HALLOWEEN-TIME ALL THE TIME



Today is my favorite day of the year- Halloween. Granted, for a grown man, there are an awful lot of Draculas and Frankenstiens and sundry Wolfpeople-related objects in my home and an exorbitant number of horror movies at arm's reach that can be watched at any time, so it's arguable October 31st is really just something of an arbitrary date for me anymore.

But Halloween is more than monsters and make-up and slasher flicks. It's generally the peak of fall(the best three-weeks to live in the Midwest) and, amongst other things, it's the one time of year it's socially acceptable for dentist's offices, car dealerships, and library reading rooms around the country to adorn their coffee tables and waiting areas with mutilated body parts and corpses.

Maybe it's living in the city as opposed to a kid-filled small town, or maybe it's the fact that I'm no longer a kid myself (well... sorta) but it seems like Halloween has become less about kids and trick-or-treating, and more an excuse for adults to put on wigs, get drunk and act like assholes.

Now, a kid in a costume is adorable. Find any second grader, and have them dress up like a potato, a box of cotton swabs, or a velociraptor, and it's gonna be pretty awesome. Do the same thing to an adult, and you have... well, a jackass. Because by the time you're 20 or so, you should not have any interest in dressing up like a potato, or for that matter, any tuberous vegetable, Spiderman, Vasco Da Gamma, or Beethoven. Unless that's your job- say, you work for the Russet Gold Potato company, and your assigned task is to hand out potato-related propaganda while wearing a spud costume- there is absolutely no reason to subject yourself to the well-warranted ridicule that comes with being a grown-ass man in a potato suit.

Another thing about adults in costumes: they act like fucking assholes. When a kid is dressed like a pirate, and they act like a pirate, it's funny and cute. A kid with that fake polka-dot beard painted on in grease pencil talking like a drunken 18th century sea-faring British man? Priceless. But with adults, it's a grating, awful affair that will arouse in the more sensible among us a seemingly insurmountable urge to beat these people about the face and vital organs with a lead pipe. It doesn't matter what they're dressed as- whether some kind of Depp-related pirate, a corn cob, or a sexy pumpkin- they will find a way to take their costume source material and use it as an excuse to act it out in the most infuriating, slappable way possible. Add alcohol to the mix, and that gut instinct to set fire to the slurring, stumbly Ringo Starr standing next to you who keeps sloshing Vodka Cranberry down your front while trying to do a cute impression of one of the oft-maligned Beatle's solo records is truly justified..

Oh, and if you're an adult dressed like a pimp, a "gangsta," or any kind of piratey anything- nice try, but apparently you have been sapped of every last ounce of creativity left in your body. It's been done. And Austin Powers? Really? Still? That was like 15 years ago- give it a rest. When is that gonna die? Hopefully before I do.

I propose we give Halloween back to the kids. Because, if nothing else, the movie "Halloween" should've taught us by now that getting a babysitter for your kids on Halloween night is both a bummer, and a potential path to unadulterated slaughter.

Oh, and if another drunk grown-ass fake pirate shouts "Arr Matey!" at me, I may have to see to it that he actually NEEDS that eye patch.

Happy Halloween, ev'rbuddy!

MAKIN' THAT DOUGH- Charlie Parr's Too Much Liquor, Not Enough Gasoline

Charlie Parr is a phenomenal storyteller and guitar picker (of the Piedmont tradition) from Duluth, MN. I had the pleasure of putting together the artwork for his Independent Records Ireland debut,
Too Much Liquor, Not Enough Gasoline.

It's a sort of retrospective collecting some truly outstanding gems from Charlie's last handful of self-released records.

Charlie has an off-kilter, laid back and hugely authentic style about him that seems to be lacking in most "revivalist" traditional country blues-types going nowadays. These songs manage to sound modern while inexplicably simultaneously sounding like they could be some long forgotten gem from Blind Willie McTell or Mississippi John Hurt.

If you haven't heard him, I highly suggest doing so, especially if you're at all a fan of country blues or classic folk singer-songwriters of the John Prine/Dave Van Ronk/Kristofferson ilk. Or, hell- just a fan of really fucking good music.

Check out his website:

www.charlieparr.com

Buy a record or two- you'll be damn glad you did. Should he find his way in your town, you'll never find a better reason to get yourself out of the house and watch a master of the form at work.

This record is available from Independent Records Ireland:

www.independentrecords.ie

These are lo-res files, so they're a titch blurry, but you don't mind that now do ya?

It looks a lot better when you order yer own copy and see it in person.

Bottoms up...


Booklet cover:

Inside booklet:

CD face:

CD tray back:

HIGHWAY TO THE DANGER ZONE

As summer, the (theoretical) season for leisure and relaxation, comes to a close around here, I've come to realize more fully just how utterly taboo a good number of our accepted forms of warm weather entertainments in this country would be in most other parts of the world.

For example... the air show; a time-honored tradition in the cities and suburbs of our fair country since the post-war era. Last month, as the Air & Water show set up shop here on Chicago's lake front, millions (yes millions) of hard working middle class Americans packed up picnic baskets, grabbed the kiddies and the lawn chairs and headed down to hunt out the perfect spot to spend a Sunday afternoon celebrating the end of summer by watching military war craft normally used in carpet bombings and air raids gracefully swoop and twirl around for their entertainment.

Every year it's the same situation: you're going about your business, heading to work or grabbing a sandwich on your lunch break, when super-sonic F-15 Bombers screech over head, bringing everyone on the sidewalk to a halt, hand blocking panicked faces as an unearthly sound-barrier-shattering roar pierces the city. The collective memory kicks in, and fear-grimaces melt into smiles as all remember the air and water show taking place over the weekend. Gotta get out and see that one, kids!

In a country where, moreover, we're fat & happy (or at least fat), screeching war planes dredge up fond memories of summers gone by spent listening to classic rock blasting out of decrepit speakers, knocking back a slurpee and a big soft pretzel while watching death ships perform aerial acrobatics. In innumerable other countries, screeching warplanes send the masses scattering, eliciting fear of being completely obliterated by a cruise missile, which, to be fair, is really the appropriate reaction.

Of course, there are a litany of other forms wholesome American summer funstuffs that really drive home the myriad reasons why other countries aren't always so crazy about us.

Eating contests, anyone?

Giant, mutant vegetables at the County Fair?

Grand Funk Railroad?

Welcome, Fall, I embrace you.... your hay rack rides, haunted houses and apple bobs aren't nearly as middle finger-y to the rest of the world.