The (Abandoned) Mental Closet Of An Evil Parrot

The Evil Parrot has left the Blogger

2009-10-24T13:58:00.003-04:00

I know it has been some time since I wrote on this blog. And it seemed like at any moment, I would have closed it down and fluttered away. Life's funny that way. It was only until I came across several sites linking several of my posts to some of their write ups. I was flattered, flabbergasted and just bloody smashed. So now, of course, I can't shut it down. However, I no longer like the whole Blogger setup and has jumped ship to Wordpress. Enter: The Mental Closet of An Evil Parrot 2.0. In case you missed it, that is the link you (and that is referring to the last two people actually reading this site) can click on to visit my blog with all its boring ramblings and other unsightly bollocks. To all my mates at Blogger. Love you, and thanks for the ride. Cheerio.

Geocities dies and an era ends

2009-04-24T13:55:00.003-04:00

I know it has been awhile since scribbled on my blog and I may have lost my readers. Sorry folks, I have too many obligations these days, workwise and academically-speaking. As I was going through my email I came across a bit of news on the BBC World News website about Yahoo pulling the plug on Geocities. It is a bit saddening, sort of like hearing an old friend passing away. Back in the late 90s, my first crack web designing began with free webhosting sites. Aye, I didn't have enough quid to afford the astronomical costs of web hosting back then so to develop any sort of web presence, blokes like me relied heavily on free webhosting sites such as Angelfire, Tripod and yes, Geocities. I am grateful to the folks at these webhosting alcoves for giving a lot of us a much needed break at putting our stuff out on the web. Sure we had to put up with ridiculous ad scripts that pretty much bollocksed up our design ... but then again ... it was FREE!!! Of course the blame has fallen on the proliferation of social networking sites and their growing membership ... and yes, the fact that membership signups for Geocities has declined.
And yes, webhosting and domain registration has become wickedly affordable where most folks are opting to own their own piece of the web rather than renting it and having to deal with ads. It is indeed, the end (or signalling of the end)of an era.

Geocities, for what its worth ... thanks mates ... and happy trails, old chap.

Tags: Geocities, Yahoo!, technology, web hosting

Funny thing about life

2008-02-18T16:58:00.002-05:00

As an evil parrot, I can be cynical, brash, a bit psychotic and some times downright blunt to the point. And then there are these things that happen in my life that make me curl into fetal position and cry internally like a little nancy. Last Saturday, at work I ran into an old high school teacher who I haven't seen since 1989. She was a science teacher, that for some reason left quite an impression on me. I never did have her as an actual teacher but she hosted this Science Club every Friday afternoon that I was a part of.

About my high school, it was formerly Andrew Jackson High School (it is now some magnet school) and back in the 80s, it had this Vietnam-ish reputation. When I first came to NYC, somehow someone felt that I belonged to this school so for about one and half years I had to endure this misery. Whenever I told people that I was attending this school, they'd first lower their head, nod disapprovingly and if you listened really close ... you'd hear Taps being played. Now dispite the bad reputation of the school, which could be mostly attributed to the students since many of them were complete and utter wanks and tossers, I encountered some of the coolest teachers in NYC. Coming from a British schooling system, I was all prim and proper, and of course this was a welcomed breath of fresh air to most teachers. What ... a student that pays attention in class, does his homework on time and respects us ... ? So yes, I got away with a lot things because of that though I never did take that privilege for granted and abuse it.

So there I was, one Friday afternoon roaming the deserted halls after school, until I came to this room where I heard male and female voices laughing. At first I thought it was a bunch of teens getting all frisky, until I heard this adult voice. My curiousity got the best of me and peaked at the door, and saw bunch of teenagers with beakers and pippettes with chemicals doing these fun experiments. I was intrigued. She saw me standing in the doorway and told me to come in, and before I knew it I was a bona fide member of the Science Club. I remember those Friday afternoons were fun. It was just a handful of boys and girls and this science teacher, and it was pure joy. The last time I saw her was in '89, the year I graduated. Last Saturday, I was behind the circulation desk helping patrons until (as fate would have) I saw this woman approach my terminal. The face was a bit older but not that different and it was familiar. I scanned her card and the name appeared on the screen ... and my mind was soon flooded with a torrent of memories. So I asked her if she ever did teach science at Andrew Jackson and was a host to Friday afternoon Science Clubs. She was stunned. Mostly at the fact that a student would remember her face after nearly two decades and something as trivial as her hosting the Science Club. She gushed that she couldn't remember my name but I didn't mind. For some reason I was just happy to see her. She was glad to see that I was doing well in life. What I never did get to tell her that a lot of the folks that were in that Science Club turned out great. One guy was studying genetics, another studied journalism, I became a techie that is currently in graduate school, one of the girls became a nurse, another became a Marine, and one went one to be a lawyer. Sort of the reverse Breakfast Club. I could mention her name but since the blog can be so undignifed at times I will choose to leave this woman's integrity and dignity intact by not sullying her name with the likes of this blog.

I told this experience to my supervisor and she said something that made me choke inside: I may have probably made that woman's day with such a simple acknowledgement. Who knew that the Evil Parrot could make someone else's day. For the rest of Saturday, I spent it with a knot in my throat.

Simpsonized me

2007-08-11T15:28:00.001-04:00

Yes, the Evil Parrot has been Simpsonized.

Tags: television, entertainment, The Simpsons,

Random Useless Memory: Hart To Hart

2007-06-20T23:27:00.000-04:00

This is my boss, Jonathon Hart, a self-made millionaire. He's quite a guy. This is Mrs. H, she's gorgeous. She's one lady that could take care of herself. By the way, my name is Max. I take care of both of them. It ain't easy for when they met it was MURDER.

I know it is probably sad and pathetic that I remember this, but bear with me, mates. During the 80s, in Guyana, hearing these words blaring from someone's telly was enough to send me racing at breakneck speed through the streets from my afterschool lessons to catch another exciting episode of Hart To Hart. Folks this was great television. A rich, philantrophic couple that were always stumbling unto those involved with evil misdeeds and conspiracies. And every episode was engaging ... never a dull moment. Robert Wagner and Stephanie Powers were perfect for this series. Which brings me to the other reason why a lot of us watched Hart To Hart: Stephanie Powers. Now even though we were teens, at the time, and Ms. Powers as clearly an older woman (in her thirties) this factor did very little in its attempt to abort the raging pubescent droolfest. Sometimes during those dull days school, my mates would play that famous game of "would you". Every male person, at sometime has played this game, just with a different name. Without going into the full, lurid details about "would you", let's just say that Stephanie Powers, Kelly LeBrock, Sheena Easton, Kim Fields, and Vanity made many virtual guest appearances in that game. Sorry, we didn't have Myspace or the Web back then. Thank heaven for little mercies.

The last time I saw Stephanie Powers on the telly was several years ago, and I must admit that the woman's still got it. Now there were rumours of a Hart To Hart reunion special that possibly ended with the death of one of the characters. I don't how true this is, and if it does exist then I'm proper happy to have missed it. Could you imagine Hart To Hart without Robert Wagner, or Stephanie Powers and that cute way she'd say "oh Jonaaathon". That's just sacrilege. Plain and simple. Folks have been put before firing squads for lesser.

Tags: television, entertainment, Stephanie Powers, Hart To Hart, Robert Wagner, 80s

The Evil Parrot Unemployment Guide: the interviews

2007-05-01T23:42:00.000-04:00

I'm not going to regurgitate the usual bollocks that most websites might spew to when it comes to interviews. For the most, and in all fairness, they are spot on. But they bloody skimp on the details. Allow me to fill in a few of the blanks.
The concept of a one-on-one interview is a relic. A piece of nostalgia. A classic memory. Unless we're dealing with phased interviews that occur days apart for the same company. I've noticed a trend where most of the interviews I've attended were done by multiple interviewers. Be prepared for this. There are several scenarios (and I've been through them all) to be aware of.

The full frontal assault. You sit at the head of a table and look directly on the faces of five to seven interviewers. When answering questions, make sure you maintain eye contact with the primary interviewer but be sure to give the others some decent "eye" time as you wind down your answer. Plus it is a good way to intercept any body signals the rest of the interviewing team might be sending each other.
The regroup and assess style. Here you are interviewed by many folks in a one-on-one interview. One bloke interviews you, when he's finished, he disappears and the new interviewer appears (several minutes) later. This can go on for several hours. Physically and psychologically draining. Especially if it is done in the company's cafeteria during peak feeding time (this happened to me ... don't worry I won't mention the name of the company).
The right angle bogey assault. Possibly the most annoying and psychologically intimidating strategy where interviewers (usually a 2 to 3 man team) sit in front AND at the side of you. Treat them as you would the full frontal assault but be prepared to swivel a lot.
The group interview. Sounds like the frontal assault technique but with a twist. You sit with a number of applicants as members of the interviewing team throw out questions for random applicants to answer. Sounds ideal, doesn't it? You get to pick and choose what questions to answer? Wrong. Try to answer answer as many as possible. Being timid or trying to squeak by will NOT work in your favour.

So how do you prepare for these ambushes ... er, interviews? This is where it gets creative and bizarre. Practice answering you questions. Think of all the interviews you've every had and pool those questions. Even make some questions (no matter how strange it may sound). At one interview I was asked why I was applying for a clerical job even though I have a technical degree. A bit brassy on the part of the interviewer, yes? One would assume that you were eager to find work and leave it at that yet that question was asked. How did I answer it? I'll give you a hint, I didn't say I'm looking or eager for any work.
Role playing. This is where you get to be in touch with your inner schizophrenic, changing the tone of your voice to simulate multiple interviewers. For added effect, print off blown up pictures of really icy looking people and arrange them around your table to represent the interviewers (favourable mention would be a serious Tilda Swinton, Trump, Meryl Streep in her devil wear prada role, or that Carolyn sidekick chick from the Apprentice that got the boot). Here's the really bizarre part. Sit with a tie and your undies and stare at the pictures in the mock interview. Those of us that are just a wee bit risque could try it out in the buff, just make sure if you live in an apartment buildings, surrounded by other apartment buildings, that your blinds are drawn. Nothing freaks nosy parkers than watching some bloke sitting in his undies (or in the buff ) with a tie conducting an eight way conversation with himself. Evil Parrot, some may say, were you in the full monty or in your undies? Naughty, naughty ... I'm not telling. Sounds a bit strange, desperate, or downright scary doesn't it? Well desperate times had called for desperate measures. And it will probably do you better in your preparation. So why the buff/undie bit? For many of us interviews make us feel very vulnerable and naked, so to get over that ... well you do strange things.
I'll be honest in saying that there is no guarantee that this will make you an interview slayer, however, it'll do wonders for your Q and A and your interview phobias.

Tags: life, employment, unemployment, labour, people, living

The Evil Parrot Unemployment Guide: job searches

2007-04-30T23:18:00.000-04:00

There are tons of resources out there to help you find work. Many are more hype than practical. Like a certain website whose commercials feature young twentysomethings frolicking with glee over their newfound "job" and boasting that you're twice as likely to find a job if you post on their site. Aye. The sad truth is that I've posted resumes on Monster, Careerbuilder, Dice and several other local spots in South Florida and her in NYC with minimal if not sparse results (though I've noticed my spam has increased). Even sadder, I can honestly say (I really mean this with no malicious intent) that I have NEVER met anyone that has every gotten a job off of these sites. Sure I've been solicited by temp agencies and military recruiters, but I've never gotten as much as interview based on any resume I posted on these sites. Well, there was this one time, when someone called for an HTML programmer and played that "guess how much I'm willing to pay you" game. Needless to say, I lost. Probably some shady, exploitive joint. Thankful for little mercies. I suspect the only people getting work from these sites are probably Ivy Leaguers and Fortune 500ers with impressive experience in the fields of finance, management, chemistry and medicince. I'm probably wrong about this. Probably.

So what has worked for me. Go on a local level. Many public agencies are posting their jobs online and is accessable by the public. I've gotten several interviews that way (and eventually a job). Local libraries, DMV, post office, public works, et cetera are great sources of employment. College career placement. I'm enrolled in an email list at my alumni's career placement and on a monthly basis they waste little effort in sending me job vacancies and on-site interview info. For the graduates, check your alumni's career placement center and see if they perform similar email services. If they do, then enlist yourself in the service. Most that are worth their weight in gold will do this as a free service for their former alumni. Many times these folks have privy to exclusive listings that you won't find online. I have gotten several interviews through this system and even a job in the past (though it didn't work out well ... the company had financial problems).

Pounding the pavement. I know, an ancient concept. Though the world wide web has put a world of opportunities at our fingertips, not everyone has jumped on the bandwagon. Many local businesses are still basically offline hence no online listing of job vacancies and it is a matter of strolling into the business and noticing their ads (I've come across one such posting for graphic designer). It is important to note that not only bakeries, delis and supermarkets post "Help Wanted" signs. So be prepared to do some walking, driving or using public transportation extensively. To besides, the fresh air and excercise will be good for you.

Lastly, your resume. Thanks to the "wonderful" world of outsourcing, many of us techies have had to scale down and diversify. Several of my mates have traded in their MCSE, A+ books for real estate certification, selling insurance and some have gone back to school to study pharmacology and nursing. I suspect this may hold with many other occupations. My primary background is in electronic and computer hardware. I however have experience in graphic design and webpage content editing. During my years in college, I held many clerical jobs to pay my way through school. My last job though technical can be considered as customer relations on a core level. I have three sets of resumes: web/graphic design, clerical/customer relations, and technical. And they've all been worded appropriately (e.g. there are things that I exclude from my clerical that I would put on my technical and vice versa). Of course, I list my education degrees on ALL resumes (don't worry they'll find out even if you don't). My current job is nowhere related to my field of study but it is a step up from my last job and significantly beneficial. I'm actually deciding to pursue my masters in that field. Life's funny that way.

Most of all never assume that anything is below you. For crying out loud, I had actually put in an application with places like Home Depot and Target. Yes, with a technical degree and all. As someone once said, "outsourcing is good for the economy". Bloody brilliant (sarcasm alert). Desperation is an interesting thing, mates, but sometimes it would take you to places that might give you a better perspective on things. Like me.

Tags: life, employment, unemployment, labour, people, living

The Evil Parrot Unemployment Guide: Your Sanity

2007-04-24T22:27:00.000-04:00

I'm not some CEO, or human resource specialist. I'm not some economist on the telly with a Cheshire cat smile. I'm not some "doctor" on a television show. And contrary to my good man's suggestion, I'm not a life coach (yet). I am an average, single, working class bloke (with a technical college degree) that WAS unemployed for about five months towards the end of the last year. I'm not going to whine about what's wrong with politics and the usual bunk, I'll just describe my experience. Who knows, maybe some folks might find something in all this, and use it to their advantage. Time will tell.

In October, after six years of service, my work area was basically phased out. Don't worry, I'm not going to mention the name of the place nor the reason (since it is bloody pathetic and it's hard to believe that grown "professional" folks still think this way). The thing is that we knew it was coming and had started to take the usual precautionary steps (job searches, etc.). Mentally, it was a different situation. You try to put up a brave front about what's going on but the reality is that what I was doing was trying to put a cork on a rumbling volcano of emotions. This manifested into a myriad of physiological problems where your "healthy" body starts behaving in strange ways (e.g. you feel like you are shivering but your hands are as steady as ever). Needless to say, with no medical coverage, WEBMD became my best friend, and I learned some interesting things about my body. What did it take to return to normal? Watching a scene from Crash (you know with the little girl and the guy with the gun) that turned an Evil Parrot into a hysterically sobbing girlie, coiled into a fetal position. The best part about that was that the next day my body returned to normal. This happened on the last day of my job. Anxiety and stress, who would have guessed

Point is, go with your emotions. I know, it sounds too new age-ish and non-manly, but for crying out loud be a little secure in yourself and allow yourself a bloody cry, rave, tantrum ... whatever it takes (within the boundries of the law) to get it out of your system. Just don't let it pile up and you end up being a bundle of nerves. Get it out of your system. You're going to need it. Today I have to deal with tension headaches ... a small price for keeping it locked up for months. Go figure, mates.
Unless you've graduated from the Ivy Leagues, work in the medical, pharmaceutical, educational or financial fields brace yourself to spend an indefinite vacation. Yes, I have a technical degree (I was supposed to be one of the high demand workers of the "future") and I've applied across the border from Underwriters Laboratories to Home Depot. Four months later, I found work. Decent work. And not in my field. So brace yourself for this possibility.
Occupy your mind and free time with little projects. Maybe there was a book or a website you started and never really followed up. Take the the time to brush up on it. Maybe learn a new software program. Or take a trip to the public library and borrow those novels that you wanted to read but never found the time to do so. If you own a digital camera, explore the possibility of being an amateur photographer and display your work on photoblogs like Flickr, and who knows, your work just might catch the right person's eye. I could go on. The point is, just keep your mind constructive and distracted WHILST doing your job searches. Trust me, mates, it is a much better option than curling up in a corner and moaning "woe is me".
Resist the urge to run off to vacation spots. That is spending money that you don't have or may need for really important stuff such as rent, food, phone, power and ... cable (ok, maybe not cable). Explore the local scene. You might be surprised at what you find. Sort of like me, stumbling into Central Park in 2005 after living in NYC for 17 years. I know, it's pathetic but I was awed.
Watch less of the telly. I'll be precise. Stick to the fictional stuff (CSI, Scrubs, Battlestar Galactica, etc.) and some real world stuff (the weather, period). Networks like BET, MTV, VH1 and E! are downright depressing. Showboating people with the talent of used toilet paper living the high life is bloody crippling to the psyche, especially to those of us that put ourselves through college only to find that our degrees are barely worth the price of the paper it's printed on. Avoid watching economic "analysts" on so called trust networks. These folks deliver humongous piles of bollocks whilst wearing a Cheshire cat smile that makes you wonder if you're on the same planets much less the same country with these blokes. Yes, they love to use statistics, but as someone once told me "statistics is truthful lying". That was professor that teaches statistics. Ten thousand burger joint positions gets filled equal ten thousand jobs created. Go figure. If you read the news, read online or buy a newspaper, that way you can select the juicy bits and ignore the depressing stuff. By chomping on my exposure to the telly, did wonders for my mind and made my spell a bit bearable.
Lastly (and this may sound like something out of the Sound of Music or Pollyanna), always remember nothing lasts forever, and something will come around. Just keep hacking at it. My philosophy: every day I live equal numerous second chances and exponential possibilities for opportunity.

Tags: life, employment, unemployment, labour, people, living

Grindhouse Memories

2007-04-23T22:07:00.000-04:00

Hello mates, it has been quite awhile since I surfaced in the blogosphere. Needless to say, all is well. It's just that I'm expending a lot of energy in my job. And yes, I am loving my job.

Last week, when I was in the movie theatre, I caught glimpse of the new Tarantino/Rodriguez brainchild, Grindhouse (Planet Terror/Death Proof). Brought back some interesting memories. Now the definition of a grindhouse is a movie theatre that specialize in playing movies that feature over the top violence and sexual imagery. How nice. That's what I love about America. We've got something for everything. Unfortunately, growing up in Guyana, the one main theatre in our town served not only as a grindhouse but also family entertainment. During the course of a month it was possible to catch Emmanuelle in Bankok, I Spit on Your Grave and The Sound of Music at the same theatre. And yes, for a single admission we were always treated to a double feature. Which explains why I was baffled at the concept of paying a ton of money to see ONE movie in the US. Alas, I've adapted. Sure many of these were adult features, however, hanging out with my aunt, mother's cousin or father got me into many of those ditties. There are several that stand out in my mind. One such grindhouse feature that is ever so present in my mind was a feature called They Called Her One Eye. The storyline was was relatively simple and it scares me that I remember it this day. Teen girl misses school bus. Teen girl accepts ride from stranger. Stranger kidnaps teen girl and carries her to some house. Teen girl is forced to perform sex acts but strikes out at a john. Teen girl gets her eye cut out for attacking john. Girl works as a one eyed sex slave. Girl saves money from sex trade and learns judo, hot shoot guns and drive. Girl eventually breaks away and wreaks bloody vengeance on all those who violated her in grisly ways. I think I was ten when I saw this movie and that it was the coolest movie. Would let my future kids watch this ... a resounding NO. Then there was Savage Sisters. Feel free to spot the sexploitation. Three women (one black, one white, one Asian) are locked in a women's prison in the Philipines are presided over a sadistic female warden with the usual string of male sleazy prison personnel. Need I say more. And of course there were those grindhouse trailers. I remember there was an actual movie called Ravage that I sooo wanted to see. All through the trailer there was some woman screaming and some bloke saying "Ravage" repeatedly. None of that "in this world" bollocks. There was another one that featured car chases, jiggly girls, gun play and explosions that was followed by that movie announcer bloke screaming "kill, kill, kill". I've never learned the name of the movie though I'm sure it had something to do with killing. Just a hunch. For whatever reason, my father never did take me to see those two particular movies. Who could forget those Peter Cushing/Christopher Lee horror trailers and that was the real scary stuff. Not that teeny crap that passes for "horror" today that's only good for putting you into a coma.

The one good thing about They Call Her One Eye was that it enforced that "don't take a ride with a stranger" message. And this was way before that McGruff doggie. Back home there were no public mandated rating systems, and if you were two years old and showed up with an adult that was an EZ pass into grindhouse type flicks. The other cool thing about it was those moments walking home with my father and having discussions about what I saw in the movies. Aye, we actually did stuff like that. And I suspect along the way, the world of consequence and actions were subliminally outlined to me which probably explains why I haven't grown into a frothing psychopath. The verdict is still out on my constantly resurfacing dark humour. Small potatoes, mate. Hey Tarantino and Rodriguez, thanks for the memories and nostalgia.

Tags: Grindhouse, Quentin Tarantino, Planet Terror, Death Proof, movie, entertainment

Random parrot babblings

2006-11-27T12:56:00.000-05:00

Hello folks, missed you all last week. Actually, I had an interview at one of those no-name fashion places in down town Manhattan. Talk about ambush interview. First of, I was interviewed by these two women who, clearly from the onset, did not want anything to do with me. Yes, interviewers aren't the only ones that read body language. Still, I kept my head up, tapped into my inner English banker charms, and give it a good go ... stiff upper lip and all. The thing that unnerved me throughout the interview was that those two women chose to sit at 90 degree angles of me. I basically had to swivel to each person when answering their questions. There is a good reason why you should look a person in the eye during an interview, especially when in a situation like this. You get to catch these wankers as they try make eye signals with each other. Of course, this sort of dampens the play when the Evil Parrot is staring you in the eye with that curt smile perched on his face. The only time they actually communicated was when the other would ask a question and I'd swivel in their direction. In one instance, I purposely swivelled back as I reached for my "pen" catching the poor bird off guard. Now who says an interview can't be fun. Tall story short: I didn't get the job since I was determined to be a "bit overqualified". Yes, shocking, I know. And pray tell what kind of job required all this mind play and mental gymnastics. Was it an IT specialist? Nay. Was it an executive assistant? I wish. Was it even a receptionist job? Not even close. Data entry. I kid you not, folks. All this for a data entry position at a not-so-well-known fashion company. Contrary to popular belief, I always say an interview is a two-way process. The employer gets to size up a potential employee, but most importantly the prospective employee gets an idea of what life is like at the company through the interviewer. In simple words, if there is much mental games at play at that level (an interview) for a bloody data entry position, I shudder to think what actually working at the company is like. I think I've dodged a bullet. I've proven this on many occassions in the past. But enough about my job search woes.
Hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving. I did. Went into Connecticut and spent it with my family. I'm thankful for a lot of things. For one: living. Aye, for the last few months prior to my job "displacement", my body was behaving very weird. Ever wake up in the morning and feel like you're trembling, but you look at your hands and they're quite still. But there it is ... everyday, that trembling feeling. Needless to say, WebMD became my friend and the symptoms were coming up blank. One my last day of work, I went home and for some reason I was watching the Crash DVD and there was this scene that pretty much triggered something in my. I was coiled up in a fetal position and sobbing hysterical, like a bloody sissy-boy. I've never done that before. The next day, strangely, my body was back to normal. My parents, in their infinite wisdom, shed some light on what had happened. For about three months or so, my body was in a constant state of anxiety and stress, and the devil-may-care attitude I had toward my job ending was sort of like trying to put a lid on a volcano. So there. That scene with the bloke firing the blank at the little girl who had was trying to protect her father turned out to be the catalyst that blew the lid of the volcano. Along the way, I've come to grips with my mortality, and life. So yes, this Thanksgiving I had a lot to be thankful for. And don't worry, I know it can't go on like this forever. I will find work. I've trimmed down my spending and all those rainy day planning I did with my money has been quite good to me. In the mean time, I'll keep working on my graphics and my manuscripts (yes, I'm a wannabe-sci-fi writer in the making).

Despite my decent money management, I've got my eyes on the Zune. As to the PS3, I'll wait for about two years or so. Sorry, but blowing $599 on a gaming console is not exactly my cup of tea.

Tags: entertainment, Zune, life, random, random stuff, living, reality

Vh1 and the mangling of the 80s

2006-11-09T11:55:00.001-05:00

It should be no surprise that I'm a big 80s fan. I was a teen during that decade and despite the fact that I spent the majority of it on another continent, thanks to television and radio, I got to be apart of the 80s culture that came out of America. To this very day I still think some of the best music that have ever graced the airwaves came out of the 80s. Sadly, it will never be the same. Sure, we'll have imitators but it will not be the same. Girls with big hair, decked out in oversized shirts with broad double belts wrapped around their waists and topped off with leggings. Mmmm, sexy. I especially dug the big hair. Susanna Hoffs, Ann and Nancy Wilson, Kathryn White, Jody Whatley, Belinda Carlisle and many more had a space in my mental harem. And that's all I'm going to say about that.
Enter VH1 and their popular series "I love the 80s". It's cute. It's a nice gesture. But you can only stand to listen to a bunch of D-list wanks cackle on about what was cute about groups, music, style ... blah blah blah... for so long. It was funny for about two weeks. Stop it. Please. Obviously, we live in world where nothing is no longer sacred anymore, so VH1 decided to "bless" the unsuspecting viewing population with an 80s parody called "Totally Awesome". First of all, parodies are usually funny. Not so in this case. Secondly, this could have offered a bit of nostalgia for the 80 fans. The revulsion did not let me get past five minutes of this crap. Third, I suspect it was just another excuse to cast Chris Kattan in a movie whom we all know is very funny ... back in the mid-90s ... prior to The Night at The Roxbury.
I'm sure some folks will disagree with me. I fine with it. But to mangle the memories of Sixteen Candles, Better Off Dead, Weird Science, Breakfast Club, Fast Times at Ridgemont High and One Crazy summer with over-the-top exaggerated acting from really crappy actors ... is unforgivable. Here's an idea, instead of having to listen to a bunch D-list folks share their bloody pathetic anecdotes ... just show some back-to-back 80s videos sans the commentary. Really.

With that said, I'll return to my work on my computer as I cue my Mister Mister mp3s.

Tags: Mister Mister, entertainment, Totally Awesome, television, VH1, jody Whatley, The Bangles, 80s, The Go Gos, music, Heart, The Breakfast Club, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Sixteen Candles, Weird Science, neon

Non-PC guilty pleasures: sweet Brit comedies

2006-11-08T12:47:00.000-05:00

I know, the big buzz today is about the Dems sweeping the House. As a registered Democrat let me just say: whoppedy bloody doo. Fact as after all is said and done, regardless who's running things, it is still up to me to figure out my own survival. So do forgive me if don't get all soppy and political. I'm sure there's about a million or so blogs that are screaming about this ad nauseum. Que sera. Between job searches, working on my website and other little projects that fell to the wayside, and the occasional freelancing, I've been watching a bit more of the telly. Not a lot, but enough to drown my woes in. A few weeks ago my workmate tossed a bunch of DVDs in my direction: The Best of Benny Hill, Allo Allo, French and Saunders, and Fawlty Towers. He's from Jamaica, and like most of us from the Commonwealth, can appreciate a bit of Brit humour. Now as the rest of televisions were burning up over the weekend on the elections and other such bollocks, I just decided to sit and enjoy some beautiful political incorrect comedies. Oh the things that Benny Hill got away with back in the 70s. Today that poor bloke would have been placed on the cross of political correctness and flayed with red hot pincers. And then crucified. So as watched the lovelies run around the screen with their knickers and rolled around in complete sidesplitting laughter something occurred to me: political correctness really killed comedy and that sucks. There, I said it. Needless to say, I'm putting these DVDs in a vault guarded by laser beams, rabid Dobermans and a couple of hooligans hopped up on meth and armed with bats and brass knuckles. Maybe its just me, but even though she's a way bit older than me ... I'm really digging Jennifer Saunders. Go figure.

Tags: election, Benny Hill, French & Saunders, television, BBC, Fawlty Towers, entertainment, comedy

A few tips for my fellow citizens visiting NYC

2006-07-24T17:19:00.000-04:00

I know this is almost the end of summer, but tourists flock from no ends to New York City I know you've seen the I Love NY commercials filled with vast green fields, waterfalls, and folks paddling on lakes. This is great if you're visiting UPSTATE New York. Most of the times folks that arrive in New York on vacation tend to end up in Manhattan. No crime against that. Manhattan is beautiful. Just a wee bit expensive. Now I'm sure that there are many a deal to be found on outlets like Priceline, Hotels.com and Expedia, so I'm not going to waste time in telling you that you could probably find cheaper hotel rates in downtown Brooklyn (which is close to Manhattan) or maybe even Queens. Of course there are those breathtaking views that can't be beat. Aye, I'll take my hat off to Manhattan for their exceptional views. Now unless you're a Hilton or a Trump, you don't have money to burn and you want to enjoy Manhattan to the fullest. A few tips if you may.

Don't mess with three card monte. You know those chaps that stand on the road corner with three containers on a stack of boxes and you pay good money to guess which container they're hiding stuff under. Beware of complete "strangers" winning the game. Chances are those "strangers" are actually accomplices that are there to bait you in and replenish you of your hard earned money. I've never met anyone that has EVER won this game. Nay, NEVER.
Taxicabs can be pretty pricey. Let's not forget those private cabbies, especially those shady few that would love to take you for a ride. Public transportation. I know, you've heard the horror stories and trust me, most of them are true. Most of them. Believe it or not, the transit system is excellent for the chap that's not eager to get some place fast. For those that are staying for a week or so, invest in a weekly unlimited Metrocard or a monthly unlimited Metrocard if your stay exceeds three weeks. Put that piece of plastic in safe place in your wallet and let your travels begin. If you must get across town quickly and your olifactory glands can facilitate strange and uniquely exotic scents, then the subway is the way to go.
Not up to subterranean scents and misadventures, then feel free to use the buses. Now during lunch break, unlike the subway, buses can come to a crawl. This is not a bad thing, especially if your tourist. Take this gridlock moments to look out at your surroundings. Hey, you might spot some store or building that tickle your fancy. You can always ring the bell and get off at the closest stop. Don't be alarmed. You've got an unlimited card, you're saving tons of dollars that could have been swallowed up in taxi fares, you're taking in all off New York and you're tourist doing stuff on your OWN sweet time. Bloody priceless, ain't it.
Bottled water is cheaper when bought from chain stores like Duane Reade. Avoid buying from artsy fartsy delis in places like Tribeca and Soho. If you must buy your java. Stick to the basics Starbucks (for variety) or Dunkin Donuts (they're getting really good).
There are great bargains in Queens. Aye, even though my borough gets treated like NYC's bastard child we've got some pretty good stuff happening here. Great Indian food in Jackson Heights, great Greek food in Astoria, and great Caribbean food in Jamaica. Did someone say beef patty? Or maybe roti and curry? You've never heard of such, oh you poor sods. To go through life on this mortal coil and not ever taste a morsel of roti or a beef patty is a tragedy, mates. Did I mention that many of the prettiest women in the world live in Queens. I kid you not. You think its a coincidence that Lucy Lui is Queens native, I think not. Sure many folks think Manhattan have the prettiest women, but it just turns out that its women from Queens hanging out in Manhattan.
Avoid wearing "I Love NY" t-shirts. We do appreciate the love, but nothings screams "TOURISTS" like an "I Love NY" t-shirt. I don't say this to be caustic or vile, but to protect you against wanks that prey on the good nature of our visiting tourists. There are a lot of con artists out there that love you more and all for the wrong reasons. Buy the t-shirt, but wear it when you've returned home. At least by then, it'll be a great ice breaker and you'll have tons of good stories to regal your mates with.
Ditto for the Statue of Liberty foam hats and such.
If you can't afford Carnegie or even the Guggenheim, don't worry there are tons of parks in New York City that you can enjoy. There is the Flushing Meadows Park in Queens. There is the Brooklyn Botanical gardens. And for the truly adventurous, there is the Central Park which is a world on to itself. And then there is Washington Square Park. Very social atmosphere, just avoid the folks that are offering "smokes". I'll give you a hint, its not cigarettes.

And regardless what the media says, the majority of New Yorkers are good souls. Enjoy New York.

Tags: New York City, tourism, people, random stuff, beautiful women, random, travel, summer, parks

Parrots flying in the skies

2006-07-06T16:58:00.000-04:00

The other day I was walking home from the bus stop, a few months ago, and I looked up in the sky and saw a flock of parrots flying overhead. Parrots. In New York. In May. I stood, for awhile, and watched them. Reminded me of those days back in Guyana, where I’d stand in my mother’s garden that stood outside of our house - filled with squash, eggplant (boulanger), string beans (bora), pumpkins, thyme, and basil (married-man-poke). For some reason I was always attracted to the sound of the flock of parrots that flew into the sunset to their nests beyond my vision. It is probably the most simple, but arresting thing I’ve ever beheld. To this day I don’t know why it is so. Several years ago, when I was living in Florida, I remember staring out at the setting sun in time to see a flock of parrots flying by. Funny thing is, I was playing Evening Falls by Enya which pretty much summed up the entire moment (listen to the track and you’ll feel what I felt). It’s funny, every time I hear Evening Falls, it is like this password that unlock a torrent of memories. Me on that patio on that warm summer Florida evening. Standing barefeet on those pebbly roads of Kara Kara or walking mindlessly in that sandy, hilly area known as “the dyke”, in my hometown of Mackenzie, staring up into the sky. All just to watch the parrots flying into the sunset.

Tags: parrots, random, Guyana, random stuff, Enya, nature,

Bryan Adams: the most underrated rock musician

2006-06-14T12:58:00.000-04:00

Most of the time, Canada gets bashed for all the wrong reasons. I like Canada. I was there in 2000, and I must say it was a great place. Nice mates, great atmosphere, good weather (mind you, this was during summer) and good food. There has been some great imports from Canada. Myers, Loreena Mckennit, Loverboy (could you imagine NOT starting the weekend without some local radio station playing Everbody’s Working for The Weekend), and yes, Bryan Adams. The verdict is still out on Celine Dion, and that Titanic thing is to blame. Truth, you’ve got to admire the woman’s joie de vivre. But that is as far as I’m going to go on the Celine Dion thing. Seriously. But there is other good things about Canada, like the fact that they have a music video channel that actually play music videos.

My first introduction to Bryan Adams was through the single “Heaven”. It was the 80s, I was up late on a Friday night watching (as usual) Night Tracks on WTBS, and then I see this video with a bloke singing in an auditorium filled with television sets. Nutty thing about the 80s: most of the music videos, visually, made no sense but surprisingly stayed with you. So there I was, listening to this raspy voiced chap scream about “heaven”, and a “friendship” blossomed. Now I know there are some “hardcore” metalheads and wannabes would love nothing more than to engage me in a battle of words about the “rock” factor of Bryan Adams. I say nay … save you breath. If you picked up a guitar and plucked out riffs that could strip clothing off an overdressed Siberian dweller, then that, my good folks, qualify as a rock musician. Though I may want to thread carefully about that with the “stuff” that passes for rock today. Sure Mr. Adams didn’t sing about blood, guts, black masses and all that gory stuff, but he made decent rock anthems (summer of 69) and he was one of the few rock ballad maestros that existed out there. Trust me, there are few chaps out there that could pull off that rock ballad gig and still keep their reputations as hard rockers intact.

In the 90s when Kevin Costner starred in Robin Hood (oh, the humanity), despite the snickers and mumblings of “has been” Mr. Adams stepped up to the plate and proved what rock legends are made of when he wrote “Everything I Do”. I’ve passed by many weddings in NYC that must have played that song to death. Point is, real talent does not have expiration date unlike many of factory-made pieces of talent that dote the present musical landscape. Today most rockers sound like a facsimile of each other. There was a time, when you could listen to rock music and hear those signature riffs. Heart had it, Van Halen had it, Guns N Roses had it and yes, Bryan Adams had it. If I were stuck in cave in Kandahar, removed from human contact for a year, and were to hear the signature intro riff to “Heaven” you can bet it would bring a smile to face, a tear to my eye and I would exclaim, “why yes, that is Heaven by Bryan Adams”.

So there it is folks. One good reason to ease up on the Canada-thrashing and to give our northern neighbours a tip of the hat rather than a wag of the finger. We can easily forgive the Celine Dion “situation”. As to Avril Lavigne, Canada … we’ve seriously got to talk. Really, chaps. Take a bow Mr. Adams. And thanks for making some of us (wannabe) rebels feel like rebels as we air-guitared Summer of 69 … most of the times in the presence of shock and bewildered friends.

Tags: Bryan Adams, Canada, rock, 80s, music, 80s stuff, Loverboy, rebel, entertainmet

Thanks WPLJ, for 5 hours of 80s heaven

2006-05-18T16:57:00.000-04:00

There are a few radio stations that I listen to in New York City. WQXR (for classical) and KJOY (98.3 FM). But on Saturday nights (at the risk of exposing my pathetic social life) I tune to 95.5 WPLJ. Sure enough, WPLJ is one of those top 40 type deals that most of us that like music loathe, but for five hours on Saturday night it is all 80s baby. I remember several years ago when I was down in Florida, driving on the I-95 on a Saturday night listening to a radio station called The Coast and they had that 80s thing in full gear, I heard myself wonder how is it that New York doesn’t do stuff like this. Folks, there is nothing like driving down I-95, feeling the rush of the warm wind against your face and watching the palms sway to the rhythm of Simple Minds’ Don’t You Forget About Me. Of course, coming back to New York City was sort of downer and killed all my dreams of surfing in the Atlantic. And then one Saturday night, bored out of my skull, I was dial hopping on the radio and I heard some bloke talking about Saturday night at the 80s. I was intrigued, and so I listened on. And then I found my piece of heaven. So whenever I’m home on Saturday night, I tuned in to WPLJ for those wicked 80s tunes. To the folks at WPLJ, thanks … you’re special. And I bloody love ya.

Tags:random, random stuff, 80s, 80s stuff

Quicksilver and bicycle messenger reality check

2006-05-10T16:22:00.000-04:00

In the mid to late 80s Hollywood had released a movie called Quicksilver starring Kevin Bacon. Though the storyline was as flat as day old exposed cola, aside from giving me the hots for Jamie Gertz, it had somehow put the dream in my head that becoming a bike messenger will be a cool summer job to have not to mention I get to zip around the streets on my cool racing bike. So there, I had my summer job figured out the moment I arrived in the States. A little background on my infantile dream. Back in Guyana aside from walking, the major modes of transportation were bikes, mopeds, automobiles and if you lived in some rural areas, horse drawn carts. If you had your own bike, it was a great deal. Alas, for most of us we had to settle for our parents' bicycles. You know that ones with the fenders, loud clanging bells, and made you seem like an old fuddy duddy. So somewhere in those hidden corners of my mind on my plane ride over into America, there were these dreams of me on a racing bike with those cool down-curled handles racing through the streets of Manhattan.
My first summer job was working as mailroom clerk at certain well known pharmaceutical firm. Nothing like your very first job and earning that paycheck. It is a jolly good feeling. Unfortunately, this firm was located on Park Avenue and during my lunch breaks I got to watch actual bike messengers in action. I was under the impression that some motorists don't like bike messengers. As scary as noon time Manhattan traffic is, nothing is more scarier than watching bike messengers navigate this cluttered urban terrain ... at insane speeds. Several summers later, I purchased my first racing bike. It was this cool Ross bike, with the downcurled handles and all. And that's when the reality check kicked in. Riding in New York City is an adventure in itself. Forget extreme sports and all that bonk. Just try to take a casual ride on any road in New York City. Aye, there's some extreme living for you. One day I was a bit ticked at our wonderful transit system, and I decided to take matters into my own hands so I decided to ride to school. Sort of sticking it to the "man". Let's just say on my way home, that day, I kissed good-bye to my racing bike and all those Quicksilver fantasies. Something involving high speeds, an inclined slope, some twit that took to long to move on the green light, and road construction concrete divider that was hidden in some tall grass. I carried that bike home as I cried internally. It had little to do with my bruises or concussions, and more to do with the mangled fork and front wheel. Of course, I couldn't avoid the nincompoops, on the way, asking stupid questions such as "Dude, did you get into an accident". Um, no mate, my telekinesis was acting up and I lost complete control. Stupids.

So much for my bicycle messenger "dreams". Of course, I should have known better since Quicksilver was shot in bloody SAN FRANCISCO posing as New York City. Much different atmosphere folks. Ah yes, bloody evil Hollywood bastards. Hope to get the DVD sometime. Two reasons: Jamie Gertz. Period.

Today, I ride a Raleigh mountain bike, which came in very useful during the transit strike of '05. It was a cold three days of commuting, but my bike came through for me. And I lost five pounds in those three days. Funny thing is, everytime I’m riding at full speed and feeling the breeze in face, I’m certain that I could hear the chords to Lightning by Roger Daughltrey in my head. And such a wicked good feeling that is.

Guyanese folklore: The Bacoo

2006-05-03T17:26:00.000-04:00

Many are familiar with the genie. That jolly fellow that lives in lamp, who grants the bearer his wishes whenever the lamp is rubbed. Or maybe Barbara Eden, who made every person wish they had their own genie in a bottle. Yes master, indeed. And then there is the not so Disney version of the genie known as the jinn or djinn who is very mischievious and vile (go and see Wishmaster) and ... yes ... evil. Well in Guyana, we have the Bacoo. Now in some parts of Guyana, some the old folks will tell you that if you happen upon any small green, closed bottles on the road or wherever, it is to your benefit to leave it alone. Why, you ask? Well, it is said that the bacoo resides in these small green bottles. A conjured spirit of sorts. Anyone foolish enough to open a green bottle that holds a bacoo pretty much gets stuck with him. And sorry mates, but that three wishes bonk doesn't fly. Now many say that the bacoo can grant its "master" their hearts desire ... mostly riches. However, the owner must see to that the bacoo is well fed with banana and milk. Some folks include honey into the deal (it depends on who and where the story is being told). The moment the bacoo, begins to feel slighted or neglected ... that's when the Disney story ends and the nightmares begin. Sort of like Paris Hilton noticing her popularity fading. The bacoo engages in wanton destruction of his master's property by breaking the windows, throwing rocks at the roof, and possibly a bit of pyromania. If you own poultry, as do many folks in Guyana do, the bacoo snacks on your poultry. In simple words, if he doesn't get his way he'll make your life a living hell. Hmmm, does sound a bit like Paris. Now some claim that by luring the bacoo back into a bottle and locking it is one way to get rid of the bacoo. I'm assuming it possible to lure him with a banana and milk mash. Who knows. Fact is I've never seen any or heard any bacoos. I have come across my share of corked green bottles lying in the middle of street, but since curiousity can kill the cat, I left them and kept going. We've all seen what happens to folks that go into dark rooms to "investigate" in those slasher flicks now, haven't we? So there.
Now some claim that they've heard bacoos attack people houses. Most of the time it was always that mean person on the street that seem wealthy and has been rumoured to have a bacoo in his employ. But then most mean people do get there house stoned at one time or the other. It is a universal, unwritten law that most kids invoke. If neighbour is too mean, than stone his house at night and conceal yourself. Man in green bottle, I doubt. Precocious little kids, maybe. And we've all done our bit.

I Heart those Wilson sisters

2006-05-02T16:03:00.000-04:00

There are a few women in this entire universe that , in my opinion, are deserving of the rock goddess title whilst all others are pretenders to throne or mere, bloody frauds. To name name a few: Janis Japlin, Tina Turner, Lita Ford, Joan Jett, Ann and Nancy Wilson (aka Heart), and Patti Smith. I'm sure there are tons more. Several nights ago, I was at a friend's house and I channel surfed unto VH1 where someone mentioned the name "Beyonce" and the word "rockstar" in the same sentence. Needless to say, I tried very hard to suppress my lunch, dinner, and various acidic gastric discharges.

My first encounter with Heart happened via a Capehart colour television in my living room back in Guyana. It think it was Casey Kasem doing his top 40 countdown and there it was, the These Dreams video. Aside from the few soundbites of Janis Joplin that played sparingly on Guyana radio, it was rare hearing about women rockers. And suddenly there they were. Big billowing blond and raven dark 80s hair, slipping riffs through their fingers that could bring most men to their knees, and those voices, those slightly raspy voices. I was in love and had vowed to marry both Ann and Nancy Wilson. Unfortunately, fate and Cameron Crowe had different plans. * Sigh *

Still their music stayed with me throughout the years. It is sad they've been removed to the musical backdrop of the American musical landscape whilst unsuspecting chaps are forced to endure the likes of Avril Lavigne, Pink and (dare I say it) Beyonce as "rock" goddesses. I say NAY in complete defiance. Thank goodness for CDs. That way we can shut off the top 40 static and hit the 5-disc stereo player to "repeat". Interestingly enough, the Wilson sisters exposed me to other acts like Joan Jett, Lita Ford, Johnette Napolitano of Concrete Blonde, and PJ Harvey. I once owned a Vixen cassette (hey, it was in the $2.99 bin at Sam Goody). I guess I should not be mentioning that in public. Lasted about a year in my possession and then was "mysteriously" lost. So much for Vixen.

I heard that they're stilling playing on the road and in tours. This is a good thing. We need exposure to some wickedly, good talent out there. Seriously. And believe me, Ann and Nancy seriously rocks. Really. Anytime now, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Or do we need to spell it out?

WDRE/WLIR: the little radio station that could (have)

2006-05-01T17:24:00.000-04:00

When I came to America in '88, I had arrived with my head full with sounds by Tiffany, Boy George, Debbie Gibson, and folks like Europe and Heart for "balance". Somewhere, in the dark corners of my mind, something said that there was more beyond this "bearable" trend of music there had to be something more. Something exciting. That all came to bear the day I started college. I was studying at a private engineering university, so I was among my fellow nerds. I guess one could say I felt at home. Not exactly. More on that at a later time. One of my study partners was this Scottish chap that was always listening to underground or non-mainstream stuff. And what I heard, I loved. Now up until this moment, I've always kept my radio dial at 95.5 FM and beyond ... never below. And so one day, I ventured into the unknown ... below the 95.5 mark. It eventually rested on 92.7 where I heard the first strains of what turned out to be Blue Sky Mine by Midnight Oil. It has a unique guitar riff that to this day if I were trapped in a dark dungeon, chained and in a drugged stupor, were I to hear that riff pouring through the window I'd summoning whatever little strength I have and say "Why yes, that's Blue Sky Mine". But enough about my love for Midnight Oil, though they are a great band. God bless those wonderful Aussies. After Midnight Oil, it was followed up with a host delightful unknowns. Well, they were known but it was just that I've never heard them on the radio. Needless to say my radio dial never came off of 92.7 WDRE/WLIR.
But it was more than just about the music on 92.7. Some of the DJs and even local commercial icons (Scolliwog Jim for the Dublin Pub) became unofficial mascots of the station and probably had their own fan base. Today when folks speak of 92.7 names like Donna Donna, Larry The Duck and Malibu Sue pops up. Once I had the privilege of being asked to do a radio survey by Malibu Sue. Truly a delightful woman. Possibly the only radio survey, I've ever done.
Through WDRE/WLIR, I was introduced to sounds like The Cure, Siouxie and the Banshees, Depeche Mode, Midnight Oil (of course), The Psychedelic Furs, The Charlatans UK, The Beloved, The Heart Throbs, Concrete Blonde, The Lemonheads, The Smiths and The Mighty Lemon Drops. Of course, the list goes on. There was this time back in the 90s when I was studying with Scottish chum and he broke out this cassette that had this ground shattering sound which we know today as Teen Spirit by Nirvana. A few weeks later, it appeared on 92.7 WDRE. Several months later, every top 40 radio station couldn't play enough of it and yes, the golden (short-lived) age of grunge had ushered in. Sadly, folks like yours truly that have worn flannel shirts, prior to grunge, were accused of becoming "grunge". Regardless of what folk say, I miss those grunge days. But for the moment WDRE supplied us our musical "gunge fix" to sound of Soundgarden, Tool, Alice in Chains, Nirvana, Juliana Hatfield (very saucy), and the Screaming Trees. Geez, those were good days.
Somewhere along the mid-nineties, someone wanted to mess with success. Here's the deal. Along the entire radioscape, there were many pretenders to the throne that called themselves "alternative radio". So far, the only true alternative radio in New York was located out in Nassau broadcasting ... well ... real alternative music. The sort of music that you don't hear on on those top 40 pop or even some rock stations (yeah, one could only bear listening to Stairway to Heaven for so much). Somewhere in the mid-nineties someone decided that they didn't like thinking outside of the box, and so there was talk about the "new and improved" 92.7 WLIR. Sure they were playing "alternative" which was mostly comprised of bands that seemed fresh out of a Gap commercial trying to sound "hard" and "gritty". And then there was recycled, repetitive playlists and it was beginning to sound like some of those chaps above the 95.5 dial. Fortunately, many of the fans didn't take it lying down. I think that was the first time, I stopped playing 92.7 in my house for more than year.
As the millenium approached, and some of us were stocking up on perishables, batteries and maybe some firearms and ammunition, I decided to listen in on my old chum WDRE in the late 90s. The moment I tuned in and heard Concrete Blonde's Caroline purring over my speakers, there was that prodigal son moment. It was good to have my dial back on 92.7 since Britney was NOT doing it for me (in the musical sense) and there is only so much miles you can get out of Linkin Park. But this was just a delay of the inevitable. In the early part of '04, I was home on a day off and of course, listening to 92.7 WLIR. It was somewhere along lunch time when the strains of Forever Young by Alphaville came pouring over my speakers, and just found myself stopping to listen to it. Now I've heard this song a million times, but for some reason I was just frozen as I listened to it. It was the last song that the instution known as WDRE/WLIR played. After that, it was programming en espanol by Univision. I guess it was the sign of the times where the bottom line dictates every decision. No bad feelings here. I'm just grateful that it was there. I will miss it. Thanks to CD and MP3 technology, a bit of WDRE/WLIR lives on in my daily commute via MP3 player. Thanks Donna Donna, Malibu Sue and Larry the Duck. It was fun while it lasted.

Night Tracks on Superstation WTBS: for an MTV-less world

2006-04-26T16:40:00.000-04:00

During the mid 80s whilst growing up in Guyana, one of the things we'd see on television was this advertisement consisted of celebrities screaming about "wanting their MTV". Oh had we some foresight on that one we'd run screaming into the streets asking the powers that be to keep their "damn" MTV. Well, we're stuck with with it, but of course there is that wonderful channel block button. Isn't technology sweet? For some strange reason, we couldn't get MTV in my town, though some of the folks in the city claimed that they did. Instead, we had to settle for a weekend tour in the music video world called Night Tracks on a then Superstation WTBS (now TBS). And since we were two hours ahead of America's time, we had to set up pretty late at night to see this stuff. We didn't mind. It was, after all, the weekend. The cool thing about my parents' JVC radio/TV/cassette deal was that if you wanted to keep up with the latest music, all you had to do was pop a blank audio cassette in and hit record as the video played. And it was a good quality reproduction. My 80s analog version of Napster. Sorry, but we did not have a local Tower Records or Sam Goody. So we had to improvise. The good news (to the folks at the RIAA) is that I now have to buy the stuff on CD in order to secure my little piece of nostalgia heaven. I'm sure that somewhere in Guyana there is an old TDK tape with Richard Marx, T'Pau, Lisa Lisa and Level 42 circulating or rotting in some dump. Some videos that evoke those good old Night Tracks memories are: Sara (Starship), What have You done for me lately (Janet Jackson), Don't Mean Nothing (Richard Marx), Carrie (Europe), Don't you forget about me (Simple Minds), Something about you (Level 42), Future so bright (Timbuk 3), Heart and soul (T'Pau), New Drug (Huey Lewis and the News) and Glory of love (Peter Cetera). Now I don't know much about Ted Turner and the little I've heard was not so flattering. So let's give some credit where credit is due. Yes, we may have missed Remote Control and Martha somebody, but on some late Friday nights (into Saturday mornings) a bunch of teens in a small town on the northern tip of South America sat in the glow their television and watched some music videos. It fascinated us with all that colour, sex appeal and sometimes ecclectic concepts. Wasn't much, but we loved it Mr. Turner. Thanks, mate. To be honest, Night Tracks was my concept of MTV.

I missed that ... and those ultra-cool commercials for the Yamaha DX100 synthesizers.

The first time I heard U2

2006-04-25T22:14:00.000-04:00

For some reason, this moment sticks out in my mind. I don't know why, but there it is. It was the spring of '87, and I was preparing for my CXC and GCE A Level exams. I was up, late, into the morning hours pouring over three different physics texts and a soggy syllabus. Outside my room was this old-fashioned vacuum tube shortwave radio, tuned into the Voice of America. I remember watching twilight break from the night and that was when I heard Without You by U2. Watching the birth of a new day to the first instrumental strains of that song is near magical. You almost feel your second wind coming back. Good song. Great band.

Guyanese folklore: Old Higue

2006-04-24T17:10:00.000-04:00

In North America we've got the stereotypical witches on flying broomsticks or those that dance naked in the moonlight in circles. In Russia, there is Baba Yaga, the witch that travels on a mortar and lives in a spinning house that is supported by a giant chicken leg. In Guyana, we have Old Higue (or, to keep with the vernacular, Ole Higue).

According to lore, Old Higue is a witch that travels in a ball of fire and is known to feast off the blood of infants. She is able to take the appearance of an old woman during the day, but at night she can shed her skin and transform herself into a ball of fire. If you woke up one morning and noticed that your child was a bit blue, then it was possible to blame Old Higue. As scary as Old Higue sounds, she had a weakness. She is spellbound to count rice and is forced to restart the counting process should she lose count along the way. Scattering rice on a table or the floor of your house will stop an Old Higue dead in her tracks since she is forced to count the rice ... which could possibly take forever until she is discovered and set upon by members of the house with broomsticks and given a sound thrashing. The test for suspected Old Higues is to draw a line with chalk over their door steps or their walking paths. Most Old Higues would not step over the chalk lines though some have been brave enough to do so.

I, personally, have never seen an Old Higue in human form or as a fiery ball. There are some that swear that they've seen flying Old Higues. I'm guessing that some spirits were involved ... the chemical kind.

14 years with no TV on

2006-04-21T11:43:00.000-04:00

Dedicated to the visionary spirit of my parents

I've lived the first 14 years (give or take a month or two) of my life without television. Every time I tell that to my North American mates I get two responses. First, there is the gasp of disbelief followed by the obligatory "poor chap". And second, is a gasp of disbelief followed by a "half-full cup" realization of "oh you must be very literate" and sometimes the surprising "sometimes I wish we had the same, here." Truth be told, it did force a lot of us, being kids, to read just about any book we could get our hands since our only forms of entertainment was radio, books, and the movies (or as they would say back home, the pictures). Now going to "the pictures" was more of luxury than a convenience, and it was quite an experience on its own (more on that at a later time). Which left us with radio and, yes, books. I don't want to sound like I'm being quite boastful, but by fourth grade most of my friends and I had gone past the Nancy Drew/Hardy Boy stage. It was more about Biggles (sort like the English version of Indiana Jones and James Bond combined), Nick Carter (James Bond lite with the occasional bouts of well written soft porn that catered to elementary school male mind), Westerns by Louis L'Amour, Alistair Maclean, and Ian Fleming. The girls dabbled in Harlequin Romances. By sixth grade, we were polishing off adult sized novels. I remember my first novel, it was called The Death Beam; your typical cold war spy novel that involved orbiting space particle weapons. To this day, I could never find a copy of that book. So yes, we read like there was no tomorrow. It was cheap and it utilised that mental television that we called imagination.

During the early 80s my father during his off-shore work stint had bought this cool JVC radio/cassette/TV combo deal. It was supposed to be a boombox for yours truly, but he was looking at the big picture. And I guess, so were we ... eventually. My dad, the visionary. Of course it didn't take long for most folks to find out since my father had erected this tall antenna in our yard that could be seen from a considerably long distance. Of course, living in a country that don't broadcast television signals meant that we were subjected to occasional snickering. When videocassette technology premiered, several members in my town had television sets that were rigged to some backbreakers called Betamax players. Not all of us were financially capable of buying these backbreakers, so I was content to watch a bit of snow. Once in a while a satellite from Venezuela (I'm assuming) will go on the blitz and we'd get a treat at least for a day; actual TV broadcasts with intermittent bouts of snow ...en espanol. In "half-full cup" mode, I'd say at least we got see our little black and white TV working. And then one day, in 1985, the unimaginable happened; my town got its first TV broadcasting station. Of course, all the laughter and snickering stopped. And my parents, the visionaries, sat in the living room with their children and watched the telly. Funny thing about our little TV station that could, we watched whatever they switched on. In simple words, if they were stuck on Discovery Channel all week, that is all that we were forced to watch ... all week. And this has happened. And there was no Monster Garage on this Discovery Channel. But we cared less.

For my siblings and I, it was our little of piece of heaven. My visionary parents. Good times. Nay. Great times.

Hello, mates

2006-04-17T13:49:00.000-04:00

Hello there. This is me spreading my self around in the blogosphere. Actually this is a spinoff from actual active blogs. For all intensive purposes, I am Larry H. Don't worry you can know a bit more about me from my blogs that are here and here. I don't write too much personal, political, or religious stuff on my blogs. Heaven knows, just about every bloke in the blogosphere does that. Don't worry, I won't hold it against them. To each their own, eh mates. And as the description suggests, I am an American that was originally born in Guyana (a former British colony in South America). That should sufficiently explain the occassional strange spellings and Brit-type slang and mutterings. So there it is folks. Here I am. The Evil Parrot (don't worry, you'll find me not so evil after all). Trust me.