Peg Life Vol. 22

Nipple rings. Now there's something I've never found to enhance the sexual appeal of the female body. I don't know about anyone else, but when I'm sucking on some titty I want my tongue to be feeling soft, warm flesh, not cold, hard steel. I guess I'm just old fashioned that way. Of course, that's not to say I would decline any invitation to suck some titty based solely on the fact that the titty in question has a metal ring though its nipple. But think about it. What if down the road you have children and you're breast feeding them? Is your baby going to favor one nipple over the other because one is pierced and one is not? What would you do in that situation? Pierce the other nipple to balance it out? What if your baby preferred the unpierced nipple? Take all your nipple piercings out? For how long, forever? Or just when the baby is feeding? That seems inconvenient. Is it worth it, or would you just get them pierced again after your child was weaned? Or would you get them pierced again at all? These are the questions that keep me up at night. And probably many of you as well. I don't pretend to have any answers. It's The Onion that has all the answers. They can see into the future. This oracle of modern time cast down in type its greatest premonition here: http://www.theonion.com/content/node/33930 And it was noted that the date appearing thereon was lo unto the 18th of February, 2004. And yea did Gillette put forth unto the land this proclamation: http://money.cnn.com/2005/09/14/news/fortune500/gillette/ The prophecy, fulfilled, was. Carry thee, therefore, the word of The Onion across all the lands. Be not troubled by those who "get it" not. The words of the meek of mind and unhip resound, "I just don't find it funny." But The Onion is the way, the truth, and the laughter. Praise be to irony. Bless you all. Goodnight.

Tony Hawkins joined that cult for some very good reasons

Peg Life Vol. 21

Big John Waters (not the director, hence the "Big") made a career of debasement. Mostly in his basement. He tongue scrubbed toilets. Kept them clean, but only his own shit. It's a sanitary issue. He had issues. Wouldn't touch another person but through latex. Leather wasn't his thing. Didn't feel comfortable in something else's skin. He had five angles mounted with cameras to catch the feed. He had a handler for the duos. Occasionally a cameraman. Sometimes it went gonzo. He always said it's funny what people pay to see. He didn't say what people paid to see was funny. He wanted to be a dancer but he never got the moves right. So he switched leotards for plastic wrap and got paid for his hobby. He never did anything illegal but you could never really call him uptight. "Free men are free men," he'd say. "But I'm not a free man." No one really knew if he believed. No one even knows what that means.
Andrew Arthur was a technician. He installed Big John's cameras and didn't ask questions. He kept his thoughts to himself and he was born by Caesarian section. He didn't like his life till he found out where it was headed. He was otherwise a stand up guy until he rolled his van and ended up in a wheelchair. That's when he got happy. He got cared for and he got lazy. He got fatter but he didn't think it mattered very much. His wheelchair was electric and he had it wired for speed. He wasn't going anywhere but he wanted to be early. His girlfriend wasn't much for tact. She called him Rolex. She got married out in Boston but he lost the invitation. He played cards that night and lost the watch she gave him. It was Swiss. She was Irish. It never came to him if they had ever once connected. It wasn't ninety minutes before the first time they had bedded. He'd had his legs to use that time but now he just shrugged it off. His shoulders still worked fine.
In other news, the winners of the "Go to the Opium Exhibit with Tony" contest are Stephen Harfield and David Streit as they were the only ones who replied at all to the last Peg Life. Congratulations Stephen and David. And to all the other qualified readers who didn't even try to enter the contest: Fuck you too. I don't even want to go to the museum with you.

Tony Hawkins doesn't know what's wrong with your cat

Peg Life Vol. 20

I'm sitting alone with no particular desire to do much of anything, even write this. I don't really have anything better to do at this moment, however, and I'm bored. Or maybe I just think I'm bored cause I haven't smoked any pot today. It's the first day that's happened in a while. It seems boredom is really the only significant withdrawal symptom of marijuana. But then that could just be by comparison. Being stoned makes it much easier to ignore or at least tolerate boredom, so when it comes during times of sobriety it is more apparent. I know I don't really have any reason to be bored. There are plenty of things I could do. I could read a book, I could watch a movie, I could play video games, I coud jerk off, I could clean my apartment, I could make and/or eat food, I could buy some booze and get drunk, I could sit in the dark listening to music, I could go to sleep, I could fold my laundry, I could videotape myself naked flexing my muscles, I could take a bath, I could make a list of things to do to not feel bored, I could rearrange my furniture, I could poke holes in my arm with a pin and pretend I'm a heroin addict, I could name and catalog all the insects that live in my bathroom, I could drink milkshakes until I vomit, I could shave all the hair off my body, I could go out and ride city busses for a few hours, I could get high for a few minutes off the weed crumbs I just found on my desk, or I could write my twentieth Peg Life. Obviously I decided to go with the latter. I mentioned heroin back there somewhere and that reminds me of something cool that would have been a great way to cure my boredom if it had been available at this time of day. There's a new exhibit at the Manitoba Museum right now about opium. Being that drug culture/lore/history is one of my areas of interest I'm very keen on seeing this exhibit. I've also been wanting to go to the museum anyway for quite some time so it only increases my desire to go. The problem is, no matter how good any particular exhibit is, going to a museum alone is not nearly as enjoyable as going with someone else. That's not to say it isn't enjoyable at all. I've done my share of solitary museum exploration, but these were primarily in distant cities where I didn't know anybody to go with. Here in Winnipeg it's slightly different as I know plenty of people with whom I could go to the museum, many of you among them. Therefore, I'm asking anyone who is in the city and available between 11 a.m. and 4 p.m., Tuesday through Sunday, between now and March 19th to send an email telling me why you think you shoud be the one who gets to accompany Peg Life author and internet superstar Tony Hawkins to Opium: the Heavenly Demon at the Manitoba Museum. Don't delay! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for one luck Peg Life reader. It could be YOU! *No purchase necessary. Winners will be selected from qualified entries. See in store for details* Ok, so now that we've heard from the newly established Peg Life Contest Department let's see what's new in the Recommendations Division. Music is the item of the day as there are many albums that I have acquired recently that warrant recommending. Here they are:
Rogue Wave - Descended Like Vultures (Contrary to what All Music Guide says, I think this album is superior to their previous Out of the Shadows, which was actually more of a solo project of singer/guitarist Zach Rogue)
Andrew Bird - The Mysterious Production of Eggs (The latest from a former member of Squirrel Nut Zippers which, instead of sounding anything like the swing revival of that band, is much better)
The Constantines - Tournament of Hearts (The third album that was brought to my attention by The Onion AV Club's year end music review, this is quite possibly The Constantines best album yet)
Smog - A River Ain't Too Much to Love (Bill Callahan's latest is a fantastic low key country/folk affair that gives Red Apple Falls stiff competition for the title of My Favourite Smog Album)
Red House Painters - Songs for a Blue Guitar (I downloaded the album because my sister wanted a song off of it and the whole thing turned out to be great)
Cat Power - The Greatest (No, it's not a greatest hits compilation but it is great [maybe not quite the superlative, cause that would have to go to Moon Pix])
The Hold Steady - Separation Sunday (A few issues ago I recommended their first album Almost Killed Me and at the time I was afraid to listen to this one for fear that it wouldn't live up to the awesomeness of that album. It does)
Lifter Puller - Half Dead and Dynamite (This was Craig Finn's band before he formed The Hold Steady and while I think The Hold Steady's albums are superior, both this and Fiestas & Fiascos are excellent as well)
Well, that's it for this issue. I was able to successfully defer my boredom and that's really what's important. So until next time, keep fit and have fun (I know that's your line Hal Johnson, but ParticipACTION shut down five years ago so you can kiss my ass with your $5000 fee for a one hour appearance at a corporate event).

Tony Hawkins never thought Joanne Macleod was hot enough to fantasize about

Peg Life Vol. 19

This edition of Peg Life is rather a special one. This will be my last Peg Life as next week Brian will murder me in a fit of rage after reading my decimating review of his first completed film, Dead Kids. Actually, that’s likely not to be true. Brian knows I’m on the level (his words), but you can bet your ass I’m not going to be gentle. I’m also going to include in this volume the review I wrote for the movie Ju-On (that’s the Japanese film upon which The Grudge was based for all you cinematic philistines). So it’s going to be kind of a movie review themed issue. I also hope to go somewhere else with it at the end, but we’ll see how that goes. Let’s begin.

Ju-On
The movie starts with the nigh obligatory montage of scenes from the bloody event (read murder) that originates the premise. Proceed to introducing the first in a long line of victims that will die as a result of the curse started by aforementioned bloody event. Here we encounter the first problem with the film: rather mediocre acting. I realize that the language difference may affect this judgment, but I would maintain this conclusion even if comparing it only to other Japanese films. I could cite Tatsuya Nakadai’s performance in Kurosawa’s Ran as an example of much better acting. But enough name dropping. The acting really isn’t that terrible (in fact, the role of the ghost or cursed woman or whatever the hell she’s supposed to be is done pretty well) it just really could have been better. That being said, there are some redeeming qualities to this movie. The actual house that was used was a terrific find and the director made very good use out of it. There are some nice and quite effective camera moves both in the house and in other locations. These could have been made even more effective with a bit better editing, but I won’t piss all over the decent job that was done simply because it wasn’t fantastic. So what about the plot? Is there one? Hardly. What scattered story there is serves mostly as filler to connect the various creepy images. There are some jumps that are made through time without warning or explanation and really only serve to confuse the viewer and (as mentioned) add more creepy scenes. For all its faults, the film does do what it’s supposed to do. The creepy scenes are genuinely creepy (though none can match the girl crawling out the television in Ringu) and the sounds serve to create a suitably unsettling atmosphere. In the final analysis Ju-On is an average film that is still better than any American horror movie made in the past ten years. **1/2 out of *****

Except House of 1000 Corpses, which starts out as a grindhouse slasher homage and stays that way throughout the whole film until just before the credits it turns into the funniest comedy of all time. But enough about Rob Zombie. The Dead Kids review is what you all came for. And by that I mean it’s what Brian came for. And maybe Trevor too. So here it is.

Dead Kids
Let me begin by saying that I’m not going to be commenting on the acting in this film. The combination of the actors being amateurs and the actors being mostly people I know makes me reluctant to say I could give criticism without too much bias. I’ll just say that I did hear some of the acting compared to year book poetry, but that’s not what I’m concerned with. I’m concerned with the substance and technique of the film. I should probably note here that some of what I write here may be considered spoiler, so if you haven’t seen the film and you intend to you might want to save reading this for later. Otherwise, continue with the fun as I tear it apart. We open with the hardcore music that is so characteristic of Brian Barnhart’s films and a rapid dialogue laced with profanity between Sass and E.T. over top of the credits. So far so good, although I did have a hard time hearing what much of the dialogue was actually saying. After the credits we’re subjected to a sequence of frenetic editing that seems to suggest… the filmmaker’s desire to use frenetic editing. Or possibly just to patch something together from a small selection of footage. This is understandable given the time and budget restraints, but you can’t blast an audience with a rapid deluge of images without giving those images a reason for being there. Take for instance Sass and E.T.’s moment of tongue sparring in the car. There doesn’t seem to be any rationale for it being there other than to be “shocking.” It happens again later when they’re in the house, but it makes more sense then because it’s part of a larger scene. Here it’s isolated and irrelevant. And then we have Brock and Daisy being kicked out of somewhere, for what we can only imagine. It ends up seeming like a wasted opportunity to introduce one of the characters in more depth. There are some individual shots that reveal a good eye for camera movements in this beginning sequence. I see this as a definite sign of potential. The fundamental problem is that the script can’t decide if it’s simply a portrait of a group of degenerate youth or some kind of love story between the Jake and Pascal characters. It’s almost as if the script were written around Jake and Pascal’s characters but the film was edited around Brock, Sass, and E.T. In my opinion the script should have been written around those characters instead. As a result of this dichotomy in focus the character development suffers. When E.T., Sass and Brock are entering the house I can’t understand why Sass tells E.T. to be quiet. Loud and obnoxious seem to be E.T.’s defining characteristics. If this is made transparent to the audience it should be blatantly obvious to the other characters and thus Sass should realize that her plea is futile. Not only that, the fact that she says this (or at least the way that she says it: “Okay, be quiet” rather than “Shut the fuck up” or “Shut up, bitch”) suggests that she cares what someone else might think of the noise, which is very much out of character. The scene with E.T. talking on her cell phone is wholly unnecessary. While it does attempt to present the character as foul mouthed and sex obsessed, this has already been established and makes the scene redundant. The best part of the film is the end sequence, filtered in blue, emulating the dim, post-dawn light. The split screen of E.T. yelling at Brock from the window came as a surprise, but even more surprising in its effectiveness at portraying that moment. I can see vast improvements coming to Brian Barnhart’s films with bigger budgets, longer shooting schedules, and more experienced actors. As for his first effort, I would describe it as Larry Clark’s Kids minus the story, character development, and 90% of the running time. And the on-screen sex. ** out of *****

And the moral of the story is: Indie does not mean good. This applies at least as much to music as it does to film. People who use a band’s popularity or level of distribution as a measure of their quality are ridiculous. I once had a girl tell me that she didn’t like Propagandhi because they were “too pop.” After I got over my initial confoundment I laughed almost as hard as I did at House of 1000 Corpses. Her logic was that her cousin listened to 50 Cent and also listened to Propagandhi, therefore Propagandhi was pop music. What was really stupid was not how wrong she was but how she rejected a band’s music because of its association to something popular. Indie does not mean good. Popular does not mean good. Good means good. Music and film, good or bad, have to be judged on their merits, not their commercial success. So there it is. Straight up. I think I’m done.

Tony Hawkins is only in it for the money

Peg Life Vol. 18

Back in '92 Screwball Jones drove down to Long Beach to pistol whip his second cousin A.J. in the back of the head. He was good that way. But maybe then again that's the wrong thing to say. He was dyslexic, had forty-two wallets. The one has little to do with the other. But he would hear none of it. His backward money collection was his prized possession. He showed it off to everybody. Crisp notes, corroded coins, cancelled cheques, U.O.I.s. Reality blindsided him, as it is commonly wont to do, with a truck. He fell hard for the driver and it lasted a month. It occurred to him as he was leaving the hospital that when she sped away leaving the pile of broken ribs and tibia on the pavement she had not left her phone number and he had no way to contact her. He fell hard again in the parking lot. This time he got up and walked away.
Sunset Perry fell for a waitress in teal. He'd never the seen the shade of red that colored her lips. Like chewed meat and brake lights. She slid a plate, two eggs and toast, onto the formica table. She even brought the syrup without him having to ask. How the hell did she know he liked syrup on his toast? He never found out. He paid his bill to the squat wrinkled lady behind the register and left. Turns out it was early onset senility. Perry came back and asked the waitress on a date. She said yes. And forgot. Perry stayed awake all night but it didn't help. She called when Perry had gone to the corner store. He ate canned soup in the salad days and now he was buying it again. He'd have bought youth in a can if it was 99 cents. He knows there's so much for you and he'll tell it like a secret. When you stop reacting to the word razorblade you can have it back.

Tony Hawkins is all about losing

Peg Life Vol. 17

The following albums are recommended by me, Antony Matthew Hawkins (I would bet that even those people who knew my full name at one time have forgotten it until this moment):
Ted Leo & the Pharmacists - Shake the Sheets (Possibly the best album I've ever downloaded and forgotten about until recently)
System of a Down - Hypnotize (I would not find it difficult to say this is my favourite System of a Down album [Vicinity of Obscenity is their best song since I-E-A-I-A-I-O])
Propagandhi - Potemkin City Limits (See also Peg Life Vol. 11)
The Hold Steady - Almost Killed Me (Ask me the definition of rock and roll and I will name this album)
Wolf Parade - Apologies to the Queen Mary (I forgot why I loved I'll Believe in Anything so much and then I remembered it's the best song on an already great album)
Lady Sovereign - Vertically Challenged (If you like this check out Dizzee Rascal, Wiley, and Shystie [if you don't I'm pretty sure you should go fuck yourself {if the reason you don't like it is that you don't like hip-hop in general you should learn to appreciate music on its own terms and/or go fuck yourself}])
Kaizers Orchestra - Ompa Til Du Dør (When's the last time you heard a band sing in Norwegian anyway?)
Somaphore - In the Hands of Everyone We Know (OK, so this one hasn't actually been recorded yet and I'm not even sure the title is final but when it does come out it is going to be incredibly awesome. So awesome in fact that upon its release I will have to take my own life as I will never accomplish anything else of comparable value. In actuality I probably won't kill myself. I'll end up getting married and having children and harboring bitter resentment towards them for not living up to the magnificence of "that album I wrote the lyrics for when I was in my twenties")
So Danny's gone for three days and I'm alone in the apartment. I feel simultaneously lonely and liberated. On the one hand I can do whatever the fuck I want, but on the other I have no one to talk to or otherwise interact with. Walking around naked can only maintain its novelty for so long. It hasn't run out yet, but it's only a matter of time.

Tony Hawkins isn't nearly as interesting as he makes himself out to be

Peg Life Vol. 16

Have you ever had a stripper take off her clothes and then tell you to put them on? Wouldn't that be weird? Yeah, it kinda was.

Tony Hawkins is the new Wonder Woman

Peg Life Vol. 15

Winter came on quick, like a shot in the back or a kick in the face. Everyone knew it was coming but no one suspected it. Even after the initial shock it didn't prevent hundreds of adolescent girls from donning midriff shirts and miniskirts in order to impress god knows who while attending Gwen Stefani's performance at the MTS Centre. In three days concerts at that venue have managed to break several records in my experience. While Nine Inch Nails was certainly louder in sheer volume Gwen Stefani's show (or rather the audience in attendance) was the most ear piercingly shrill thing I have had occasion to sit through. I had the misfortune of sitting directly in front of a girl who apparently took great pride in her ability to whistle at frequencies usually reserved for calling dogs or viewing fetuses in utero. While this audience could only come in at a tie at best with the NIN audience for amount of eye liner they did collectively bring enough sparkle makeup to paint a Cessna. The ratio of females to males was easily 4:1 and though it is improbable I would not doubt it if I was the only guy who was there alone. Whatever this says about me is surely irrelevant, so don't bother bringing it up. I paid my sixty bucks to see M.I.A. and I did. And it was enjoyable. Though it most likely would have been more so if the setting had been a warehouse full of people on ecstasy. Nevertheless, jumping at the rare opportunity to see one of my favorite British musical acts live has left me with no regrets. I even considered purchasing some merch, but I simply couldn't justify spending $40 on a t-shirt. I thought about asking "What can I get for 10 dollar" but I didn't think anyone would even get it, much less reply "Anyting you want." So I had to settle for simply hearing that from Maya Arulpragasam. As for the headliner herself, she put on a good show. It was very elaborate, though less stunning than NIN's eschatonic spectacular. There was some very impressive break dancing, however. And speaking of impressive moves, go here: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-6243945917683426336&q=joe+eigo I assure you you will either say or at least think "Holy shit." And speaking of shit, I was amused by the number of times Gwen Stefani said "fuck." Or "fucking" to be more precise. But she could have said she was a Bolshevik space monkey while baboons riffled through her platinum blonde coif and still have had complete control of the audience. Disappointingly, she did not do that. It was nice of her to bring a bunch of the audience up onto the stage during the finale of Hollaback Girl, though. I'm sure they were thrilled. They probably chattered about it constantly the whole ride home. As for me, I got on the bus and came back to an empty apartment to write this email... Oh god, I'm so alone. And that concludes this issue of Peg Life. As of right now, I've decided to put the mailings on hiatus for a bit. Why? I have my reasons. And no, it's not JUST because I bought a Playstation. If enough people tell me not to stop, then I'll reconsider but otherwise it may be a while before volume 16. So all you sniveling indie kids, HOLD STEADY!

Tony Hawkins recommends asking Trevor what that last line references

Peg Life Vol. 14

My eyes burn and my ears ring. The grinding throbs still reverberate through my spine. Today Nine Inch Nails unleashed the most apocalyptic deluge of thrashing rock grandiosity ever to be seen on stage in Peg City. Even the godlike performance of System of a Down was bowled over by the onslaught of superdistorted guitars, pounding drums, mechanized keyboards, and the screams of Trent Reznor. Every song was a marvel of stage production, with enough lights, flashing and swirling, to induce seizures in a million epileptics. Everything was spectacle, Reznor throwing out his few "Thanks you"s to the crowd from the darkness between songs. Their performance was the brightest, loudest, and most awe inducing display I have ever had the privilege to witness. It never let up, coming back more than once from what I was sure would be the end to lay siege to the senses once more. After a relatively unostentatious (though no less gripping) performance of Hurt, NIN blasted through The Hand That Feeds to end on Head Like a Hole, tossing their guitars away in the finale to leave the audience bathed in spotlights and feedback. After today the only band that I could possibly be so amazed by would be Tool. Or possibly Radiohead, but Tool would rock harder. I'm afraid that's all I have to say today. Good night.

Tony Hawkins holds onto a hanging misstep

Peg Life Vol. 13

For the past few days I've been toying with the idea of writing this issue as separate, unique emails to each person on the list. I thought it would be cool if I wrote it as 25(, 30, or however many readers there are) sections that make some sense on their own but require the other parts to get the whole message. Then everybody would have to communicate with each other to share the different parts of the story (if it had any story to it) and everyone would laud me for how clever my idea was and tell me how they really enjoyed collecting all the pieces and would I sign their printout of the completed email and did I want to go back to their place to make out with an unspoken agreement that this would lead to oral sex. But then I realized that I couldn't be sure which people on the mailing list actually bother to read these, so if I sent a piece to someone who never checks their email then the whole house of cards collapses. Checkmate. So then I thought, OK, maybe it's not feasible to try to unify separate versions in that fashion. I could still just write individual emails to the 25 or 30 people and not try to connect them at all. It would give Peg Life a more personal feel, if only for one issue. But whether or not Peg Life needs a personal feel is beside the point because if I did it like that it wouldn't be Peg Life at all. It would just be me writing to most of the people I know while having "Peg Life Vol. 13" in the subject line. On the other hand, that's essentially what I'm doing right now. My laziness pipes up and points out that the alternative would require writing 25 or 30 different emails. This way all I have to do is one. It was really the first idea that would have made the whole thing at all interesting. I suppose I could now ask everybody who reads this to reply to me and tell me if you would be willing/able to participate, but a large part of the appeal to such a little game would have been the surprise. I could have asked people to reply for a different reason and maintained an ulterior motive, but that rarely works properly. This way everybody knows what they're getting into, so you would have to be interested to play. I suspect the puzzle is still more fun knowing how it works than doing it with people who don't care or aren't there. And speaking of puzzles, go to www.deathball.net/notpron. It will make you feel something. Getting back on track, I'll base my decision to write a puzzle story on what I hear from people. And maybe I'll write individual emails to everybody anyway. Or maybe just some people. Or maybe no one. Who knows. Whatever happens, hopefully it's more interesting than this has been. Perhaps I haven't eaten enough Buick Skylarks today. And my pencil shavings are wearing awfully thin. I'd better have these things checked by an optometrist. It's no use going five days without a blender. I'll tell you one thing though; it's too bad they took away corduroy. I'm dolphin fermentarium. Scorch a ladle. Dressing parsed on flacid paste. Actuary.

Tony Hawkins chortles noisesomely a dirge

Peg Life Vol. 12

It's late. It's after karaoke. I should go to sleep. But I made a commitment. To myself and, by extension, to all of you. I made a commitment to get something written today and Peg Life is going to be it. I also made a commitment to cleaning my room and rearranging our furniture today but instead I read William Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell and took a nap. Ah, well. Some things you get done and some things you don't. And since I'm doing this I'm breaking some records. Admittedly, they're records that only pertain to me, but if there was ever an excuse to use writing for ego-inflation, think of it and pretend I'm doing that. You should probably be aware of what I'm talking about as I mentioned it fairly explicitly in the last issue. A volume twelve is the farthest I've gone in transcribing a loosely connected series of brainwave patterns via the Information Superhighway as it unfortunately never maintained being called. So throw up your hands. And when your done vomitting, lift your bloody stumps into the air. There's very little meat in the hand. It's no wonder you had to eat both. But that's the way it goes in the wild, wild west. Well I'm a badass cowboy livin' in the cowboy days, eatin' my own hands cause I went mad from syphilis. I don't think Will Smith is in enough movies where he has to eat his own hands. I really believe they made a mistake in taking that scene out of Ali. And speaking of Muhammad Ali and syphilis, Friedrich Nietzsche died of syphilis. I guess Muhammad Ali doesn't really have anything to do with that. Except that at the University of Basel in 1869 Nietzsche's students would chant "Nietzsche, boombayay!" and he would shadowbox for them. I'm sorry if you were expecting more, but I simply can't come up with anything to top the image of Friedrich Nietzsche shadowboxing in front of a bunch of 19th century German academics so that's all I'm going write.

Tony Hawkins still hasn't thought of anything

Peg Life Vol. 11

I had a pretty shitty day on Monday. It started before the sun was even risen. I wake up a little after 5:30 and walked down the street to the University of Winnipeg, as I do most Mondays, to co-host the Hangover Cure with Gavin on CKUW. I get there around 5:45 and Gavin isn't there yet. At this point I'm not really concerned because I'm usually there before he is. So I wait around for twenty minutes and still no one has shown up. I take a walk around the building and then decide to head back home, eager to grab some extra sleep. After I get home I get undressed and crawl into bed. I'm under the covers for less than half an hour when the phone rings and it's Gavin saying his alarm got fucked up and he'll be at the station in five minutes and blah blah blah. I sigh and say I'll meet him there. I go back to the university and we do the show minus forty-five minutes. During the show we cut my beard off on the air. It wasn't as entertaining as I had hoped it could have been, but for the next few hours the shittiness remits. After my post-show nap I get up, get showered, shaved, and all that shit. Then I get ready to go out and run some errands. My intention is to go pay a couple of MTS bills and take out some cash to pay rent. I run into the first snag when I go outside and find that my car is gone. My first thought is "Fuck," then I think "Fuck," and third I think "Ah, fuck." There's not a whole lot I can do so I walk down to pay the bills and that goes fine. Then I stop at the bank machine to get some money. Rent at my apartment is $405 so I punch $420 into the machine and wait for it to process. Moments later I'm reading a message on the screen saying I have exceeded my daily withdrawal limit and can't have that much cash. So I think "Fuck," and then I think "Fuck," and finally I think "Fuck it, I'm going to the police station to find out what the fuck happened to my car." I go there, talk to the cop at the counter, he looks up my license plate in the computer. He tells me that it's not stolen. Worse. It's been towed. Now I've got to spend $80 to get it out of impound and on top of that I've got a $35 ticket. At least if it was stolen I might have gotten some insurance money and I wouldn't have to pay to renew my Autopac. I end up taking the bus down to the impound lot, getting my car and driving home. I decide to write about how shitty my day was for Vol. 11. I write about halfway to this point and take a break to go to the bathroom. When I get back I find the computer is frozen and I haven't saved anything. I think "Fuck" a few more times then make my way down to Hooligan's to get drunk. I'm disappointed to find Maggie not hosting, but fortunately that's the last bad news of the evening as I play a few good games of pool and sing some cool songs. And that was Monday. On a different note, this issue brings Peg Life into a tie with Words from B.C. for Most Emails in a Series Written By Me. Words from B.C. still holds the titles of Longest Running Email Series Written By Me (eleven weeks) and Most Words in an Email Series Written By Me (approximately 75,000). If anyone has not (and would care to) read it, I have attached a Word document containing the Second through Eleventh Words from B.C. I leave it to each of your own devices to do with what you will. Potemkin City Limits is the fourth full length album release from Propagandhi, not counting the collection of rarities, live tracks, and covers entitled Where Quantity is Job #1. On first listen I was admittedly a bit skeptical. It was obvious from the very beginning that it followed the same progression in sound that began with Today's Empires Tomorrow's Ashes four years ago. In fact, when considered chronologically, their albums make readily apparent the linear path in the evolution of their sound. The latest album draws more from the hardcore and metal aspects that coloured Today's Empires, and while this takes it further from the poppier (though no less intelligent) sound of Less Talk, More Rock, it is a natural step forward. The harsher sound also complements the grim vision of the album perfectly. One almost feels as much sadness for those performing the music as for the subject matter they handle. Like Today's Empires, I found Potemkin City Limits to be slightly off-putting at first, but growing better and better with each listen. I highly recommend it. Next time, if I'm still really into it, I'll rave about Editors' album The Back Room. Until then.

Tony Hawkins having so much sepsis distracts

Peg Life Vol. 10

Movies and/or television shows that have made me cry (also includes times that tears welled up in my eyes and I probably would have cried if I hadn't held back) in semi-chronological order:
Return of the Jedi - Even at a very young age I loved the Star Wars movies but there was a time when Jabba the Hutt frightened me to tears. There's also a scene where two Ewoks are running and there's an explosion and one of them gets up and tries to shake the other one to get him moving and then he realizes he's dead that's made me a bit misty once or twice
Cheetah - A mediocre Disney movie about some kids who raise a cheetah cub and then have to return it to the wild. I was about eight years old at the time and the sappy, emotional ending got to me. I should rent it again and watch it. But it would probably end up being like Baby: Secret of the Lost Legend; much more boring and horrible than I remember. And no, I did not cry when I watched Baby: Secret of the Lost Legend, now or fifteen years ago.
Mississippi Burning - Indirectly. I didn't actually watch the movie but I remember hearing parts of it when my parents watched it years ago. One line that stuck with me was "Do you have any idea how much you bleed when you cut off a man's balls?" It gave me nightmares where I saw that happening and I closed my eyes but could still see it. The nightmares were what actually made me cry.
Chicago Hope - Back in the early seasons when Mandy Patinkin was still on the show. The episode where Peter MacNicol's character gets shot and killed in a robbery made me cry. I think that was the first time I invested enough attention to have an emotional connection with the characters of a television show.
Schindler's List - I can't imagine this needing any explanation.
Saving Private Ryan - Spielberg certainly has a knack for jerking tears with World War II stories. The beach sequence was horrifying, but not quite as emotionally devastating as Schindler's List
Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring - When Gandalf fell from the bridge of Khazad-Dum I wasn't the only one in the theatre with eyes not dry. Boromir's death scene too.
House of 1000 Corpses - With laughter. When the final frame of that movie came up The End and after a slight pause ? I nearly shit myself. The timing was absolutely perfect and it struck me in just the right way that I couldn't help but find it colossally hysterical.
Fahrenheit 9/11 - I was in kind of a Buddhist frame of mind when I watched it and I felt such empathy with all the sorrow I was seeing that I had to weep silently.
Millenium Actress - Probably the most heartbreakingly beautiful love story I have ever seen. Should be required viewing for anyone who doubts the dramatic resonance of animated films in general and anime in particular.
Six Feet Under - There are several episodes that have drawn it out of me. Especially the tenth episode of the fifth season, which I watched today. Besides the emotional impact of the story, there were scenes that inspired flashbacks to my grandmother's memorial at my uncle's in Ottawa. This only served to potentiate more sobbing and resulted in the whole affair being particularly cathartic. I had to lie in the dark and listen to Sigur Ros before I could sit down to write this. I think it was worth it.

Tony Hawkins is drained

Peg Life Vol. 9

So we're up to nine now. If that has any significance let me know. I'll be leaving shortly to attend a live musical performance by The Paperbacks and The Organ. It might have been better to delay writing this until after the show so that I would have something to write about, but I wanted to get this out tonight and I'm not going to have time to do any writing later tonight. This, of course, presents the problem that I don't have a topic to go on for this email. However, that rarely stops me for long and I end up blathering about rather pointless subjects. Well, for that I apologize. There are a few things I would like to get into at some point but they can't be done tonight for various reasons. I've been reading a lot of short stories lately. Recently, I finished Charles Bukowski's Hot Water Music. I then began on a book of poetry by William Blake but I set it aside when I acquired a copy of Jerrad's self-published collection of short fiction entitled The Unfortunate Side of You. I've so far read half of it and would like to take this opportunity to ask Jerrad if he would be comfortable with me writing a review (once I've finished reading it) for one of the Peg Life volumes. If not, I understand. I would also be willing to write a private review if requested. Granted, I don't have extensive training in literary criticism so my opinion probably wouldn't help or hinder an emerging authorial career. It turns out I didn't finish this email and send it out before going to see The Organ so I do have the opportunity to write about it non-speculatively. I'm just not sure there's that much to say about it. Overall it was a good show. The Paperbacks rocked through their set quite effectively. One particular song caught my attention with a refrain of "Publish or perish." It got me thinking a little bit about why I write and whether I could write anything worthy of publishing and whether it would have any impact on anyone. I have a bit of a problem continuing with a single idea for an extended period of time. That's kind of why I prefer to write poetry over prose. A poem doesn't have to be very long. I often find it difficult to finish even a short story. Perhaps that's something that I should work on. These comments may serve to undercut some of the criticisms I would have of Jerrad's work as pretty much anything is more than I've done. I'm sure many of you are familiar with the thought that most literary critics are failed authors themselves. As I said, I'm no literary critic and I wouldn't exactly call myself a failed author (yet) but, you know, whatever, or something... So The Organ was great too. They grooved along their repertoire while I basked in their indie rock hotness. Their album is called Grab That Gun. Go out and get it. Especially if you're into The Smiths and Joy Division and more recent bands of that ilk such as Editors (Trevor can attest to their goodness). If you're more into hip-hop the other album that I'm recommending lately is Danger Doom's The Mouse and the Mask. The back to back songs Benzi Box and Old School are standouts. I'm about done for this week. Next week I'll tell you about the new Propagandhi album, and whatever else interesting comes up in the interim. Doop doopa doo.

Tony Hawkins alienated offhand strategies for living

Peg Life Vol. 8

God fucking Christ ass bitch fuck. Fuck you cock smoking ass bitch mother fuckers. Son of a shit fuck whore bastard Jesus cunt. I hate you all I'm going to kill you shit fucks. Wait. No. I meant, GOD FUCKING CHRIST ASS BITCH FUCK FUCK YOU COCK SMOKING ASS BITCH MOTHER FUCKERS SON OF A SHIT FUCK WHORE BASTARD JESUS CUNT I HATE YOU ALL I'M GOING TO KILL YOU SHIT FUCKS!! But what the hell is the point of saying all that? The majority of it isn't even true. I've had so many ideas to write about this week that not only was I delayed in sending this out, I decided not to go with any of them. Actually, having a lot of ideas had relatively little impact on when I sent this out. Laziness and misplaced priorities would be more legitimate reasons. And by legitimate I mean true. I had this one idea that would have had the issue open with a dialogue between a guy walking down the street and another guy who is robbing him with a switchblade. It would have gone such that the guy getting robbed talks his way out of it with logic but I couldn't figure out how to make it seem realistic. It always ended with the mugger getting frustrated and killing the guy. I also had several ideas come to me as a result of a chat I had with Trevor about film. It started on documentaries and then moved on to historical fiction and I was multiply intoxicated so whenever I said anything it involved a lot of stuttering reconsiderations of wording that never come across in my writings. I generally try to keep some representation of the flow of my thoughts in these writings, but it's much more satisfying taking the time to express myself as accurately as I want. I got Wolf Parade's album Apologies to the Queen Mary recently. While I didn't enjoy it as much as Arcade Fire's Funeral, I did fall in love with the song I'll Believe in Anything. In the case of both bands listening to their albums is rather disappointing after seeing them live. I suppose after a while, when the memory of the event has faded, the recorded material will become more enjoyable again. On Tuesday (that is to say, yesterday) Harfield "requested" that I discuss the topic of "homo-sociality," but that's too gay. I don't know if I've told enough of the people that will receive this how great an album Pavement's Terror Twilight is. It is incredibly good. Every song has at least five things to offer. Major Leagues is a particularly great track and it was featured on the WB's unfortunately short-lived animated television show Mission Hill. I also recommend the WB's unfortunately short-lived animated television show Mission Hill. And Clone High is coming to DVD. That show's even better than Mission Hill. I challenge anyone to watch it and not end up quoting it incessantly. Did you see the pool? They FLIPPED the bitch! I hope this has been entertaining enough for you greedy pricks. And as I told Harfield, if you want to request a topic for me I want everyone to read it so do a Reply All. That's it you cock mongering shit face fuckwads.

Tony Hawkins losing more and more friends every day

Peg Life Vol. 7

Last night I wrote what I thought would be Peg Life Vol. 7 in a state of theoretical sobriety. I hadn't drunk nor smoked (nor injected, inserted, insufflated or otherwise ingested) anything but I wasn't necessarily in a usual state of mind. Then again, what's a usual state of mind. *Irrelevant, that's what. Get back on track.* Right, so it ended up being really personal and confessional and when I thought about it in light of everyone I was sending it to I changed my mind and didn't. Then I'm browsing around the Wikipedia website today and I come across the Wikiquote page so I decide to peruse some quotes from literature. I click on a link for Atlas Shrugged and the third quote from the top is "It is not advisable, James, to venture unsolicited opinions. You should spare yourself the embarrassing discovery of their exact value to your listener." This got me thinking, not about how the other version of this email could/would have been embarassing (embarassing confessions are different from embarassing opinions), but about something I got into briefly in that other version. That is, the nature of the audience. *Ooh, he's talking about the NATURE of something. Doesn't THAT sound deep and meaningful. Prepare to reexamine your entire concept of an audience. Let's hear it.* Fuck off. Well now I've got performance anxiety. I can't write about this topic. My philosophical hard on is withering. I also brought up not being able to do anything about the beginning or end of life and how it was just a really long middle. It was only slightly more clever than the way I just described it. Today I listened to William Shatner's 1968 album The Transformed Man. It was one of the most bewildering things I've ever heard. It consists of him reading Shakespearean excerpts and popular music from the sixties accompanied by musical arrangements that sound the score of a Star Trek episode. I'm not sure if I can actually recommend seeking it out, but if you do, his rendition of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds will either make you laugh your ass off or want to burn Shatner at the stake for blasphemy. If there is anything to be taken from the album it is gratitude that you've never seen William Shatner actually portray King Henry V, Romeo, or Hamlet. In fact, as a person who sees value in the potential of mystical experiences, I dare say the title track goes so far as to offend me. But I won't give Bill a hard time about it. He's had to endure so many nerds that I think he's suffered enough. Plus, that was almost forty years ago. He's gone on to do bigger and better things. Like Star Trek V. Rescue 911. TekWar. The children have to learn about TekWar sooner or later. That's it. I'm done. I have to sleep.

Tony Hawkins formed formica for me.

Peg Life Vol. 6

After all was said and done I kind of felt like the whole Good Friday Experiment topic ended up being a little forced. I said I was going to do it and I put a time limit on myself by saying it would be in the next issue and I don't think I made it as interesting as I could possibly have done. In reality the reason I even thought of it in the first place was that I was reading the Winnipeg Sun one day (Danny keeps bringing them home from 7-11 [though I would much rather read the Free Press {but that is rather irrelevant }]) when I happened upon Miss Lonelyheart's column. Normally I would pass over this section rather quickly, but for some reason this one I read (it may have been the headline though I don't remember what it was). Getting straight to the point, the letter to the column consisted of an amateurish rant regarding how magic mushrooms can open our eyes to how shitty the world is and how good it could be and that's why they are made illegal and so forth. All very derivative of Bill Hicks (he was actually plagiarized directly if I'm not mistaken) but without the irony of satire. Miss Lonelyheart apparently just laughed at the kooky nutjob who had written in to her column. It made me want to write to her and restate the case with some measure of eloquence. Not that I wish to demean the person that wrote the letter because I respect the willingness to express such views, even to an obviously incredulous audience. I just hate it when people who do drugs do dumb things (or even just things that make them seem dumb) because it gives a bad name to all people who do drugs, even the ones that aren't dumb. I realize how that may sound awfully pompous and condescending of me, though to be fair I didn't give any explicit indication that I wasn't one of the dumb ones. Until now. I do drugs and I'm not dumb. Have I done dumb things? Yes. While on drugs? No, they weren't dumb while I was on drugs.

Tony Hawkins paints patiently your half-ton

Peg Life Vol. 5

The unrefined marijuana smoker overlooks many glaring subtleties that dot the landscape of full enjoyment of cannabis consumption. The destitute smoker may simply sublimate some aspects of appreciation in order to acquire raw chemical sensation. "Scraping a pipe," "torching a bowl." These terms are marks of desperation to the true coinosseur. If a pipe is to be used, glass. Always glass. Delicate, yet firm. Natural, yet crafted by human touch. Simple, and pure. Giving nothing, taking nothing away. The glass reflects; feminine and phallic. The plant gives pleasure filtered by physical membranes ingrained in solidified bodies bordering consciousness. The will persists in giving orders, out to flooded sensory organs. Heavy weightlessness assists in maintaining motionlessness. And then out of nowhere I listen to Death Cab for Cutie's I Will Follow You Into the Dark and I have a new favorite song and I start thinking I don't know what love is anymore. I think I thought I did once, maybe twice. Then I listen to another Death Cab for Cutie song and I hear "Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole / Just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound / But while you debate half empty or half full / It slowly rises, your love is gonna drown," but in moments I am hearing a song called Soul Meets Body and in a similar span my thoughts have swung back from love to psychological and metaphysical philosophy and how the religious demand answers to its most puzzling questions and cannot accept any that are not categorical. Then after rereading this later I figure this point would be a good one from which to segue into the Good Friday Experiment, as I said I would write about it this time because I received some replies. The Good Friday Experiment was a psychological experiment carried out on Good Friday of 1962 at Boston University by Walter Pahnke. It was designed to investigate the potential of psychedelic drugs to facilitate mystical experience and it worked like this: Before the church services began, twenty Protestant divinity students were given capsules to ingest. Half of students received a 30mg dose of psilocybin, half received a non-psychoactive chemical that produced sensations similar to the early physical effects of psilocybin. They were then divided into groups and accompanied by ten research assistants to a private chapel in which the main chapel's service was being broadcast. The idea was to compare the experiences of those under the influence of a psychedelic drug against a control group while in a setting conducive to religious feeling. The volunteers were interviewed immediately afterward, several days later, and after six months. A questionnaire of about 150 questions was given to each of the participants as well. This questionnaire was designed to measure the extent to which the subjects had demonstrated the criteria of a mystical experience. What was found was that these criteria were overwhelmingly more apparent in those students who had ingested the psilocybin. While the experiment is the most scientific investigation into the potentially mystical effects of psychedelic drugs ever carried out, it has unfortunately never since been able to be reproduced due to the illegality of the substances under examination. It is disheartening to know how politics and fear can disrupt and prevent learning and spiritual growth. So to all of you I say never enter politics and never be afraid.

Tony Hawkins missed half the pulpit waving

Peg Life Vol. 4

I'm going to start this one off with some stuff that happened over the past week but later I'll be getting into a more specific and interesting topic so stay tuned. Three days ago I had the pleasure of witnessing two of my favourite vocalists and their respective bands deliver explosions of rock awesomeness to thousands of young Winnipeggers. Together with Maynard James Keenan (who I've been fortunate enough to see perform twice [albeit not in his greatest incarnation as the frontman of Tool]), Serj Tankian of System of a Down and Cedric Bixler of The Mars Volta (formerly of At the Drive-In) comprise the penultimate triumvirate of rock singers. Such a statement is likely to provoke disagreement punctuated by indignation at what I am about to say. One could argue that Mike Patton is a required entry on any list of greatest rock vocalists no matter the length. While there may be some truth to this I really don't care. Mike Patton does not make my list. Axl Rose comes up but then quickly descends when everybody realizes that he hasn't been relevant in at least fifteen years. Robert Plant's time is way past over. Ditto Ozzy Osbourne. A case could be made for Chino Moreno and I'd be tempted to agree. However, it is a triad and unfortunately he comes in fourth. Lemmy Kilminster defnitely has a badass factor that's hard to ignore, but he's certainly not the better singer. Eddie Vedder, Kurt Cobain, and Chris Cornell could all suck my dick and they still wouldn't make my top three. The only real competition would come from Karen O. And if she sucked my dick I'd make it quaternary just to fit her in. Well I was going to write something about the Good Friday Experiment but I went longer than I figured I would so maybe I'll just leave it at that. Tell you what. If anybody wants to know what the Good Friday Experiment is without having to look it up, just send me a reply to this. Any reply at all. If anyone does I'll make it the subject of volume five. In the meantime I'll leave you with a short excerpt from an MSN conversation I had with Joe that contains an awesomely clever (if I do say so myself) burn. Enjoy.
Joe: i should have made my move
Joe: i saw how she looked at me
Joe: she always looked at my bulge
Me: too bad she didn't look a little farther down. she could have seen your penis
And that's all for this week. Tune in next time for more adventures in post-modernism with your host:

Tony Hawkins facing dead dogs on a barbecue grill

Peg Life Vol. 3

In about five hours I have to wake up and walk down the street to the University of Winnipeg to co-host a radio show. And I had this whole idea for this thing I was going to write about, but then I went and reexamined the subject and realized that my idea no longer made sense so I had to abandon it. That can be kind of frustrating but I guess I shouldn't complain too much since this whole Peg Life concept seems to be coming along smoothly. Although there really isn't much of a concept behind it. In fact this edition may very well be driving it right into the ground. I don't have anything important or even that interesting to say. I don't know why I bothered trying to write a third issue so soon. Perhaps just because I'm bored but that's pretty stupid as I could be using this time to sleep for reasons I outlined in the opening sentence. I don't want this to be a total waste, though, so maybe I'll share with you all my recipe for bean dip. Some of you have already tried it and know it's pretty good. My methods for its preparation are no secret so it seems like a good idea to share them with everybody so they can all enjoy it. You start with a regular size can of brown beans in tomato sauce and one of black beans. Then you open the cans and drain the juices out of the beans (I like to rinse the black beans in a strainer but this isn't necessary). Put the beans into a pot and set it on the stove on low heat (the beans are a bit easier to mash up when they're warm). While the beans are warming up dice up some onion (I recommend red onion but any will do) and a couple cloves of garlic. You'll also want to dice some peppers as well. You could use green pepper but the sweetness of yellow and orange peppers is far superior. For those who aren't pansies and can take a little spiciness, throw a couple jalapenos into the mix (but don't handle its juices and then rub your eye cause fuck can that be painful [yes, I am speaking from experience]). For wussier folk I recommend serrano peppers instead. They're similar to jalapeno but not as hot. This is usually all I put in as far as vegetables but you coud add other stuff. Corn would work well (not creamed or popping) and even celery could be alright. Once you've got all your vegetables chopped up you'll be sauteeing them in some extra virgin olive oil (or whatever cooking oil you have around). You'll also need to get around to mashing up the beans into a paste. Some potato mashers work well for this, others don't. If yours is one of the latter figure something else out to use. As you're sauteeing your vegetables you can stir your spices into the bean paste. I like to mix a couple tablespoons of salsa in as well, though this is not critical. You can pretty much use whatever spices you feel like, just remember this is Mexican food, not Italian. Oregano will not work. Cumin, however, is absolutely necessary. You can never have too much cumin (note: this statement is not to be taken literally). Something I tried recently was to squeeze some lime juice over the sauteeing vegetables and mxing some cumin in there as well to cook the flavor into the vegetables. Once said vegetables are done, mix them into the spiced bean paste. At this point you could also melt some cream cheese into it. Vegans could, of course, skip this step and move on to the next step which is to squeeze about half a small lime into the dip (or more if you feel like it). Give it a final stir to make sure everything's mixed up good and you're done. It's a great dip for taco chips hot or cold, or you could wrap it in a flour tortilla and bake in the oven to have a bean burrito. And there you have it. My food of the summer. It's very simple and less work than it sounds like. If anyone tries making it, let me know how it turns out. Until next time.

Tony Hawkins borrowing fig newtons to sabotage ulcers

Peg Life Vol. 2

I didn't expect to be writing a second edition of Peg Life so soon (less than 24 hours) after the first but I had some stuff to say, so here we are. I also didn't expect to be moved by your gravestone. And if you get that you're probably Joe. What is it that's so important that I feel I should fill people's mailboxes with even more garbage? I'm getting to that. I don't tell you how to do your job so just back off, alright. I recommend that everybody buy or download the Smog album Red Apple Falls (and no, this still isn't the raison d'etre of this issue) or alternatively just the song I Was a Stranger. As long as I'm recommending songs and you're all dutifully following my suggestions, you should also get John Wayne Gacy, Jr. by Sufjan Stevens from the ingeniously titled album Sufjan Stevens Invites You to Come On Feel the Illinoise. Being on the subject of music actually works out quite well as the stuff I had to say is on that very topic. So I'm at work today and the radio is tuned into "Today's BEST music, Q94 FM." I copy some Fiery Furnaces to one of the computers from my mp3 player and put that on while I'm setting up another computer as a display unit. I finish and go about working on some other tasks. After a while my music stops playing and I don't bother putting anything else on. Meanwhile Q94 is still playing in the background. Later in the evening I hear "Turn around, every now and then I get a little bit helpless and I'm lying like a child in your arms. Turn around, every now and then I get a little bit angry..." and I realize it's Total Eclipse of the Heart, but it's not the original version. So I turn around, right there and then I listen a little bit closer and I hear the techno beat so I think, "Oh, it's a techno remix. Or perhaps a techno cover would be more accurate cause it's not the original vocals either." I make a mental note about how the song sucks and go back to work. Then a little while later I'm tidying up one of the aisles and another song comes on the radio. It sounds like a teenage girl and I think "Lindsay Lohan? No. Avril Lavigne? No. Hilary Duff? Hmm." "Let the rain fall down and wake my dreams. Let it wash away my sanity." *shudder* "Yep... Wait a minute. What's with the vocoder? ANOTHER fucking techno remix?" And that prompted me to set my keyboard on my lap and start typing. I am really fucking sick of lame-ass techno remixes and covers getting airtime on the radio. It's especially bad when the remixed song was lame-ass to begin with. If I'm not mistaken, it started with that version of Gordon Lightfoot's If You Could Read My Mind that achieved ubiquity a few years ago. Then there was Bryan Adams' Heaven. Now Total Eclipse of the Heart and I've also heard a techno version of Don Henley's Boys of Summer. The Come Clean remix sickens me less because of butchery of a song than the fact that it gives radio programmers an excuse to play more Hilary Duff. So the next time you hear someone say "Hey, have you heard the techno remix of (insert song here)? It's awesome," punch them.

Tony Hawkins glistening like muttonchops on grocery bags

Peg Life Vol. 1

So I'm sitting here at my computer listening to a playlist of Iron & Wine, Smog, and Sufjan Stevens and it occurs to me that I might just be intoxicated enough to write something interesting enough to email to a relatively large group of people and call it "Peg Life Vol. 1." And that's just what I decide to do. Sure it's getting on to 3:00 in the morning and I have to work tomorrow, but if I don't lay down the law and kick my ass into getting this business started then who will? No one. That's who. And don't give me that smug smile and say you knew that was the answer because everyone knew the answer so you really can't be so goddamned smug about it. This is the point where I check myself and think that maybe it's not such a good idea to be berating my readers right out of the gate. I'm pretty sure I waited eleven issues to do that last time (Note: Here we have a reference to the last series of regular mass mailings I authored. For more information on this literary milestone email Tony Hawkins at amh_kaydyn@hotmail.com). Of course when I did I got rather vicious so I suppose I don't have to be too hard on myself. And irrelevant as all that is it's not half as irrelevant as the sentence you're currently reading and if you don't believe me watchSee, that sentence was so unnecessary I didn't even bother to finish it. And it's not that I have a problem exploring asides and non sequiturs to ridiculous lengths as you will learn or already know. Why bother writing, then, if the content has such a vast majority of superfluous text? Well, as I said before, I had to get things started. The only way to have a series is to have a first episode. A pilot if you will (for a definition of pilot see Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction [for great film see same]). I've become quite enamored with Iron & Wine's Woman King EP. The title track and Evening On The Ground (Lilith's Song) are particularly fantastic. But that's neither here nor there (and thus not a bit out of place). I don't think I feel like adding any more to this right now, but let it be known that this shall not be the last useless though periodically clever (perhaps rarely would be more accurate) writing I send. You have been warned.

Tony Hawkins lighting a fire in face paint petulance

Peg Life goes blog

Sort of. This is actually just going to be a cut and paste copy of the Peg Life email. So for all the people who said, "Why don't you post Peg Life as a blog?" you can quit your bitching and fuck off.