You Didn’t Have to Come Here, But You Did, But You Did, But You Did….

OK, people find this blog in some pretty wacky ways (the search terms “Johnny Depp Crotch Bulge” and “Abba Camel Toe” are two of my favorites) but something weird has been happening the last couple of days….

In the last 24 hours I’ve received in the neighborhood of 130 hits from people searching Google for “ZZ Top”. This has piqued my curiosity. I searched Google for news on the Top thinking maybe one of them died or was caught in bed with Jimmy Swaggart or something, but I’m coming up blank.

If you got here looking for ZZ Top, please fill me in !!!

Anandamide’s Patron Saint: Ace Frehley

Every blog needs some divine intervention from time to time, particularly this one. As a new feature, Anandamide will periodically adopt a new patron saint who is charged with interceding for us. Until further notice our patron saint is Ace Frehley.

Claims to Sainthood:

-Space Ace (who according to Wikipedia was born on the planet Jendel) totally rocked on “Kiss Alive”

-As a child in the Bronx, he reportedly belonged to a street gang called “The Duckies” (ooh, I’d hate to meet them in a dark alley !!!)

-According to legend he used to cart bottles of Dom Perignon between gigs in a metal flight case

-Led police on a 90 mph car chase on the Bronx River Parkway

-Despite being written off as a waste case, had the biggest hit (New York Groove) off any of the Kiss solo albums (take that Gene and Paul, you talentless poseurs)

-Starred in MOST ROCKIN’ DONUT COMMERCIAL…EVER !!!! *

Patron Saint of:

-Taxi drivers

-Champagne drinkers

-Anyone who’s ever had a long term working relationship with one or more control freaks

-8-year old kids circa 1977 who wanted a hip halloween costume but hated fake blood, cats or sissy blouses

-Brilliant bloggers whose livelihood has been thrown into jeopardy by a facist school board with nothing better to do than monitor someone’s blog (you know who you are, and don’t worry, Space Ace is on the case)

-Donut Eaters *

-Anandamide

* thanks to Elizabeth. Saint Ace will say a special prayer for you.

The Bong Remains the Same (Part 3: An Axe With Two Handles)

Previous episodes: Part 1, Part 2.

*****

It seemed like days that we rode through bracingly cold winds and snow. None dared ask what we were seeking until finally the Rover told us:

“This shall be the critical part of our journey. Tonight we ride to Boleskine House in hopes of finding Lord Jim, for without him there is no hope”

Lord Jim was reputed to be a shadowy figure, secretive and very difficult to find. We were told that he returned to Boleskine House each fortnight to conduct solemn twilight rituals. There were whispers of flirtations with satanic forces, but none dared bear witness to these sinister gatherings. Thus it was that we approached Loch Ness with great trepidation, wondering not only whether we would find Lord Jim, but what we might encounter if we did.

We were fortunate enough that when we arrived he was there. He was surprisingly unassuming and gracious, offering us refreshment and agreeing to join our crusade. Despite his gentle manner, however, he was one of the most impressive people I had met. His hair fell about his face and shoulders and he was clad in resplendent finery, adorned with flames and runes. He also held a most wondrous instrument, a starburst guitar with two necks, from which he conjured the most breathtaking sounds, using a violin bow when it pleased him.

Lord Jim mounted his horse, holding his double handled axe. Beside him on a mule rode what appeared to be an American negro. It seemed that the negro’s job was to write songs for Lord Jim. He would sing a song to Lord Jim, who would then turn to us and say, “anyone want to hear the song I just wrote?” at which point he would repeat the negro’s song. The first time this happened, I pointed out that it was actually the same song the negro had just sung, but Sir Jim replied “No, I don’t think so, really. And even if he did sing it, mine’s louder, inn’it?”

Lord Jim looked glorious when we began our journey, like a modern Botticelli. As we rode, however, he appeared increasingly pale and began to sweat. Where he had looked so powerful, he suddenly looked frail and weak, as if he were growing ill. “An evil spell has been cast upon me” he cried “and only Morpheus the great wizard can take it away”. He beckoned us to stop along the way at the castle of Morpheus, who was a caster of spells and a maker of potions. Morpheus bestowed upon us a magic white powder, which Sir Jim took into his nose. And when he lifted his head he was refreshed, the terrible spell broken. “now let the hammer of the gods drive our ship to new lands” said he.

to be continued….

Deserted Island Heartbreaker

I’ve been tagged by Mister Peace, who asks the question “If you were left alone on a deserted island, which celebrity would you choose to spend the time with?”.

First of all, I love the euphemism “spend the time with”, which reminds me of the Rolling Stones being forced to change “Let’s Spend the Night Together” to “Let’s Spend Some Time Together” on the Ed Sullivan Show (see it here). Clearly the question is “what celebrity would you like to sleep with”. OK, fair enough, good question.

As my faithful readers know (hell, even my unfaithful readers have probably figured it out by now), nothing gets discussed on this site unless it “goes to 11“, so I’m not going to expand on my real answer, which is that I would choose late ’60s-era Julie Newmar (“Catwoman” on the old Batman show) to accompany me. And of course (since this is, after all, my fantasy), she would have to wear her cat suit (at least for a while).

Everything you need to know about why I chose Julie Newmar, you’ll find here. Instead, I’m going to turn this post over to my brother who is 10 years older than me (you can call him Bro’mide) who will relay to you a real deserted island story.

Actually, before I turn it over to Bro’mide, I’d just like everyone to know that Julie Newmar holds US patent 4,003,094 for “Pantyhose with shaping band for cheeky derriere relief”. OK, back to the deserted island….

****

The year was 1979. People always ask me “what was it like to come of age in the late seventies? It must have been magical”. Well, let me tell you, it was magical. Our country had never been in better shape domestically or internationally and young people were filled with a sense of hope and purpose. Sure, we were naive and idealistic, but how could you not be with the music of Supertramp, Styx and REO Speedwagon ringing in the air? It was important music for an important time. It inspired us to “Keep Pushin’” and to “Take the Long Way Home”. It told each of us “it’s you, Babe !!”.

Anyway, I was flying to Hawaii in August of that year when the engine of our plane caught fire. There was pandemonium as the plane began to plummet and I must have passed out, as the next thing I remember was hearing a woman’s voice imploring me to wake up. I opened my eyes and was almost blinded by the sunshine. I turned my face away and noticed I was laying on sand and there was debris scattered all around me. Then I looked up and saw her….

I don’t know if it was the black legwarmers or the way the bold red stripes on her body suit gripped her lithe frame. Maybe it was the abruptness of her haircut? Her headband? The thick rouge and mascara? No, surely it was her lips, those succulent, ruby-painted lips. Something about her said “you better run”, this lady means business. It took me a minute to fully comprehend the situation I had found myself in. There was nobody but the two of us, surrounded on all sides by ocean. I was stranded on a deserted pacific island with Pat Benatar.

“You look like a real tough cookie” she said as I got up and brushed myself off “c’mon, there’s work to be done”. She was a dynamo, jumping from one job to the next: telling me where to gather fire wood, instructing me exactly how to build a shelter, showing me just how to rub two sticks together to make fire and pointing out exactly where I could go to trap wild game for our dinner. By the end of the day I was exhausted, but Pat never broke a sweat.

Why did I work like a slave for her all day, not requiring that she actually lift a finger? Are you kidding me? It was PAT FUCKING BENATAR !!!! I was 20 years old, not particularly good looking and frankly, no rocket scientist. But I was alone on an island with Pat Benatar, with no apparent hope of being found. God had gifted me a golden opportunity and I wasn’t going to waste it slacking off. I was playing the knight in shining armor card in hopes that this might turn into “The Blue Lagoon: Rock Star Edition”.

I’ll admit, she was a little cool at first. I tried dropping a hint: “geez, it sure is hot here, you must be dying in that body suit”.

“Hurry up with that firewood” was all she said. But I wasn’t deterred.

After a couple of days, the combination of our coconut diet and sun stroke was making us both a little giddy and I could tell she was loosening up. At one stage, she bent down to adjust the fire and I couldn’t help but stare. She turned around and caught me looking and simply gave me a knowing glance.

“Who are you mister?” she asked, teasingly.

I took the bait: “I’m the right kind of sinner…”

“…to release my inner fantasy?” Ouch. This was getting hot !! I was beginning to forget that she was a rock star and I was a regular schlub. I was on !! I decided that night I’d make my move.

That evening we were making a signal fire on the beach, though god knows I didn’t actually want to be found at this point. We lit a mighty fire spelling out S.O.S.

I turned to her: “This fire has got me pretty hot, I’m ready for a swim”

“You don’t have a bathing suit” she said with a mischievous grin.

“Are you coming in with me?” I said, pulling a little closer to her.

“Hmm…don’t know what I’d wear” she replied, smiling slyly and standing on her tip toes to kiss my neck.

I gently kissed her forhead. “Am I going to be just another notch in your lipstick case?”

“Not if you put me in my place” she said, and slowly began to pull the body suit off her shoulder. This was it….

Suddenly an air horn pierced the night. Startled, we turned around to see that a large cruise ship had come over the horizon.

“We’re saved” she shrieked, and grabbed for a flaming palm leaf which she began frantically waving in the air.

Before I knew it, a rescue boat had come to shore and had taken us to the cruise ship. People on the ship went crazy when the realized they had just saved Pat Benatar. I sort of got lost in the commotion. After we reached the shore in Hawaii, I didn’t see too much of Pat. A couple of months later I got an autographed 8×10 glossy in the mail. I still have it tucked away somewhere but I don’t show too many people.

She was a real heartbreaker, that Pat Benatar. A dream maker, true, but ultimately a love taker. Still I was glad that, even for that brief moment, she had decided to mess around with me.

****

He’s a melancholy one, that Bro’mide. You should hear his story about the time he met Eddie Money in Vegas….Maybe he’ll tell you himself someday.

Anyway, that’s my deserted island post. So now I’ll tag this assignment off to Evil Genius, Blowing Shit Up With Gas, Prunella De Ville and Miss Smack. The latter two earned this dubious assignment because of their saucy showing over at Miss Smack’s recently…You’re it, who are you taking to your island?

 

 

The Bong Remains the Same (Part 2: Bringer of the Rumble)

…continued from Part 1

******

We rode on for an hour or so. I was somewhat surprised that Sir John had managed to stay on his horse, given that he had been imbibing continuously since I had met him the previous evening.

“Rover, where are we going” I asked.

“We are going to Sidcup forest to find John-Paul the minstrel” he replied “for every noble expedition requires both bottom end and mellotron”.

We found him under the shade of a willow tree, plucking a mandolin, singing “hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy ma-a-an“. Unlike Sir John, he was quiet and unassuming. In fact, he never spoke a word for the duration of the crusade. But while he could hardly have been more different from Sir John, when the two of them got together, they seemed to each grow in power, creating a thunderous rumble that shook the ground and scared animals from their homes.

That first night, we sat around a roaring fire and ate a warthog that Sir John had killed with his bare hands. John-Paul entertained us with his mandolin while we drank from Sir John’s seemingly bottomless barrel of mead. We danced in the dark of night, and sang until the morning light. And when finally our heads touched the pillow, the Rover said “may your sleep give you strength noble lads and may your stairway lie on the whispering wind”

I fell into a fitful sleep, only to be woken by an unseasonably frigid wind. I didn’t believe my own eyes, for it was late summer and the ground was being covered with snow. The Rover cried “See, it has begun !! The winds of Thor are blowing cold !!! On your horses brave men, the snow drives back the foot that’s slow”.

Sir John rose and warmed himself with a long drink of mead which he took straight from the barrel. He mounted his horse with a look of steely fire in his eyes “Onward men, these dark forces will grant no quarter, nor shall any be asked !!!”

All that cold, dark night we rode, walking side by side with death, the devil mocking our every step.

to be continued…..

Why Cortland, New York is Better Than Whatever Shitty Town You Live In….

Is your town the birthplace of diminutive rock goblin Ronnie James Dio?

No?

Does your town have a street named after Ronnie James Dio?

No?

Your town sucks.

The Bong Remains the Same (Chapter 1: Sticks of Thunder)

“Daddy, can you tell me a story? Not the stupid one about the curious monkey again, OK?”

“Ha, Ha. Alright then son, maybe you’re ready for a different type of story. Let me tell you of something that happened to me years ago, in days of old when magic filled the air.”

******

My adventure began most innocently one summer morning as I was out for a walk. I had the good fortune of sighting a most rare species of butterfly, the high brown fritillary. I followed this exquisite creature deeper and deeper into a nearby forest. Immersed in my pursuit, I scarcely noticed how time had passed when suddenly, I realized the sun had set and I was lost in the forest. Just as I was beginning to panic, I heard a bustle in the hedgerow. I hid behind a nearby tree. Suddenly from the tree emerged a creature no taller than my waist, with long ears, a white beard and the look of one who had lived through many years of toil.

“Don’t be alarmed now” said he “I am the Rover, and I come in peace, seeking your help”. I thought of running but instead, I felt strangely drawn to answer his call.

“At your service sir” said I, “tell me the nature of the problem”.

“As I had hoped” said the creature “you are a brave and noble man. Little do you know, however, that these lands have been taken by evil forces. Before long all life in these lush valleys will die: see already how these apples turn from brown to black. The dark lord rides in force tonight. But there are four men of supernatural power who, if united can bring the balance back. And a new day will dawn for those who stand long, and the forests will echo with laughter.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but felt compelled to act on his words. “Tell me sir, what must I do to unite these four powerful men?”

“The first man you must recruit is Sir John, keeper of the sticks of thunder” said the Rover. “He lives in the castle whose spires rise beyond yonder wood”. I walked stealthily towards the spire and found Sir John in his castle, where he was feasting lustily upon roast boar and drinking ale from a mighty stein. I told him of our plight and he agreed in an instant to join the crusade. “I will throw down my plow and hoe, and rest not to lock my home. This disgrace upon our fair nation must be removed” said he. His words, which appeared to make no sense, stirred some strange fire in me, and I longed for our adventure to begin.

“Before we embark, you must join my feast” said Sir John. I agreed and a mighty stein of ale was placed before me, along with a whole leg of roasted boar. As he drank he was filled with courage and began to tell tales of rape and pillage from previous tours. I tried in vain to keep pace with his consumption, but when I next gained consciousness, it was morning and it seemed I had fallen over in my chair and was covered from the waist down in some strange liquid. Sir John was still sitting in his chair, filling yet another stein with ale. I noted that the floor was covered in shattered dishes and shards of broken furniture, as if some ferocious beast had destroyed the room in a fury.

“How are you, good sir?”, said Sir John, still seemingly full of spirits.

“My head is humming and it won’t go” said I.

“The piper is calling you to join him” said Sir John. What strange men these were, thought I.

“Arise, we must go!!” Sir John shouted “Servants, we will need horses !!! Prepare Zildjan and Moby Dick for the journey”. He picked up a large drum and his two mighty sticks of oak and began to beat on the drum in preparation for battle. The thunderous sound of his drum shook the castle wall and caused all of the creatures of the forest to quake with fear. They also made my head throb with pain as I mounted my majestic steed. Sir John mounted his horse, which was equipped with an ample barrel of mead. He poured himself a large cupful for fortification.

“Father of the four winds, fill our sails !!!” said the Rover and we set off on our journey.

to be continued…..

Dear Dave

David Lee Roth answers your questions on life, love and the pursuit of happiness.

Dear Dave:

I’m having a real struggle with an ex-girlfriend of mine. I feel that the time we were together was the best period of my life and frankly, nothing has gone very well for me since we split up. My career is in the toilet and I seem to make an ass of myself wherever I go. Where I used to be perceived as quite a catch, I now get the sense that people are snickering at me behind my back. I desperately want to get back to the life I had when we broke up, even though it was more than twenty years ago.

Recently she approached me about seeing if we could re-kindle the old flame. The problem is that she’s a raging alcoholic and every time we try to get back together (more times than I can count, to be honest), things fall apart as quickly as they started and I realize that nothing has actually changed. To make matters worse, every time we re-unite, I go out and tell everyone, only to be publicly humiliated yet again. Am I crazy to consider going out with her again?

-On the Fence in Beloit

Dear On the Fence:

“The long awaited Van Halen reunion tour is on: Rolling Stone has confirmed that the band will make an official anouncement at a Los Angeles press conference on Monday (August 13th). The tour, Van Halen’s first outing with Roth since 1984, will hit arenas this fall”.

The Moral: Albert Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. What makes you think this time will be any different than previous times you’ve tried? To be honest, you should stay away from this dame, she sounds like trouble. Thanks for your letter and remember to check out Van Halen, coming to a town near you in the fall !!!

Five Things…That Should Have Been Said From The Stage of Woodstock

 

August 15th will mark the 38th anniversary of the Woodstock festival. It would be no overstatement to say that the festival changed the world forever. Prior to Woodstock the world was a violent, racist place where people just couldn’t seem to stop fighting. Afterwards the world was pretty much the same, but without Woodstock there would have been no Woodstock ‘99. Even on the most perfect, earth-changing occasion, however, you find yourself thinking about things that should have been said. So to honor that momentous occasion, here are five things that should have been said from the stage

- “Does anyone out there know how to tune a guitar?”

- “Maybe if we think real hard we can stop all this body odor !!!”

- “Good morning! What we have in mind is breakfast in bed for four hundred thousand. Also, screwing over future generations with our greedy, consumptive behavior.”

- ”We’re bringing in a tanker-truck full of Kwellada which will be free for everyone !!!”

- “Please drink some of the purple kool-aid that’s being handed out by the sound board.”

Are You There God? It’s Me, Elton.

Dear God,

I’m always hearing people blather on about how you move in mysterious ways and how hard it is to understand your will. I always thought that was a lot of whiny bollocks. Some people just can’t get over the fact that they’re stupid and ordinary while other people are talented and fabulous. Or at least that’s what I thought….

Well, I have to admit big fella, even I’m beginning to wonder whether you really know what you’re doing. Take the example of my recent album “The Captain and the Kid”. It would be the understatement of the year to say I haven’t been happy with the sales figures. It’s a great album, even with Bernie Taupin’s ugly mug on the cover (believe me, I tried to have him cut off, but Bernie’s got quite the ego and wouldn’t hear of it). So why the crappy sales?

Like so many philosophers and theologians before me, I found myself asking “why do bad things happen to good people?”. Well, actually what I asked was “why the hell should someone as talented and fabulous as me not sell albums?”, but that’s pretty much the same question. Initially I figured you were trying to cut the young singers some slack, given that we old-timers sell all the concert tickets. Then I open Billboard and see that Rod Stewart is selling copies of these God-awful “American Songbook” albums like they’re penicillin and the record-buying public is Paris Hilton. “Bloody hell”, I thought “if that wrinkled old dandy is selling records, I should sell records too”.

So Lord, since you’re always bragging on and on about what a “just” God you are, how about demonstrating it by moving 10 or 15 million copies of my album? And Lord, if it be thy will, please give Rod Stewart throat and ball cancer. Thanks.

Your humble servant,

Elton