Sunday, August 28, 2005
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
As of today the complete Audubon Park discography is available for free download over there on the sidebar. Please feel free to download songs you don't have and forward to your mothers, father and somewhat hip aunts and uncles.
Of special note to the HARDCORE fans that have it all, is our cover of Work Clothes's "Turn Your A/C on High" from our trip to WXDU.
Mrs. Shakertown (ABD) was kind enough to spend a long time converting the songs to MP3 and putting them on my school webspace and then I put them on the blog. I can't check the links from work--so if any of them are messed up, let me know and I will fix it right away.
We still have a box of ART PACKAGING "Bunny" EPs, so if you want one of those, you may have one.
Hopefully, this will help us serve the public better. That is what we are here for.
THANKS TO: Shakertown, Mikey T and those who actually gave us a few dollars for a cdr at a show. HEARTS!
EDITED: Some messed up links have been fixed. "Sunbathers" by all accounts is broken, but we can't figure out what is wrong with it right now, but will continue looking.
EDITEDED: All the songs work now. Enjoy?
Monday, August 22, 2005
Attn: Dear Chester A. Arthur,
I am Barrister Dicktone Saucony, a solicitor at law. I am the crumby attorney to late Mr. Chester A. Arthur the USA Area Director of SIL International,who unfortunately ass-bit in the clam-bake of Kenya Airways Flight 431 in Abidjan, Ivory Coast, January 30 2000.
You will read more stories about the ass-bite on visiting this
website, www.thenicenecreed.biz and also in this website, where Arthur 's company talked about his ass-bite in the Kenya clam-bake. You shall as well find the pictures of Arthur and his cousin-in-law there.
Since the Bog Preserved Corpse of Chester A. Arthur, I as his personal attorney, have made several enquiries to locate his only skanking relation, without any success. I got your contact
through the help of my sister-in-law that works with the Operation Ivy, though I did not disclose to her my
acrid intention for an honest foreigner like you, having noted the
baboon scent reposed on your person by the sponsor of the recommendation, so I decided to contact you for this project.
I am contacting you to assist in wasselling and blinging the wealth left behind in a fixed deposit account by Chester A. Arthur, before they get confiscated or declared forlornable by Fruit of the Loom where my client operates an account worth $USD 5 Dollars. The board of Fruit of the Loom has issued me a notice that after 2 months from now and no next of kin shown up for the claiming of the said funds, the funds will be confiscated and declared forlornable.
Since I have been unsuccessful in locating Chester A. Arthur 's relatives for sometime now,it on this note that I seek your consent to present you as the Next of Kin of the deceased ,so that the proceed of this deposit valued at $USD 5 Dollars can be released to you for our understandings.
I have agreed to offer you 110% of the total sum,Upon successful remittance of funds into your bank account, eleventy two % has been set aside to cover all expenses incurred both local and international, during the course of this shark-tongue,while fitty % will be for me.
These are the following informations needed.
1. Your full name and residence address.......................
2. Your tel/fax numbers............................
3. Your Weird dude with a big head that hangs out behind Video Villa and smells likenail polish..................................
4. Your age....................................
All requires is your ass-classically cooperation to enable us do-it this business successful. I guarantee that this will be executed under a legitimate horse which will protect you from any queef of the law.
Chester A. Arthur was a very deep fried man and it is not wise for me to allow his hard earned man-thong to be stolen by the erect directors of Fruit of the Loom.
Further details awaits your response by email.
PLEASE, TREAT THIS PROPOSAL AS TOP SECRET.Do not hesitate to include your private phone and fax number, when replying this proposal,you can also email me on this alternative
Barrister Dicktone Saucony
Reply To: firstname.lastname@example.org
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
The Troika Music Festival is August 23-27. There are many great bands playing--and Audubon Park! There are two or three shows each night all over the triangle.
We are playing on the 27th with lots of good bands: Portastatic, Work Clothes, Schooner, Bellafea, The Balance, Tenament Halls, Odd International, Polyna, and Goner.
If you see us, here is what you get:
- We've been practicing, some
- We have new songs that we know how to play
- We've been practicing our "humor"
- The Kalb-In-Shorts, as seen on MTV Spring Break Europe
- Ask us before of after the show about the screenplay we are working on: Dadport!
Going back to our band though: I really can't say enough good, or slightly insulting, stuff about us. As previously reported in 'ric's Gaddis Award winning series, we have started working on our full length debut LP. We got 9 songs in the can. Take that as you will. We have three more to go and lots of mixing and twiddling. And diddling (exact science). The LP will be called "Teenage Horses" and I think it lives up to a names like that. Wait, wouldn't a teenage horse be really old? How long do horses live? Maybe we messed up. In our crazed quest for youth we turned oun the spigot of decrepitude.
Mark Lebetkin from Schooner was kind enough to come in and lend us his viola skills and put up with our rather odd behavior and mixed messages:
Me: Oh, Mark--play the chords real smooth, you know (scrawls shapes on paper).
Finn: (Open eyes) Yeah, yeah. Real staccato, just like he said (closes eyes).
Robert: Right. I like that idea--just droning, with no chords of any type.
Me: Yeah, do that. Ready?
Ben: Oh, I thought of something.
Ben: Leo Kottke called. It was for Matt. I took a message.
Mark: Excuse me?
Matt: JC Penny called.
Ben: That's not nice.
Finn: (Opens eyes) So, wait, what song are we putting strings on?
Me: So, Mark, you know what to do right?
Me: I'm hungry.
Our Love Is Like Woe!
The names of the songs--which you don't know, but I am telling you so you can begin doddling them in your note book--are:
- Winter Gala (Jesus Wasn't a Doctor Either)
- Broken Tooth
- Frightened by the Lake
- Empty Choir at the Camp Meeting
- Fantasia on Ulalume Pts 1-3
- Sympathy for Youth
- Gum Run
- Ghost City
- Empire of Towns
Go to Troika's webpage for the full schedule.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Monday, August 08, 2005
Police detain Murry Fitzwater, one of the pranksters.
AP Fancon 2005
Greetings everyone. Well, it turns out that Audubon Park is still in the process of recording their full length debut, so I guess the apocalypse is off until the album comes out. That whole apocalypse thing may have been an elaborate prank as it turns out that Linas Coombs is in fact Matt Kalb (funny he didn’t even place in the Matt Kalb look-alike contest). I’d just like to personally apologize to Gordish Horton and the rest of the fan club administration, who we bound and gagged and kept in the janitor’s closet on the 4th floor. Sorry about the pepper spray, the choke collar and the whole banana muffin incident. I hope you enjoy the gift certificate for Appleby’s I sent each of you (via your lawyers), once you get out of the hospital. Again, my bad. And props to Mr. Kalb, you got us good. All that aside, I had a great time and I think everyone else who attended did to, at least those weren’t hog tied at some point.
See everyone next year!
-Madame Sally-Lin Chin-(formerly Coombs)
Friday, August 05, 2005
So I read. A lot.
But reading can't fill an empty life. It only highlights what is missing. When I read, I read about noble people doing brave things or crazy people doing ill-advised things--never about lonely people doing boring things. They just don’t write books about people like me.
What could I do? I couldn't set out on a whaling ship from New Bedford--my mother didn’t like me to cross the street by myself. There aren't any moors in Kentucky for me to rage about on--and even if there were, my mother didn’t like for me to be out in thunderstorms (or near telephones, bathtubs, televisions, windows, toaster ovens or door knobs). Doomed romance with the girl of my dreams? No, I don’t think so.
It wasn't until after I graduated from college and found a job that I had the money to do improve my situation.
I hired a Narrator: someone that could give voice to the philosophical depth and moral gravity of my life--without me having to do too much philosophical or moral to achieve it.
It was the worst decision I have ever made.
The first problem: when I was shopping around for a Narrator, none of the salesmen mentioned that every model of narrator built since the early 19th C. is unreliable.
Me: Where the hell have you been?
Narrator: He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, legs tired from standing outside of the grocery store with torn paper bags of discount black beans; the store-brand ice-cream melting; a look of anxiety, frustration and self-pity spreading across his face like oil on water.
Me: Just pop the trunk already.
Narrator: He had been crying.
Me: I haven’t been crying.
Narrator: Womanly sobs.
Me: Open the trunk!
Not only that, but apparently Narrators are also irresponsible.
Me: [Opening mail] What’s this? An overdraft notice? Look at all these bounced checks. Have you not been writing things down?
Narrator: It was then--with the amber sun slanting in through the half-opened drapes, the air heavy like the arm of a sleeper--that he realized that he was going to have to get a second job.
Me: Second job, my ass. How about you get a "first job."
Narrator: As the dust from the filthy house settled softly across his brow he wondered--my day doesn't just narrate itself?
Me: Could you please take your feet down off of the coffee table?
Narrator: He said, fussily.
No-one tells you that getting a Narrator is like getting a tattoo: it is with you for the rest of your life, and what may seem cool when you are twenty-two, might not still appeal years later. Me? I chose the Southern Lit model (N1928-sf).
Narrator: A post. A post. A post. A tree. Birds in flight, across the sky. The sky itself a pool. A post. A post. Yellow, fast, the cars. Whirring on up ahead. Whirring and spitting, all in a place, spinning and churning like the homunculean sepulcher of--
Me: Christ Almighty. Can we not have one drive to the mall in silence? Please?
Of course now I wish I at least had gone with the Lepidopterist 1897 (N1950-pf). I could have had someone to play chess with.
At least I wasn’t into Beat Poets (N1956-nl).
My Friend Jim: [Shoveling dirt into a hole. Indecipherable mumbles escaping.] What are you talking about? Please shut-up! Please! [Breaks down in tears. The sound of jazz escape from the dirt]
Or Tristam Shandy.
My Friend Jim: Beautiful day, isn't it?
Narrator: What a loser.
My Friend Jim: What did you say?
Rather than make my life seem more grand and sweeping--highlighting pain and ecstasy and giving direction to my somewhat aimless emotions--the Narrator only emphasized the most mundane corners of existence.
Narrator: The toilet bowl--its acrid stench and fecund circumambience--roared forth with spastic fury as it battled like soldier, wounded, bloodied, but proud, and shoved back forth into this world from the next about five gallons of cold, cold water. Water that is probably going to seep downstairs if someone doesn’t stand up like a man, stop whimpering and get a bucket and mop
And is always with you.
Potential Employer: Thanks for coming in. I had a chance to look at your resume this morning. It is very impressive.
Me: Thank you.
Narrator: But his heart sank, knowing that the words on that piece of 50% cotton bond paper--stolen from his current employer--were mere puffing at best and in many places pure fantasia and misdirection.
Potential Employer: [standing] Well, thank you.
Date: Oh wow.
Me: Yeah, I made dinner. I wanted this date to be special.
Narrator: He eyed her bared stomach hungrily, knowing that once he had bedded her, he would never call. Plus she didn’t know his real name anyway so there was no chance that she could ever track him down.
Me: Wait. I'm not like that.
Narrator: As she grabbed her coat from the bedroom--the dingy, spent bedroom--perhaps she would stop to get the phone number on the way out of an intelligent, employed man with a splendid vocabulary and great upper body strength.
Yes, my Narrator is the worst decision of my life. Worse than thinking it would impress a girl to eat cat food at a party. Worse than telling the French Exchange Student that I would meet her at a movie and then not going because I was scared. Worse than running a stop sign in front of Denny’s at 3 am in a car that wasn’t mine, without a license, with two drunken underage girls in the backseat.
I’ve tried firing my Narrator.
Me: This isn’t working. You have to leave.
Narrator: He said fruitlessly.
I’ve tried leaving my Narrator in the woods.
Me: I’m going to pull over here near this deserted church out here in the middle of the woods. Why don’t you stretch your legs a little?
Narrator: Perhaps he was a fool. Perhaps he was lying to himself. But he had yet to realize that he would never get what he wants. And if anyone was going to get his ass left in the woods, it would only be himself.
I even thought the unthinkable.
Me: [Holding the cup out nervously.] Would you like some tea?
Narrator: He said, trying to conceal the vulgar and murderous looking his eye. He then knew he had best watch his back that night. And every night after that.
Nothing worked. So I am just going to have to live with my stupid ass choice. I give up.
Narrator: I'm re-wrote the lyrics for the new LP. That's cool right?
Me: Yeah, go ahead.
Narrator: Great. I figure since I'm going to sing them, and solo over them and have some ladies over during the sessions--you know. I don't want to embarrass myself.
Greetings fellow disciples of Linas (and other Audubon Park Fans). Today we received the most glorious of news. Audubon Park is producing a complete LP worth of tunes. The Bat Demon Vireel shall now come before us and begin the new period of total reconciliation. I am giddy with the news. Linas has instructed us to place red cloth on our balconies to symbolize our willingness the enter the final realm.
Today we spent in reclusion and reflection to prepare ourselves for the great day. Naturally, after 12 hours of reflecting we were ready to dance. The gala has always been one of my favorite parts of the AP Fancon, and since it well may be the last we really shook it.
Hobart and Leslie get down to "Dance Music".
Sven Shipman and Sally Funpants do the "Nahm."
The Idaho delegation leads the "Runaway Train".
DJ Captain Von Fjordianslimsham
Koolaid for everyone!
Sorry, don't have much time to write much more. Preparations are many. Linas prophicied that AP would produce a full length album and when they had, the apocolypse would be at hand. He has drawn the most pure and loyal into the room 326. The unpure are visiting the Riverboats to go gambling, which Linas doesn't specifically object to, but when it's the apocolypse, come on people. I'm not quite sure why he won't let us watch any of the pay-per-view movies though if it is the apocolypse. I'd really like to see "Hitch" before I enter the 12th Sector of Garthanzia. Linas sent Gareb Houndtooth to the Wal-Mart to procure some sort strange device(pictured below). I think it's for the fireworks display tomorrow. More to come...?
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Salutations my fellow breathers of the air that is Audubon Park and Linas Coombs truth magic energy! Day two of the Fancon has yielded splendid and wonderful realities.
Day two of the glorious reign of Linas featured one of the traditional Fancon activities that were retained, the contests.
First up, the BATTLE OF THE BANDS EMULATING AUDUBON PARK WHILE PLAYING SONGS WRITTEN BY STING.
G.E. Pop and the New Street Band break their "Soul Cages."
The Sweaty Dishtowels play “Fortress Around Your Heart.”
The Everlasting Truth and Magic Power Beings featuring Linas Coombs won for their rendition of “Englishman in New York.”
Goober Spinoza demonstrating that “Love(Linas) is the Seventh Wave!”
Next up, the NON-SPECIFIC TALENT COMPETITION.
The judges are easily impressed.
Hall and Oates impersonators Oats and Hull were beheaded after their performance.
Toss Daughter were eliminated for using banned substances.
The winners, Peter and Jane Tackleberger(not pictured) for their self-flagellation in humble servitude to our loyal master.
And then it was time for everyone’s favorite, the MATT KALB LOOKALIKE CONTEST.
First runner up, Finn Howdy!.
The winner: Flem Hardsapple.
Winner? Loser? PP!
After the “fun”, the AP faithful settled in for nine hours of lectures regarding the grandeur and majesty of Audubon Park and their selected prophet Linas the True.
The Radisson staff has requested we refrain from leaving turds in the pool. Please. No turds in the pool.
To be continued?....
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Greetings Fellow Fans of the once and greatious Audubon Park(for all time),
I am here to celebrate and notify you of the many numerous things that were witnessed and beheld at the first day of the meeting of the 2005 Audubon Park Fancon 2005. Overall, a grand time was had by many and only a few were deemed unseemly.
Before the fun could get under the way, there were some administrative items that needed to be clarified. The corrupt and villainous regime of former Audubon Park Fanclub president Gordish Horton was quickly ended minutes after the opening gavel by a rising up of the truest and most pure fans of Audubon Park. Horton and his minions had lined their pockets with our blood, sweat and their $3.24 increase in membership dues, all the while keeping the true righteousness of AP hidden. The brave heart that shone the light on this toliet of darkness was the brillant Linas Coombs. For his acts of heroics, he was named new President and Glorious Keeper of the Park. I, Madame Sally-Lin Chin-Coombs, was named Party Secretary, replacing the treacherous P. Myrtle Hogglesmith. The date Aug 2nd, 2005 shall be considered for always as day one of the glorious reign of Linas the Great. The Radisson Quad City Plaza shall be a holy place for us all.
Our beloved Linas.
Most believers missed the shameful resistance of the dog like Horton to the will of the believers, as they were enjoying the lovely buffet provided by the Radisson. The baked spaghetti was joyous. Those who had the shrimp cocktail complained of food poisoning. Clearly the work of Hordonite sabotage. Dinner was not included in our package. Another vestige of the fallen regime.
The glorious Linas quickly scrapped the frivolous Hordonite schedule of activities and implemented a glorious regime of discipline, reflection and worship. The Radisson pool was quite adequate for our immortal Linas to baptize us as we are born into the true light of AP fandom.
Entering the pure light of AP fandom.
Linas, the teacher, the immortal, the swimmer.
Local 506 owner Glenn Boothe is welcomed into the AP brotherhood.
Just because the just and true Linas is the chosen, magical future of pure light and energy, doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy a good time. He wrote and directed the AP players in the play, "Hordonite Backsliders Will Bathe in their Own Blood," which was enjoyed by all, as Linas commanded.
Act six: Gordish the lizard man rises.
Singing, "Linas is the true and only dude!"
The look of a true believer.
To be continued...
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Hey little Boo, how your day. My doing fine. Well I need stop front and tell you the true. I really, really like you. I know I not your type, but something about you that I really like. I mean you Kool as White. You have beauty eye, and a sexy smile. I really like talking to you. I just want to tell. I know you don't have the same feeling. I might freak you out to hear. But I couldn't hide no more. So if you don't have a boy friend you not talking, how about we start talking, or me you hook up together. But you want a just to be friend then I understand. Well, that all I have to say. I talk to you later. By little Boo.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Scenes From a Detective Novel with Dialogue Composed Entirely from Rejection Letters I Have Received from Literary Magazines
Without me saying anything, she came in. I knew from watching her turn the doorknob that someone would end up dead, or at least crying really hard.
She held out a picture of a man. I didn't even have to look at his mug. I knew what she wanted.
"I appreciate your interest," I said, "But am afraid that at this time, I'm going to have to pass."
As soon as she had closed the door to the seedy motel-room, she was on me like mold on tile. She took my hand and slid it over the cheap fabric of her dress. She had legs like a pale deer, shivering.
Our lips locked like two dogs on hot pavement. "This isn't right for us," she said as she devoured me.
I said, "While this isn't as terrible as I thought at first, I'm still afraid I can't--" but my voice trailed off.
My friend Lou--who owned the joint--brought another round to the table and asked if we needed anything else. I shook my head, looking at her ruined face in the dim light of the bar. "We're full for the foreseeable future. Thank you."
She held the letter up to the light. Through the wrinkles she got around her eyes when she squinted to read, I could see the young woman she once was. "This isn't what we are looking for," she said.
I pulled a photo from the box of a young woman with a child. I hand it to her. Her eyes got wide. "What the fuck is this!"
I pulled my gun and squeezed the trigger. Click. Nothing.
"Your piece doesn't quite work," the thug said with a snicker as she scurried away through the alley.
I told the antique dealer who my client was. He looked over the counter at me and I could see fear flit across his face like startled sheep. He got up, walked to the door and flipped the OPEN sign. "We are no longer in business," he said, and started to shuffle into the backroom.
I grabbed his arm and showed him the picture of the boy and his mother. "I can't give you specific feedback on this," he said, glancing around nervously. "But please feel free to try again at another time."
My back was against the fence, the barrel of the tough's pistol closer to my face than paint on lips. "As always, a nice try." He chuckled as he cocked the hammer.
My eyes, frantic, searched the darkness behind him for a way out, but I knew there was none. "I'm not sure what you are attempting here, but it doesn't seem to come together."
I tried to fast talk, but he cut me off. "I'm not interested in poetry. Only non-fiction."
I felt the words rushing from my mouth as I tried to explain everything had I found to her.
She says, "I am confused by the long section near the end. Nothing seems to hang together." She puts her hand to her forehead and I can tell she is about to faint. Then she begins to tell me everything I knew that she had been holding back.
I tell her, "Why don't you take some time to think about what you are trying to say."
Weeping she pointed the gun at his head. I pleaded with her, trying to get my voice through her tears. "This is not what we do."
She was shaking. "This is not right," she said and pulled the trigger.
I screamed, "No! No! No!"
As they carted out the bodies, the police sergeant put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry we took so long to respond."
It was ok. Sometimes you don't ever get a response.