But Who's in Lancaster . . ?

Once upon a time, it was not unknown to see TV commercials for brand new vinyl LP record albums.

And sometimes, for some reason, in those times, a major record label (or rather, in the case that follows, a noted division of a major record label) put some actual advertising dollars into promoting an album that next to no one would want to hear.

And sometimes, for even less explicable reasons, they put the money and control of that advertising into the hands of the actual recording artist responsible for the difficult music that they were trying to sell.

Which meant that once upon a time, you might wind up with a television commercial like this one,
which is what happens when Straight Records, a division of Reprise Records, a division of Warner Bros. Records,
hands over control of production of the TV spot to Mr. Don Van Vliet, aka Captain Beefheart,
to promote the new album from Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band
(and follow-up to that great populist hit, Trout Mask Replica),
sure to set toes a-tappin' all across the USA in the year of our lord 1970,
Lick My Decals Off, Baby:

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This actually aired on broadcast televsion a handful of times, before being pulled -- mainly due to offense at the title of the album.

I saw it first at MoMA in 1986 -- glad to have it handy now.

Unlucky Brakes/Lucky Breaks?

Oh, yeah, I mentioned some personal items in passing a couple entries ago, saying I'd say something brief about them, so I guess I'd better get to that. Both have wound up being a source of varied emotional, psychological, and financial worries (and, ultimately, relief) this past week, in the midst of putting this show up, and certainly had an effect on my mindstate and ability to work well these last seven days.


First, more directly to me, my vehicle, Petey Plymouth (1994 Grand Voyager, 204,000 miles), had a lovely little accident a week ago when the left front ball joint went, splaying the wheel sideways, snapping the axle, blowing the tire, and sending me skidding across 88th Street and West End Avenue. Luckily, bad noises had been coming from there, so I had been starting to slow down and look for a place to pull over, but I was still going about 25 mph, and left a nice rubber trail across the intersection. I wound up stuck at the northeast corner, in a lane, partly in the crosswalk, which wasn't too bad, but wasn't great either. I guess it sounded pretty hideous from the outside, as well, as quite a crowd gathered and I had to spend some time reassuring people that Berit and I were okay. I just got on the cel to AAA and tried to keep people (including myself) from walking in the flow of transmission fluid coming from Petey.

Then I had to wait for AAA to come and tow me to the garage I use in Southern Brooklyn (McGready's on Coney Island Avenue between T and U, ask for Karl, they're great). The accident happened at 6.15 pm. The tow started at 12.50 am. That's right . . . six-and-a-half-goddamn hours! The first truck they sent arrived at 8 pm, and the young guy had no idea how do deal with moving my broken-axled minivan onto the flatbed (I had been very clear with AAA on the phone, repeatedly, about what the problem was and to make sure they sent people with the equipment to handle it). So he effoed, saying his boss would call AAA and get them to send someone who could handle it. The next few hours brought many calls back and forth between me and AAA as I at times got word that they might not be able to get a truck to me until the next morning (!), and that despite being a Plus member (supposedly good for free towing up to 100 miles), I might have to pay $250 for "special equipment" (!!!). Luckily, neither of these wound up being the case (I was dealing simultaneously with an AAA national center and a local center, and neither of them could tell what the other was doing). I've had cause to use my AAA membership in the past a few times, and they've always been good to me before, very good, but this one time left a pretty bad taste in my mouth all around.

So finally another truck showed up at 11.15 pm, with a competent driver, who saw that he still couldn't handle it alone, and we'd have to wait for help, which took another 75 minutes (and then 20 minutes of careful hauling of Petey onto the flatbed). The first driver stayed to wait the whole time, which was good as it calmed me down -- I didn't think I was going to be abandoned again. Still, I paced and fumed, which is what I pointlessly do when I'm stuck in a bad situation over which I have absolutely no control myself of improving or solving. Berit -- who had gone to the UTC#61 HavelFest meeting that we had both been on our way to, and returned -- tried to take my mind off things by forcing me to play Twenty Questions, but that took the edge off only a bit.

So anyway, long story short (too late), got it to the garage, home by 3.00 am, fixed by 5.00 pm the next day, at a not-huge-but-neither-was-it-insubstantial chunk of change (the front brakes also had to be done). The car feels much better in general now.


Sometimes I REALLY wonder if keeping the car is worth all the trouble. We've had to put about $2,000 into it in the last 3 years or so in repairs. Which seems like a lot. But. It runs better and better as we fix more and more on it (and mechanics are always saying the engine is strong and in good shape, and that if we pay attention and keep on top of everything else it should run damn near forever). And I did some figuring early this year and realized that we save about $2,000 a year from using the van instead of public transportation -- which, as someone who is, on a certain level, not a big car fan, and who thinks public transportation should be used more, is kinda disgusting . . . public transit should be cheaper than driving, dammit! And actually, we probably now save more than that -- I did the figuring at $3.00/gallon. And I'm not in a position to spend more money on anything. And I make money here and there hauling stuff in Petey ($20/hr, need a lift?), as well as keeping my entire shows packed in there when I'm producing something for a festival.


In brief, without Petey, the theatre work wouldn't happen. And money would be even tighter for Berit and I. So, yeah, Petey stays.


The other thing that happened was far more important than the above, but kinda personal, and not-to-be-exploited-blogwise at length. However. As some friends ask after the well-being of my brother in the Army in Iraq, having read me mentioning him here, so briefer than the silly car incident . . .


My brother, David Gregory (my first cousin, adopted and raised by my mom after the death of both his parents), was injured in Iraq this past Tuesday -- NOT by enemy activity. And he's okay. He was on recon with his unit and had been sent ahead to check out a building. He was wearing full body armor and carrying a very heavy armament, and climbed a rickety set of stairs which collapsed under him. He broke his leg, and had to wait for some time until the rest of his unit came and found him. He has been flown to Germany for, last I heard, surgery and/or a cast.

That's the bad news, the good news coming out of it being that as he had only six weeks left in his service anyway, he may very well just get shipped home from Germany. And if not that, he'll be stuck behind a desk for the rest of his Army time. He was in moderately good spirits a few days later -- I had gotten the first news from my mom, but then got an email from him with the subject header "Ow!!!" -- and is in no danger anymore.


I don't think I've ever imagined being so tearfully relieved to hear about a broken limb in my life.