekend my mission is to buy as much cd's with randy rhoads playing as i can find. Quiet Riot 1 and 2 were only released in Japan, but there's a Rhoads/Riot CD out there, like a complilation CD. i'd rather have the actual albums, though. blizzard of ozz and diary of a madman gotta pick those up too. i really want to pick up the quiet riot stuff for some reason, supposedly they were like the band of the people in la in the day, and they were multiplatinum in japan. the qr. pre-metal health. old school. i don't think i've ever heard any of it. i am usually mr. rap, i don'k know why but i've entered the randy rhoads zone.

there just cannot be enough randy rhoads. if you are strongly against anything of a randy rhoads type nature, you may want to steer clear of the area for a spell, cuz the forecasts are for high rhoads factor.

to quote tom leykis: "rrrreeeeaaaaalllllly......"

peace out and have an outstanding labor day weekend my innernet pizeeps, cuz you know we work hard, and it's time to partay and chillie-willie.

Thursday, August 29, 2002

I've listened to the 1987 album Tribute like four times in the last two days. Just not getting tired of listening to Randy Rhoads shred guitar, which he was obviously born to do. I mean, this guy's career was so short, so I don't know if he's considered one of the best ever, but shit listen to this album and it's just obvious he was something beyond even the upper echelon of guitar players, he was fukn magic, lightning in a bottle. Like lightning, his strike was quick and powerful, and then he was gone.

A letter hand-written by Ozzy Osbourne, in the liner notes:

March 19th 1982 is a day that will live with me forever. Not only did I lose my best friend but the greatest musician I had ever known.

Randy Rhoads came into my life in 1979. At that time I was incredibly depressed, and he was what I had dreamed about in a guitar player. He helped make all my dreams come true. Along the way we became buddies and business partners. Randy was a very special person, he inspired, cheered, and made everyone in contact with him, feel good. Building the band with Randy was one of the happiest times of my life.

What you are about to hear are the only live recordings of Randy and I, they were recorded late 81. I have hesitated to release this album for many reasons, but now Mrs. Rhoads and I feel that this is the right time. I know his playing will continue to inspire you all.

This album is my Tribute to Randy Rhoads.

God bless you Randy my friend



Here is a tune that was written by Ozzy Osbourne, Robert Daisley, Lee Kerslake, and….
your friend and mine, Randy (well actually the actual official document, reads Randall) Rhoads.

Well not by, I mean, we, or I mean I, don’t know Randy Rhoads per se, but I do know his ghost.

But he ain’t been around in a while.

Ozzy Osbourne
Diary Of A Madman
1981 - Sony

"Over the Mountain"

Over the mountain take me across the sky
Something in my vision, something deep inside
Where did I wander, where d'ya think I wandered to
I've seen life's magic astral plane I travel through

I heard them tell me that this land of dreams was now
I told them I had ridden shooting stars
And I said I'd show them how

Over and over always tried to get away
Living in a daydream only place I had to stay
Fever of a breakout burning in me miles wide
People around me talking to the walls inside


Don't need no astrology it's inside of you and me
You don't need a ticket to fly with me--I'm free

Over and under in between the ups and downs
Mind on a carpet magic ride goes round and round
Over the mountain kissing silver inlaid clouds
Watching my body disappear into the crowd

Don't need no astrology it's inside of you and me
You don't need a ticket to fly with me--I'm free

ok it all started with meesh telling me she did a list of 100 things about herself, which sounded like a grand idea. supposedly she got the idea from some yankee guy. so anyway, hosemonster lets me know he did a list of 20 cuz he's lazy. I figured I'd read that one first, because I'm probably more lazy. his was a masterpiece, so i'm totally biting his list and just changing the words for my answers. My list does not include john denver, but be assured mr. ward i am quite fond of his work.

so here is the ultrablogneticator's list of 20 as partially bitten from the masterful hosemonster.

1. I haven't watched TV since a half hour ago, and that was only because I woke up.

2. I once asked Raquel Welch on a date to watch a Frank Sinatra video I had on me. She was like, "it's time for Matlock you little punk."

3. I have seen every Seinfeld episode ever made.

4. I proudly own a Silkk the Shocker album (actually 2), and I listen to Def Leppard almost every day.

5. I will die happy if the Los Angeles Clippers ever win an NBA championship in my lifetime.

6. I love to eat thai food, and I always wear a sarong when I do so.

7. I once chased a taxi-driver down the street because he'd stolen my raccoon tail antenna ornament.

8. I am the offspring of two olympic level thumb-wrestlers

9. I once saw a girl through a crack in the stained glass window of a church who now has a magic marble named "Johnny Cash."

10. I have never slept with my glasses on.

11. I once gave a damn. Now I give a dime, whenever the chance comes up. But not to Hare Krishnas.

12. Not everything in my life revolves around comic books, the cal bears, and stories of torture methodology.

13. My friends and I created "Different Strokes Drinking Game" a few years ago, but I've never actually played it. I don't know what Willis is talking about.

14. I am an aspiring jack-o-lantern.

15. The first concert I ever went to was UB40. The second was Midnight Oil.

16. My computer has a hispanic name. It's name is juan.

17. I have never been to Portland.

18. I wish I was a member of the McGuyver fan club.

19. I am absolutely head over heels in love with mrs. p.

20. I almost cried 8 or 9 years ago when Sam Kinison died. If I had a blog then, I would have gotten totally wasted and written the most incoherent piece of babble this side of Kaaawa.

alrighty then peace out - and don't forget to read hosemonster and meesh's lists.


Wednesday, August 28, 2002

Boo yah. that's what I say.
you could steer a neigh
renee on chesapeake bay
the ultimate day
will be with your bengay
and oscar riding shotgun
in september

Im kickin it stylistic
my raps they are pacific
if you keep kool
youll laugh and fool
midnight rasta scientific

ok nuff rhymin i know whut im good at. i'm good at presenting the facts, reviewing data, and processing info for the common hobbit or river dweller. keep it here, folks, here's the prize winnah, the masta killa, the mc thrilla magilla gorilla.

randy rhoads was bad ass and died at 25. he was just gettin started rippin it up for quiet riot and ozzy. he had biznass to take care of, and in a way, that was the ultimate essence of late 70's dreamscape. ch!ps stylee.

i have a buddy d-shot who's favorite show is chips. he's gary aka d-buttascotch as well. him and allie girl were out here in h-town a little while ago, and mrs. p and i got to hang out with them. good times.

keepin it realah than evandah holyfield on a wheat thin tip.

so why did randy rhoads have to exit stage left, anyway? I mean he was representin the crescent to the degree of everfescent.
i mean damn he was on the bonumbo tip it was adriatic and aquabatic dagnabbit

bumpin enter the wu-tang. 36 chambers if you know the score. if you don't well i'm lettin you in on secret, the wu tang should be named saskalang because they richter harder than darth shclikter.


the iceberg

kool keith

Whuts up party people? Speaking of parties, damn it sounds like they had a rager out in Cleveland at Eric and Dawn Olsen's house. The best play by play I've read is courtesy of Dever, who is my new link on the left hand side. He knocked out Snoop, who I discovered the other day was just some guy from Kansas perpetratin like he was the dog. Welcome to the Pennyworth all-stars Mr. Dever. I guess even Moxie made it out to the bash all the way from LA. Pretty damn cool. Gotta feel bad for the Mox as she got a boot put on her car and had to cough up a little over $400. I was pretty impressed at how non-bitter she sounded about it. I got towed last year and had to pay $200 to some blood-suckin bastards, and if I'd had a blog back then there would have been a veritable novel written about it, every other word effin or goddammit. So props to Mox for takin a lickin and keepin on tickin and spreading blogger unity and all that good stuff.

Props to Hosemonster too, who has been giving me some nice shout outs and even said he likes how I tell all of you what tunes I'm bumpin'. I always wonder if anyone gives a rat's ass. Right now I happen to be bumpin the currently resting in hopefully peace Big Pun and his first album, Capital Punishment. Damn that guy was fat. Not phat, but FAT. Well, he was phat, too. The trippy thing is I've seen pictures of him like ten years ago and he was like 185, just a normal looking dude. I guess he decided he was hungry and just went with it. Anyway a very solid and voracious spitter, some of the rhymes he kicked were straight lupid, like humpty would say, so props to the Puerto Rock.

Finally, just to let y'all know, my Grandma's going in for surgery on her leg tomorrow, so I'd really appreciate it if everybody could put up a little prayer to whatever god or goddess you're currently worshipping and wish her a smooth operation and a quick recovery. Much mahalos.

Peace out - more later.

Tuesday, August 27, 2002

Bumpin' Metallica Justice for All, specifically the classic song "One."

I'm pretty sure that this was the first video that Metallica ever made, and the whole thing was just clips from that old movie Johnny Got His Gun, interspersed with shots of the band playing in a shadowy room. This was the only video they made up until Enter Sandman, their kickoff single for the self-titled album, which was good, but I always saw it as their "sellout" album. Don't get me wrong, that album rocks hard, but not like Justice, or Ride the Lightning, or Master of Puppets. Metallica still rocks, they're just older. Nothing wrong with that. I gotta say, I saw them a couple years back at the Blaisdell in Honululu, and they fukn blew the place apart.

Which reminds me, there's a little story associated with that concert. My buddy Jorge and I were having a little session with Jah in the car before heading into the venue. After we're done, in a haze, we get out of the car, lock it up, head towards the show, and I realize I locked my keys in the car, along with my wallet and ticket. So I'm freaking out, try calling AAA to come jimmy the door, time is running out. I tell Jorge, go on without me, I'll be in there. So fuk, I can't get Jorge's phone to work, time is running out, I hear the opening band starting to play, I'm like FUK I'm not missing Metallica, no frikken way. So I start pulling on the window on the passenger side. My car is an Acura and has those doors with no top, the window just closes to the frame of the car. So I'm pulling on the window, hoping I can pull it out a little bit and snake my hand in and unlock the door. So I'm pulling, pulling, then the glass shatters. I broke the fukn window. I'm bleeding like a stuck pig out my arm. I look around for a minute, there's glass all over the ground, in the car, and it starts raining (I'm on the top floor of the parking structure in the far corner.)

Fuck it, I tell myself. Grab the tickets, keys, and wallet, and head downstairs. The ticket checker at the door looks at me like I'm Charles Manson, as my ticket is smeared in blood, and there's blood all over my arm. But I'm in baby. Just grab a paper towel and apply a little pressure, and the bleeding stops. (Luckily it wasn't as bad as it looked.) Grab a beer, find my seat, and commence to rock out. True story. PS it was worth it. They fukn ROCKED.

Anyway, tangent alert, back to what I was talking about, that video for "One" was so badass, and my buddy Von Saucenberg and me even rented the movie that it was based on back in high school. It's this hardcore story about this guy in World War I that gets blown up by a grenade, and his whole face is basically shredded off his head. He can't hear, smell, see, or any of that stuff, he can just feel vibrations. He can't move for shit, either, I think all his arms and legs got blown off too. So he's basically just a torso with no face, so he just lays there and trips out. Real life is shown in black and white, and they switch to color when he's journeying through his mind. Very trippy, cool, movie. He hangs out with his dad's ghost, has all these trippy daydreams, gets confused between life and death, the whole nine yards. He gets to the point where he can't tell when he's asleep and awake, because all his senses have been destroyed. Basically the whole movie is like an acid trip but that came from your face getting blown off rather than popping a tab.

Where am I going with this? I don't really know. I remember that whole idea of living in a dreamlike state like that, with no connection to reality, really fascinated me in a sick way, though. I mean, what would you do, just fukn play mental scrabble all fukn day? Sing 20,000 bottles of Beer to yourself continuously? The fucked up thing is that the doctors all think he's a vegetable, because he has no way to communicate, but he's still fully conscious, just fukn layed out and incapacitated. So in the end, he wants to end it, because his life is fucked, so he bangs his head in morse code and spells out "SOS. Kill me." Over and over. And the shitbag doctors and generals or whatever are like, "oh, it's just a reflex or something, he's just a vegetable," and they let him live, all fucked up in that purgatory between life and death.

Pretty fucked up huh? See that's how core Metallica used to be. No videos, and the one exception they made was the blown up face guy movie. Now they fukn put out a video for every other song, but you can't blame them, that's the name of the game, gotta slang records and MTV is the pimp of the century in that regard. Nothing sells records like play on the almighty MTV. That's when they have time to squeeze videos in between episodes of "Dismissed" and fukn "Undressed" and bullshit like that. Oh and don't even get me started on that fukn sorority sisters show, which is the biggest fukn waste of air-time this side of Mama's Family.

OK mindless rant over. Back to your cubicles.

This is our enemy gentlemen. Baylor University. Their mascot is some fucked up copy of our beloved Oski, not a golden bear, but a sickly, pathetic, deranged, green bear. Fukn copy ass mofos!! These piles of donkey shit are based out of Waco Texas, so you know they're a bunch of communist ATF nazi fucks. I mean what other city would roust a simple peace-loving commune like that of poor ol David Koresh? He was just trying to get some orgy action and roast some marshmallows and things got out of hand, know whut I'm saying? I mean as long as he pays his taxes, shit set up a fukn petting zoo for all I care.

What, he didn't pay his taxes? Oh, well let that muthafucka burn, then. My bad.

Anyway, this is Cal's opponent this Saturday in venerable Memorial Stadium nestled in the beautiful Strawberry Canyon of the Berkeley hills, and the fukn cannon is gonna be blastin as the REAL bears, the GOLDEN bears, do it golden bear style up and down the gridiron. First game of the year. Chance to get off on a good foot. Chance to not suck ass straight out the gate in typical Cal fashion. I mean last year we had to start off with Illinois, who spanked our fukn asses like a fukn dominatrix on Halloween, and it was just a pathetic downward spiral of ineptitude from there. Illinois went on to win the Big 10. Cal went on to win the third place ribbon in the intercollegiate parcheesi championships.

Here's what SI has to say about the Baylor "bears", ranked at # 88, this year:

"The bears have lost 29 straight Big 12 games; best shot this year is against Kansas at home on October 5."

Hmmm. Sounds pretty threatening. We gotta have the big guns ready for these guys. OK they suck supposedly, but for Cal, I mean, we gotta bring it even if we're going against fukn Okefenokee Swamp's 12 and under Pop Warner team, I mean, we're Cal. We suck the hardest.

But not this year dammit!! I'm feeling it now. The GOLDEN BEAR is inside my soul and cranium and it's whispering to me, it's telling me, I promise Joe, we're gonna take that green bear and rip it inside out, leave its guts spread all over the 50 yard line, and then were gonna set fire to it and have a fukn weenie roast. It'll be like Waco west coast style, roastin fukn student athletes instead of brainwashed religious zealots. Cuz you know in Berkeley, the religious zealouts got fukn lawyers and liberals and all that shit watchdoggin, but fuk, who cares about some punk ass ballers from Texas? Bring on those ten-gallon hats and fukn spurs and spread your cheeks boys, cuz the reaper is comin and its golden bear time.


PS - you may notice that I use the term "we" when discussing Golden Bear sports. No I don't play football for Cal, no I never did play for Cal. I am just a fan and alumnus and use the term "we" because I am obsessed and deranged and sick in the head and I fantasize that I am out there with my team despite the fact that in reality I'm just sitting there with a bag of cheetos and a root beer. Saying "we" makes me feel like I have a little effect when I jump up and down and scream at the TV, waving my cattle prod through the air and electrocuting myself every time the team misses a tackle or drops a pass. Their pain is my pain. Their triumph is mine, and if they win, I'm taking a ceremonial goats blood bath, so I think I've earned the right, mofo.

There. Deal with it.

Go Bears!

Monday, August 26, 2002

Gutenmorgen my little munchkins-

I'm getting bizzy like Izzy and takin care of thangs at the ol' payin' gig, but I do have a couple minutes to holla at ya.

This weekend was good times. Saturday Mrs. P and I hit up a picnic at Sherwoods beach in Waimanalo. The grinds were plenty and varied and delicioso. Huli-huli chicken, rice, hot dogs, Zippy's chili, sushi, chicken katsu, and some of the best damn pinapple cake I ever munched. Sherwoods is a long stretch of beach on the east side of Oahu which is a ways down from Waimanalo beach park. It's named Sherwoods because it fronts a sizeable pine forest, so it kind of feels (and smells) like you're camping in Yosemite, except, shoots, there's a PHAT beach and tasty waves for boogie boarding, body-surfing, and bobbing around like a log if the urge so strikes you.

So it was tasty eats and sun and fun. Got to play some hanafuda, which I guess is the local version of go-stop, the picture card game I learned from my Korean college roommate and long time homey k-swiss aka the playa president. They play it differently here in the islands, so I had to school them on the calikorean stylee.

That night the party didn't stop, as we were invited to a shindig at another of Mrs. P's friend's house in Enchanted Lakes, right outside Kailua. The plan was to grab some beers and pizza and kick it at Lanikai beach to catch the full moon, kick back, and grind. Lanikai beach is basically one of the most picturesque and chillskiest spots in the world, and a Pennyworth fave. Unfortunately we were there about ten minutes and it started raining buckets. The good times were not spoiled though, we were all too OG to let a few sprinkles ruin our fun, we just took the party back to their house and commenced the grinding and tanking and good conversation and laughs were had well into the night.

Sunday was the day for me to flex my muscles on the basketball court and basically live up to my nickname "Big Nasty." Ok that's not my nickname but if I had one, besides "dumbass", that would be it, if I had any control over it. I think I'm more of a "Big Nasty" than a lot of other folks, but I think that Wolfie is a really good name for a goldfish so take that for what it's worth.

So basically I fucked around and got a triple double and did a few double-pump 780 tomahawk jams, but my homey G-Dog still came out on top in the first two marathon games of 21. I got the last laugh, though, as I shattered the backboard on my last dunk in game three so that one was a wash. Don't ask me how I shattered a steel backboard, I just got it like that.

To top it all off, Mrs. P and I headed over the hill last night to the infamous Mai-Tai bar for the best happy hour on Oahu and sucked on Lava Flows and Icy Mai-Tais until the wheels fell off. Some reggae group was bustin out the tunes and the vibe was oh so rastah. So I busted out my harmonica and jumped on stage for their jamaican version of Creedence's classic "Old Lodi Again" and basically, the place went nuts. I mean, if I was a lion, my name would have been Zion.

Really doe.