Since I Haven't Blogged In Like 5 Weeks, Here Are 5 Updates.

1. I scrolled through some old posts to check, but I don't think that I've told all of you that we are due for our second kiddo in September. It's actually the same due date as Erik Noisewater, so there is a possibility they could have the same birthday. I suppose that would be the most important update for me, creating more human life and all, but let's move onto the random stupid items because if any of you have been reading a while, you know that is what I'm better at reporting on.



2. I've been doing the intermittent fasting about 4 to 6 days a week. I'll stop eating around 630pm and not eat again until 10:30AM the next day. I have to say I feel a lot better when I stick to it, and when I do I'm regular as a the sun, since you asked. It is also a good fit for me because I can get in bad patterns, such as knocking out entire rows of Girl Scout cookies. Mrs. Noisewater was all excited about a cookie after work only to find that after a few too many IPA's one Saturday evening I had ingested my standard entire row amount to polish off a box. Now it is a battle of wills. I bought another couple boxes to make it up to her and to prove to myself that I can control my inner fat kid impulses. So now when I need that little jolt of chocolate I'll open up the fridge and squirt a small amount of Hershey's syrup directly into my mouth like an uncivilized pile of crap human. Essentially it is like going to the methadone clinic for the heroin addict. Nowhere near as good as eating a row of cookies/mainlining smack, but it gets you through.



3. My good friend HLP (Heterosexual Life Partner) and I have been hitting a concert every month or every other month as our music tastes have aligned to a lot of the same doom/stoner/desert/fuzz bands. One thing we do is switching off who buys the tickets, and the other system is kind of a genius strategy that I am now sharing with you, my friends. What we do is look up the setlists of the one or two, sometimes three bands that we like on the bill on setlist.fm. You'll find that most bands these days don't stray from the exact same songs night after night, so we will take all those songs and make them into one giant (especially if it's three bands) mixed up Spotify playlist that we can share with one another. And we alternate who does that task too. And viola! Now we can listen to that playlist over the course of a few weeks and will be totally familiar with all of the songs the bands will play without wasting any time at all with songs that won't be in the set list. Feel free to steal this system for yourself because, while I do admit it's pretty darn ingenious, I see no possible way to monetize it.



4. And speaking of the rock and roll music, the wife and kid joined me for one of my favorite days of the year, Record Store Day, and we had one heck of a good time (at least I did). What I did is look up which stores were giving out free donuts and coffee and such and made a nice route to hit around four stores. Erik Noisewater had his heart set on a pink donut with sprinkles, and by god I found one for him and four records for under twenty bucks for the old man. While at one tiny store I noticed that there was a good deal of sections for hip hop, trance, drums and bass . . . . But where in the hell was the damn rock music? Then I saw around thirty or fifty vinyls filed under "Dad Rock." That is where they file their very limited actual rock music with guitars. And sure enough the dad with the kid running around the store asking for donuts picked himself up some very, very dad-like rock, a Jerry Rafferty album.



5. Do you all feel like you get smarter or dumber as the years roll on? Recently I started getting the notion that my wits were going in the wrong direction. There was a time where I walked into a room and fancied myself one of the sharpest blokes in the room, and sadly I just don't feel that way quite as much anymore. This is something I feel like I have to turn around, so I started some new habits like reading the newspaper cover-to-cover, doing crossword puzzles, and limiting my social media time. And hopefully writing more. I gotta write more, guys. I'm sorry I have slowed up so much with my output, but that is just another step I have to take to avoid gradually growing duller like the rest of America.

Okay, friends. You got any input on any of these five items listed above? If not, then just tell me something else that will make me laugh because laughing is good for the soul and the gall bladder. Mostly the soul.  

These Are the Records That Were Spinning In My Neighborhood

I've been putting off blogging by watching all kinds of useless junk on the internet, such as this band that dresses up like Transformers and plays songs from "Transformers: The Movie," the animated movie from 1986. Aren't those costumes fantastic? But I can't help but feel sorry for the guy stuck portraying Spike, the earthling and friend of the Transformers. It's as if they ran out of money on the other elaborate costumes and just stuck him with a factory jumpsuit and a hard hat.



Tomorrow I'm going out to the suburbs for a record sale hosted some dude in his garage. He says that if you show him on your phone that you have shared the link to the add to someone else on Facebook, he will give you an ice cold Old Style tall boy. For my European readers (okay, reader, let's face it), Old Style is a cheap beer sold only in the midwest, and tall boy means a 16 ounce can. It seems this guy has way too many records and decided to take a couple days drinking beer in his garage and selling a bunch of vinyl. It's only a town or two over from my parents' place, I like beer, and I like records. How can I say no? The plan is to drop my very pregnant wife off at work and drive right out into the suburbs to thumb through stacks and stacks of vinyl while sipping on a cool one. What a great way to end the summer!

No idea who this guy is, but is he more proud of his lady or the beer?

Speaking of the very pregnant wife, it's now the 25th of August, and our due date is September 12th. We have the crib set up in the bedroom, and sometimes we will walk by it and say, "Hey, that's where baby sleeps!" Then we will be in the car and motion to the backseat where the carseat is hooked up and say, "That's where baby rides!" Just today I drove Mrs. Noisewater by the hospital on her way to way to work, and she said, "Hey, Ken. That's where baby is going to be born." It's obvious the first time we say those things, then it's just repetitive, and after a while it's hilarious to us. I think because we both can't believe we are having a baby in a matter of weeks, maybe days!

And then back to vinyl again: Today's actual blog topic involves listening to the records that were on the turntable when I was a kid and recording my impressions now and memories then. My mom and dad were actually not that big on rock music. Their collection consists of a lot more jazz and classical. However, there were a handful of rock records that they would play, and my sister and I would spin those select few over-and-over.

1. Fleetwood Mac, "Rumors."



As a little kid, I'll be honest, the first thing that excited me about the record was the cover because Mick Fleetwood had a pair of balls dangling from strings like a nut sack. Balls were funny then, and they still are. And I like how Stevie Nicks gazes in the general direction of his dangling crawdads with a look of utmost sincerity. Within the lyric sheet insert there are a series of photographs, and in one there is a guy smoking a joint. I remember hearing at school how terrible and illegal drugs were, so I thought that by pressing this album, the police could go to that guy's house and arrest him for drug use. Isn't it weird how brainwashed and confused little Kenneth Noisewater was from public education?

There were two simultaneous break ups going on within Fleetwood Mac at the time they made "Rumours." Bass player John McVie and his wife, keyboard player and singer Christie McVie, were going through a divorce. Christie was seeing a new guy, and she wrote a song about her rejuvenated faith in love called "You Make Loving Fun." John had to play bass on a song about his wife being all excited about fucking someone new! This fueled his already heavy drinking. John would be one of the first guys into the studio to record his parts, and he would often be the first one done because he would pass out.

Lindsay Buckingham, singer and guitarist, was also splitting up with his girlfriend, singer and hippy-chick poet all-star, Stevie Nicks. Stevie was taking it really hard and wrote an amazing song called "Dreams" all about it. Not to be outdone, Lindsey wrote one too called "Go Your Own Way." So, four of the five members were having break-ups with each other, and that left drummer, Mick Fleetwood, who was in the midst of a failing marriage with his wife. The pain and heartache all five members were experiencing at the time could have spelt disaster, but it was instead channeled into a catharsis that became one of the best albums in rock history; certainly the best break up album. In fact, all five members are given writing credit for an extremely moving piece of music called "The Chain." That's one of those songs that even as a 7-year-old kid, nowhere near dating any chicks or having any breakups of my own, I knew that song was somehow important. It was just majestic.

2. My sister and I probably played Three Dog Night the most. I remember big sister and her friend made a dance routine to "One," of all songs, and would play it over-and-over again to rehearse their steps. My parents still talk about a trip we took to Pittsburgh where us two and the kids of our family friends were spontaneously singing "Joy To the World" during any downtime. I didn't know at the time, but Three Dog Night was a cover band. I loved "Try a Little Tenderness" as a youngster and had no idea that Otis Redding did it first. "Celebrate," and "Old Fashioned Love Song" we also liked. We thought "Eli's Coming" was about some sort of bad boogie man type coming to get everyone. Then up until recently I thought it was a song warning people against a cock block buddy of his. Allow me to explain.

What he's really saying:

"Eli's coming, hide your heart girl."

What I thought he was saying:

"Eli's coming, hide your hot girl."

Not at all about a cock block. My apologies. 

3. My mom and dad had only one Rolling Stones album called "Gimme Shelter." One side, to my recollection, were recorded versions of "Gimme Shelter," "Jumpin' Jack Flash," "Street Fighting Man," "Honkey Tonk Woman," and "Love In Vain." The other side was a collection of live songs, the only which I know for sure were "Satisfaction" and "Under My Thumb." My sister and I rarely gave that side a spin.

What I do remember is feeling so sad when I heard "Love In Vain." It's a Robert Johnson cover. He is the blues legend from the 1930's who was rumored to have sold his soul in exchange for a brief and wondrous career that would prove to be extraordinarily influential to blues and later rock music. There is only that one session of recordings and that one picture that we always see of the man. In any event, it wasn't just Jagger's pained vocals that struck a chord, so to speak, with me. Mick Taylor's slide guitar was wailing away in anguish in a way 7-year-old Ken just didn't hear on the 1980's radio stations that were playing Kajagoogoo around that time.



My parents threw out all their records some time in the early 2000's, but I have since tracked down my own copies of some of them. However, I don't have that same Stones record. What I have is "Let It Bleed," largely because of that "Love In Vain" cover is one there. In a case of tragic music-lover irony, the only song on either side that skips is none other than "Love In Vain."

It's all the more a sad song to hear Mick keeps saying

"I followed her to the station . . . With a suitcase in my hand (hic), in my hand (hic), in my hand (hic), in my hand (hic) . . ."

Man Night

I have some friends coming over in a bit for one of our Man Nights (no wives, kids, or girlfriends aloud). After spinning records and sampling a few craft beers at my place, we're going to go down the street to a nice restaurant that I've been meaning to try. Going to dinner with just dudes was not something I did in my twenties. Back then the dinner might be a slice of pizza chased down with something in the neighborhood of 30 beers. As a matter of fact, if 20's Ken just heard 30's Ken's nerdy agenda for the night, he would makes an excuse to blow off 30's Ken and never call him again.

However, right about now, being with a collection of some of the best friends I've ever had with great music and tasty beer sounds perfect. Here is some of the stuff that will be going down so that you, my beloved readers, can feel like you're here with us. For the virtual version of the party, all are welcome (women, children, and members of the animal kingdom included).

I got this on hand. It's one of my favorite beers ever. This is not my house in the pic. I can prove it because Mrs. Noisewater and I have no fireplace. We would like one, but not as much as we would like a dishwasher.

And let's not forget the vinyl that will be spinning:

Bought this one for $0.99 over a year ago, and I haven't found the occasion to throw it on. The soundtrack to a buddy cop show is the perfect accompinanet to a buddy's night, I think. And Crocket and Tubbs would surely agree. 

I haven't played Vol 4 or Masters of Reality in a helluva long time, so I decided to just play them both. Maybe what I'll do is pick the best side of each, and play each of those sides. That's a diplomatic and time efficient solution. Thanks for pointing me in that direction, beloved readers.

I have a warped version of Santana's first album that is TWICE as bad as this one, and the thing is that despite the fact that the needle raises over an inch up and down as it spins, it plays perfectly! There are some jams on this one, such as "Jingo," but mostly I just want to show my buddies how it wobbles away and plays just fine. Looks like the less warped record in this picture is a Beatles one based on the big apple, don't you think?

I do enjoy a good cheese spread, and hopefully they offer a good one at the fancy-pants restaurant tonight. Someone told me recently that cheese has addictive qualities like drugs. I for sure suffer from this affliction because if there is a fancy cheese in the fridge, I will go to town on it when I come home drunk or during the day when I'm not even hungry. I may have a problem, but tonight I'm going to feed the cheese beast what he wants, and that's a lovely Gruyere, or whatever the fuck.

Then we will go to a few bars and possibly end up at the infamous Liars Club. At that point all classiness will come to a screeching halt, and we will be reverting back to the 20's versions of ourselves, dancing our faces off to goofy stuff like Britney Spears immediately followed by moshing around to Suicidal Tendencies. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time my buddy was taking a pee there and felt something dripping on his bare feet (he was wearing flip-flops)? It was his own pee dripping through a hole in the urinal. Now, you know a place has a certain cache' if we continue to go back there when there are disgusting health code violations such as that. I wouldn't try their cheese tray, let's put it that way.

Thanks for joining the party, readers. Hope you are also having a fantastic weekend.

So I had this dream last night that my girlfriend and I were desperately trying to screw in this giant grotto style public pool type place, but we kept getting interrupted.  It was as if it had to get done or something bad was going to happen.  And at one point I looked down to see that I had way too much chest hair.  Truth be told, I'm a bit of a hairless mammal, so it was a little scary for me.

In other news, when I went to pick up my contacts today, I dropped into the record store across the street that I usually go to when I see the eye doctor.  They specialize in dance/house type music so their rock collection is very limited.  They play their shitty house music the whole time, and when I was done selecting my $13.10 worth of records, I found myself waiting at the register with no one to ring me up for a couple minutes.  So I peeked into the back room to find three employees hanging out and not working, and I had to interrupt them and ask if someone could actually do two minutes of work and ring up my purchase.

Yup.  That's what your typical record shop in Chicago is like.  They're snobs, they are way over staffed with guys doing nothing, and they suck.  When I did that job, I loved every single shift.  It was the best job in the world - listening to music all day and talking about it all day.  Real jobs are hard, and that's what they need to realize.  The record shop gig is fun and really, really easy, but you do have to staff one of the three guys to be not in the back room so that they can spot when a customer is trying to spend money in the shop.  That's one of the only rules.

Okay.  I gotta go spin my $13.10 of music that was well spent, even if the proprietors didn't make it easy for me to spend it.

Early Morning Riser

I had a long day today.  Stressful and emotional.  I stopped off for a beer by myself at a good bar by my apartment.  It's worth the extra few blocks because it's awesome.  Talking about Journey Atari games got me engrossed with some of the regulars, and as some country music played, I got excited to go home and listen to "Bustin' Out" on vinyl by Pure Prarie League.  I bought this record years ago only because "Amy" is on it, but it is chocked full of awesome southern rock.  And I bought it for $0.49.  Yes.  Less than fifty cents.

I just read that paragraph and saw that I was excited to go home.  Wow.  Officially a dork.

Kim Coulter wrote her name in some permanent marker across the front of the cover of the LP.  Don't you ever want to know who these people are?  I imagine tons of people have sold this record for a host of reasons, but the way I operate is I need to know who owned THIS VERY COPY.

I'm a weird fan of rock music.  The kind that wants to know who listened to this album and where.  And which drugs were consumed.  And did Kim have any feelings about having to part with this record, or was it Kim's daughter who sold it?  And is Kim dead?  Did Kim ever really dig this record?  I mean, she cared enough to write her name on it . . .

Anyone else think at along these lines, or am I totally a nut.  I am too nuts to be alone right now, right?  Maybe I should just belly up to the bar again and stop being a nut.

Ancient Album Review Part 1

As you may have read a couple posts ago, my girlfriend moved into my tiny apartment, and I needed to make some space.  One such consolidating project was putting my hundreds and hundreds of CD's into a book.  I have thought about doing this a number of times, but ultimately I find it hard to part with the plastic cases because I like to see the stickers to know where I bought them, or a sticker that says "hold for Kenneth," which means someone at the record store I worked at put it on hold for me.  And while it's easy to put the booklet of the CD into the flip book, sometimes I couldn't just throw away the back cover or the owe that could be seen when you open up the case - so that artwork just had to be stuffed in there as well.

Opening up all these discs was very nostalgic for me, and I thought I would share my memories and impressions of one disc with all of you: "Cosmic Slop" by Funkadelic from 1973.  The first Funkadelic record I heard was 1971's "Maggot Brain" which totally blew me away, so I was excited when, while working at the record store, one of our regulars brought in "Cosmic Slop."  This guy always smelled like beer and cigarettes, and the disc smelled like cigarettes for some time too (I'm surprised it still doesn't).  I loved it right away, and every song still sounds amazing.  Many of these tales make up stories in the inner city, struggles that people go through, only the music is way the hell better than any gangster rap album.

1. "Nappy Dugout" - A fantastic drum track over a song that, judging by the title, is probably about vaginas.

2. "You Can't Miss What You Can't Measure" - A song about heartache and break-ups, one of which involves a guy who calls a plumber over to his house to fix the leak in his pipes because his house is covered in water, and the plumber informs him that the tears from his eyes are the source of the flooding.

3. "March To the Witches Castle" - This one is about soldiers returning from the Vietnam War and going through the "nightmare of readjustment" and all through out is a marching drum beat and a weepy guitar riff.

I gotta go . . . .

Part 2 to come . . .

I'm Not Rob Anymore!

I have been putting off a lot of things because I'm moving in a couple weeks.  I'm not buying a lot of groceries and I'm not ordering anything to this apartment, which means I haven't ordered a new book to read.  A friend was over and gave me back my copy of "High Fidelity" by Nick Honrny, and while I am not even sure it is, in fact, my copy, I decided to give it another read. 

It's still a very funny and insightful book, but I can't fully relate to Rob, the protagonist, anymore.  There was a time, not long after I read it, where I was him, and most people who knew me would agree.  I was way too interested in rock music to a snobbish degree, I actually worked in a record store for a long time, and I got miserable over failed relationships and played sad songs until I cried.

I'm not that guy anymore.  I'm not Rob!

Even the last relationship I got out of, I was really hurt (even if it was painfully obvious to everyone around me that it was the wrong woman for me), but I bounced back beautifully.  I took all the right steps: Never called her again, cut off all mutual friends, work out like an animal, and got right back into the game with other women to feel good again as quickly as possible.

What I did 5 years prior was more like what Rob would have done: Wallow in self pitty spinning Smiths records, keep trying to figure out what went wrong, feel inadequate about myself in every way imaginable, and let it affect my personal and professional life to a marked degree.

Now look at me.  I'm getting my own place with the woman I love, leaving this frat house with the four roommates behind, I love my job and it's going great, I'm staying in shape - and at 35-years-old (the same age as Rob in the book), I'm finally an adult.  I should have been this guy when I was 27, but I have no regrets.  I grew up one way or another and I've had this blog full of goofy tales to mark my progress, albeit a slow process.  Thanks for reading those of you who have been along for the ride, and expect more grown-up style writing to come and some goofy stuff too  . . . I still gotta be me!

KC and the Coke Prints

I was listening to "Tusk" by Fleetwood Mac, which is a really good record, by the way. Everyone bought "Rumors," and then there was probably a lot of hype for their next record, and although it is a double album packed with great songs, it didn't sell nearly as well as its predecessor. Perhaps releasing the double album was a bad idea, or they didn't pick the right singles, who knows?





Anyway, while I was paying bills and listening to Lindsey and Stevie and the gang, I was mixing up a protein shake with a whisk, and when I got up to switch to side 3 (of the two record set), my fingers got protein powder all over the vinyl. That shit is impossible to get off of there. If someone is robbing your house, be sure they play with your vinyl collection because it will leave a pefect damn print.




This got me thinking that in the 1970's and 1980's when everyone was tooting cocaine like it was going out of style, people must have gotten coke residue on their vinyls all the time. I'm just picturing a hairy guy in his leisure suit doing countless rails of blow before hitting the disco in search of foxy ladies, rubbing coke fingerprints all over his copy of KC and the Sunshine Band's 1976 release, "Part 3."




In other news, be sure to check out my open letter Chris, the guy Ali shot down in the latest season of "The Bachelorette." I think you'll find it insightful and wonderfully stupid like only the Good Doctor can do.