Set List

I’m, maybe, a bit of an over-planner in some respects. I wouldn’t say that I’m a control freak (of course I wouldn’t — I have some self-respect) but I do want to have a say in how I’m represented and shit. Who wouldn’t?!

So, I was thinking, if there’s a funeral or memorial service for yurs ever-so-humble truly, after I shuffle off this mortal coil (NOT that I’m planning on or anticipating this happening anytime soon), I’d like a few specific tunes played. 

Such as:

Tubthumping by Chumbawamba OF FUCKING COURSE! I want folks to be just a touch concerned that I might get back up again (even if I’m no more than ashes in a jar). You know, you’re never gonna keep me down!

Warren Zevon’s Werewolves of London. Why? It’s fun. I love the song and I don’t need any other reason. My funeral, my choice. Got it?! Also I just love the alliteration of this line and how he shoots it out rat-a-tat-tat:
     Little old lady got mutilated late last night

There’s gotta be a whole section devoted to Queen. I mean, c’MON!

Start with We Are the Champions 

I’ve paid my dues
Time after time
I’ve done my sentence
But committed no crime

And bad mistakes
I’ve made a few (🚨understatement alert 🚨)
I’ve had my share of sand kicked in my face
But I’ve come through and I mean to go on, and on, and on, and on

We are the champions, my friends
And we’ll keep on fighting ‘til the end

Yes, it's over the top, melodramatic, and just a bit preciously oh-poor-me BUT it's also awesomely anthemic. I mean, I could, whilst dead, win a bowling championship with that playing in the background and I don't bowl! Sort of like Fleetwood Mac's Tusk. Hell, let's play that one too — an ode to my marching band years.

Second Queen tune, Another One Bites the Dust 

Lastly, Fat Bottomed Girls because we make the rockin’ world go round! We abso do.

The Rolling Stones, You Can’t Always Get What You Want. Sad reality.

A few by Bowie Aladdin Sane, Panic in Detroit  (which totally got me through my last months with that jank-ass traveling carnival), and Diamond Dogs.

The Who, I’m Free 
     I’m free
     And freedom tastes of reality

Liza Minelli, Life is a Cabaret from the musical Cabaret 

Talking Heads, Burning Down the House 

Disco Inferno by The Trammps. I dunno, could be fun … a good way to liven things up, mebbe?

Run DMC/Aerosmith, Walk This Way 

Closer to Fine by the Indigo Girls for their harmonies which abso-totally slay.

A Day in the Life, Beatles just because.

Doctor My Eyes, Jackson Browne

The 1812 Overture because I like cannons going off in my symphonies. OK?

And I couldn’t possibly leave out Monty Python’s Always Look on the Bright Side of Life from Life of Brian!

Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse
When you’re chewing on life’s gristle
Don’t grumble, give a whistle
And this’ll help things turn out for the best
And

Always look on the bright side of life
Always look on the light side of life

Basically, I'd like to go out on an up note and shit. 

Hit Him Where It Hurts

MusKKK has been saying he had nothing to do with the decision to choke off Ukraine’s Starlink access, allowing Russians to bomb civilian targets, murdering innocents. He heavily implied that it was all Trump. Sure, like Pedo’s smart enough or still mentally all there enough to even understand how anything works. Leon lied.

Yesterday the Wall Street Journal reported that Elon Musk personally ordered the slowdown of Starshield, the military-grade version of Starlink used by Ukraine to protect itself from Russian missile attacks. Musk also reportedly spoke to Trump before strangling Ukraine’s defense. Obviously Pedo was down with the plan (once it was explained to him by Ivanka knockoffs using big illustrations, stuffed animals, and small words). 

I can’t read the full paywalled WSJ article but Heather Cox Richardson has. In her Substack column yesterday she noted that:

After the slowdown caused a public uproar, the Wall Street Journal reporters write, representatives from SpaceX, the parent company of Starlink, called the White House to coordinate messaging to say that Starlink and the administration had agreed to the slowdown ahead of time.  

Musk’s decision to change the course of a war with “a seeming flick of a switch,” taking it upon himself, with or without the complicity of White House officials, to reverse the foreign policy of the United States of America for the benefit of Russia’s president Vladimir Putin, is a stunning assumption of power reminiscent of Revolutionary War general Benedict Arnold’s weakening of the Americans’ defenses and draining of supplies at the strategic fort at West Point to enable the British to capture it before he was discovered and defected to the British Army. (source) 

Jesse Duquette

Benedict Arnold’s name is now synonymous with treason. What MusKKK did, with Pedo’s stamp of approval, may not technically constitute treason (by an ultra strict definition) but it seems to fall into the totally less than legal/war crime range. 

Benedict Arnold, by the by, wasn’t executed for treason but that’s only because he escaped to London.

Every single one of SpaceX's employees are complicit in Musk's crime. The blood of innocent Ukrainians are on all of their hands. How can they live with themselves?

Musk and Pedo should be sent off to Den Hague (along with Putin and Netanyahu) to be held accountable for their crimes against humanity.

 Other MusKKK fuckery?

MusKKK is trying to buy the state of Texas.

Talarico: "We just found out that [Elon Musk] is almost single-handedly bankrolling this effort to install Ken Paxton in the U.S. Senate and defeat this movement...Elon Musk wants our land. He wants our water. He wants his very own personal United States senator. He is trying to buy Texas.” (source) 

The illegal immigrant from South Africa really wants to be King of the World — he’ll start with America. I guess he couldn’t buy California and figured Texans are suckers. I mean, that barbarous, racist piece of shit, Greg Abbott’s been governor for over 11 years. With that evidence, of course Leon figures he can walk right in.

The best way to hurt someone like MusKK is to hit him in the wallet AND the reputation. Expose, shame, and ridicule. Make his products unnecessary. In April, Norway and Iceland joined IRIS2, the EU’s space-based secure communications initiative alternative to Starlink. Canada is building Telesat which will be ready to use early in 2028. Russia is launching Rassvet but, since they already have Musk in their pocket, I don’t know why they bother.

Did you know? Germany pays Ukraine’s Starlink bill. 

Outside of MusKKK's set up in Texas, his plant in Grünheide, Germany is Tesla’s most advanced factory.

Can we get Chancellor Merz to turn off the lights there? It’s just 35 kilometres southeast of central Berlin. Easy to get to, right? As soon as MusKKK stops siding with murderous dictators, Merz could let Grünheide start cranking again. Seems fair.

While we’re at it, under the Digital Services Act can the European Union (and the UK under the Online Safety Act) ban X? As long as we're tossing, throw Pedo’s Truth Toilet to the curb too. Both sewer sites are primarily populated by Russian bots, right? At the rate Ukraine’s taking out the data centers, neither place will have more than a few hundred radish brained Jim Bobs and Floyds from wastelands like Bucksnort, Arkansas and Nowhere, Oklahoma (real places!) left anyway. They’ll be sitting around, cluelessly wondering where their sexy, young, long distance girlfriends, Svetlana and Olga, went off to.

I’m only asking here but what creative jackass came up with the name SpaceX? Sounds like something you take after a big holiday meal when you’re, ya know, feeling a little bloated. Maybe a constipation remedy?

80-Year-Old Bouncer

Slight addendum to yesterday’s aging punks report. 

As Jen and her crew were leaving, her pal Lynn pointed out the “80-year-old” bouncer who’d been positioned between the mosh pit and the stage. Jen confirmed that the guy really was old but, all the same, looked totally beefy fit.

I allowed that, for a punk show where the average age of the audience was probably around 55 (and I’m guessing on the low side), does management really need to hire a couple of 30-year-old off-duty cop beefcakes? Also, the bouncer might have looked like he had 80 years BUT, punk ages you. I mean, take a gander at Iggy Pop. He’s 79 or 80, still alive and totally rocking out but … emmmm … dude abso looks his age. Henry Rollins? He’s around 65. He looks fully fine but def 65. 

While there are a range of emotions which power punk rock, like alienation, isolation, nihilism, despair, defiance, sarcasm I’d have to say that anger is the main driver. Being angry for seven decades takes a toll. It wears you the fuck down.

Also too, we all age differently. e.g., my friend Jenny out in Arizona who, by the by, is NOT a punk rocker — she’s my age (late 60s). How old does this traitorous babe look? Mid 50s and a young, in-shape, naturally beautiful mid-50s at that. Has she had “work” done? Does she wear makeup? Does she sacrifice virgin asparagus to Persephone during the autumn equinox. No, no, and not that I know of. She's utterly radiant. BITCH!

Me? While I wasn’t a punk rock performer I did go to my fair share of shows and was in a few mosh pits. I mostly stayed out of the them though. Dudes liked to throw elbows and smash off each other. It could get nasty. Me and my brain and spine surgery habituated bod felt that was prolly not cool. Ya know? (My comparatively accelerated aging could be due to my proximity to mosh pits — punk rock osmosis. That’s a thing, right? Possibly those 90 bazillion neurosurgeries had some sort of affect as well. Maybe.)

Some shows felt mosh pit safe and fine — irresistible even. Maybe those shouldn’t be classed as mosh pits though? Fer instance, every time I went to see Concussion Ensemble (who I’ve mentioned before — three drummers on different, elaborate kits plus, one percussionist playing found objects hanging from a clothing rack, the MOST amazing Rich Gilbert on lead guitar, a second guitarist and a bass player). I’d get right down front. I NEEDED to become one with the beat they were laying down. The rhythms, the bass lines — yeah baby, I had to merge with that shit on an atomic level. All of us in the pit were pogoing our asses off — practically moving as one. We were totally tuned in.

We were heated atomic particles vibrating faster and faster. We were waves on a hurricane ocean.

The only other time I experienced that was at TT the Bear’s, a smaller club. A hard funk-rock band with a KILLER horn section was playing. The club was packed tighter than a Tokyo subway car at rush hour. There wasn’t a tissue’s worth of space between any of us.

Normally this would freak me right the fuck out but, mes amis, those horns zoomed. They were tight and totally funked up. The drums were lit. The bass was sex.

Have you seen those videos of salmon swimming upstream to spawn? That was the club that night only set to music that you need to smoke a cigarette after — even if you don’t smoke.

Not a mosh pit in an ‘80s elbows throwing, ‘90s crowdsurfing punk sense but there was moshing. Mashing maybe?

Goddamnit, I miss music. 

 Ooh, one last thing ...  Jen wanted me to point out that in the crowdsurfing pic from Sunday's Screeching Weasel show, the surfer was a youth. Dude was in his 20s. If you zoom in — take a close look at the arms ferrying him — those aren't young people arms that are holding him up. There's some awesome symbolism right there.

This is Boston, not L.A.

Last night Jen and two of her friends from her art school days at RISD went out to see Screeching Weasel at The Middle East in Cambridge. The Queers were one of the opening bands. HOW cool!

I don’t know how old any of the founding members of either of these groups are but I figure they’ve gotta be around my age and my 50th high school class reunion’s come and gone. *dramatic sigh*

Jen said much of the audience was around her age (mid 50s) but there were younger people in the crowd as well.

When The Queers came on a mosh pit with crowdsurfing broke out. Can you fucking imagine? A mosh pit with a bunch of mostly 55-year-olds who probably had to get up for work this morning. I can only guess the amount of ibuprofen and Tylenol consumed — the number of iced, elevated limbs, and sick calls today probably comes close to last night’s ticket sales.

Is this anything like our mothers getting mondo psyched to go see Tom Jones in concert? You know, swooning dramatically when he broke into It’s Not Unusual?

NO — NOT. AT. ALL!!!

In other, not fun, punk news, on Saturday the founding member of The Freeze, Clif "Hanger" Croce, passed away. 

The band, originally from Cape Cod, then Boston and now LA. Clif was influenced by The Ramones, The Clash and other early punk bands, Clif — he put together The Freeze in 1978. His was the title track for This Is Boston, Not L.A, the hardcore punk compilation released in 1982. Man o man, I remember that well. I moved to Boston in late 1980. In ‘82 I was living in Kenmore Square — punk central. That anthem — This Is Boston, Not L.A — was everywhere.

If you dance the same and dress the same
It won't be long 'til you are the same
You look the same and act the same
There's nothing new and you're to blame
This is Boston, not L.A.
This is Boston, fuck L.A.

"It is with profound sadness that we share the news that Clif “Clif Hanger” Croce has died of natural causes. He passed away in his sleep early on the morning of Saturday, October 17, 2026. 

As Clif’s friends and bandmates, we were constantly amazed by how his mind worked. He loved performing our songs and he wrote some of the greatest punk rock lyrics…ever. There was truly no one like Clif and he will be sorely missed."
~ Tom Reardon, The Freeze, bass

"Clif Hanger was an incredible talent. Singer guitar player songwriter. He was one of the best!

Clif was his happiest when we were in the studio. He’s been a huge part of my musical journey since I was about 13 years old. I will be forever grateful to be part of his."
~ Bill Close, The Freeze, guitar, vocals, bass

Bill Close was Clif Hanger’s principal songwriting collaborator. Will he keep the band going now that Clif’s gone?

In other news this morning …

Per Dutch psychologist and writer Paul van der Meer on Threads:

Semafor reports that CBS News editor-in-chief Bari Weiss pushed journalists to investigate alleged ties between Michigan Democrat Abdul El-Sayed and the Muslim Brotherhood.

She also reportedly directed staff to pursue the debunked conspiracy theory that Texas Democrat James Talarico was in a mental health facility.

CBS is Trump sponsored media (AKA Pedophile sponsored media).

Bari’s wife must be so proud of her. Maybe Nellie Bowle is just the same as Bari — a willing mouthpiece for the billionaire and trillionaire autocrats of our current kakistocracy. 

 They have two children — a boy a girl. Future clueless entitled Republicans of America. IF there’s an America when those kids grow up. 

Also attacking El-Sayed, or making a bad attempt at it anyway, was little Tommy Teepell. Who’s that? Why, he’s Josh Hawley’s (Running Man-MO) former operations director and son of Timmy Teepall, a Republican strategist with strong ties to Christian Nationalists. Little Tommy was a Republican plant and not a particularly talented one at that. The GOP — just a load of embarrassing, nasty, dumbfuckian slimeballs at this point.

Death and the Maiden

Meanwhile back at Thursday's appointment with Doc Plotkin, my tumor minder and advisor, I got some other good news (besides the fact that I don’t need surgery or more radiation at the moment). I’ve somehow lost five more pounds. This is especially surprising since I’ve been unable to exercise due to my stupid, ongoing left foot problem (which is beginning to clear up FINALLY!).

Gotta say, that perked me up ALMOST as much as the report of my tumor farm’s lack of major developments and blossomings. I'm now 10 pounds away from my goal weight. Am I trying, at my advanced age, to get a fabulous beach bod in time for ... ummmm ... something. Fuck no. This is New England — we're in thick sweaters, vests, turtlenecks, and scarves season now!  Also, weight loss is about attempting to tip the balances a TINY bit towards healthy in the face of all my egregious tumor shit.

The good doc and I discussed death — the fact that so many of my fellow NF2 warrior friends have fallen. Most were younger than me. Not Michie — she was a year older. I told Plotkin that it feels like I’m gonna be the last NF2er standing, (with my trusty rollator), in the rubble at the end of the world. Survivor guilt.

He asked, “do you want to be the last one standing?” 

I reflexively said “FUCK YEAH!” I am a stone competitive bitch. Also, for some stupid reason the theme song from Fame started playing in my head at that moment.

They Can Talk

I'm gonna live forever
Baby, remember my name

No, I don’t want to live forever and I honestly DO understand that, as Plotkin put it, it's about the quality of life not just being alive.

I feel pretty sure that Felicity, Michie, Nissa, Carmel, and my mother (who died at the age of 85, having triumphed over cancer AND NF2) were ready to clock out when the Reaper came to the door. The fight to carry on and find workarounds for my pushy and ever intruding, fresh impairments gets exhausting. Wicked draining.

I know that, in their last years, Felicity and Nissa (maybe Michie too) experienced extreme difficulty taking in food due to nerve neuropathy — this on top of being deaf, half blind, robbed of mobility, and confined to hospital/nursing home beds. They were fed via feeding tubes. Do I want to be the last one standing if I can’t stand? If I've lost my sight? If I can’t eat an ice cream cone or a nice dish of saag paneer? Do I want to go on if I can no longer rage against the machine?

I don't know but I think not. Medical Aid in Dying should be legal in Massachusetts. It is in 13 states and Washington D.C. Why not here? 

On that upbeat note, here — have some memes that amused me. Yur welcome.

 

Well, That Was Quick!

I have just a couple of things to say about the demise of Katie Zachari, Prez Pedo’s latest Designated Untruth Secretary.

Thanks to her single 14 minute glitter encased twitching tower of turds performance, we now have a new unit of time to measure how briefly a person is employed. The first micro-unit comes from Prez Pedo’s first reign of terror and error courtesy of Anthony Scaramucci. Tony was a foul, crass, and utterly full of himself Wall Street financier who was inexplicably hired to be White House comms director in 2017. He was quickly shitcanned. 

A Scaramucci is a period of 10 days.
The new Zachari unit of measure is 4.5 days.

For those struggling with the conversion:
1 Zacharia = 2.2 Scaramuccis
1 Scaramucci = .45 Zacharias 

I hear there's an opening in Greece for a diplomat. Perhaps Katie should apply. From what I understand the only requirements are hair extensions and plastic surgery. I think Katie’s got that covered. The last person to hold the position actually DID go to law school AND passed the California bar exam in 1994 though.

Steven Cheung, White House director of communications, giant thumb, and completely unhinged moron is apparently quite smitten with Katie. Either that or he's dipped into RFK Jr.'s LSD stash.

Still girl got pink slipped before we got even one SNL skit out her! Christ almighty, I was counting on a whole season’s worth of material.

Ten and I had green bananas when Katie was first hired. They’re still not quite ready to eat. A head of lettuce, bought Monday, has outlasted her.

Back in my younger days, I regularly had periods that lasted longer than Katie’s employment.

I guess, with Katie gone, Pedo’s original stalker/diaper nurse doesn’t need to worry about losing the object of her fecal obsession. Looks like we won’t be watching Fatal Attraction: Blonde Enshittification … at least not yet.

Once more with disgust, only women in Pedo’s vile admin are held accountable for incompetence, fuck ups, grift, and their embarrassing dearth of intelligence.

Jobless (and deservedly so):

— Katie Zacharia
— Kimberly Guilfoyle 
— Kristi Noem 
— Pam Epstein-File Bondi 
— Tulsi Gabbard, remember her?
— Lori Chavez-DeRemer 

While these blithering imbeciles are still pulling obscenely healthy paychecks:

— Pete Small-Penis-Syndrome Kegseth
— RFK Jr, the anti-vax measles propagator who’s never met a dead animal he wouldn’t cuddle up with or maybe have for lunch.
— Stephen Nosferatu Miller, who wants to exterminate all people with skin tone darker than bleached flour.
— Hysterical Story Fabulating Machine and Charm Devoid Menace, J.Douche Vance
— Russell Strategic-Incompetence Vought 
— Bumbling Idiot Scott Bessent
— Krazy Kash (who could not possibly BE any more stupid) Patel

Lauren Kolesinskas

And the list could, ultra sadly, go on and on and on.

Meanwhile the Daily Mail, not exactly a reputable source but who knows — these are crazy times, says that Butt-head Jr.’s ex fiancé, the ex ambassador to Greece, has a “burn book.” I’m sure she does. This diary is said to contain all sorts of dirt on Prez Pedo and his criming family. Supposedly, now that she’s gotten the ax and is, understandably, bitter as three day old, cold French roast, she’s going to firebomb her Trump bridges — expose those filthy secrets to the light of day. This all sounds like a happy fever dream but, again, we’re living in an un-fucking-believably surreal era. MAYBE it could happen?

Realistically, I’m sure the Trump crime family will either pay Ms. Gargoyle for her silence or they’ll just make any threats to themselves vanish somehow. Kim should steer clear of windows above the first floor, steep staircases, elevator shafts, and maybe she should hire a food taster. You know, in order to avoid coming down with Sudden Russian Death Syndrome.

Bad News Good News

There was another school shooting here in the land of the armed, the home of the PTSD. Of course there was. There’s too many guns in this damn county and any yahoo can pick one up for a song and a bag of doughnuts. You’re underage? No worries! Your parents probably left their loaded pump-action shotgun sitting out on the dining room table last night.

A 16-year-old shooter opened fire at an elementary school in Bend, Oregon, on Thursday, killing three children and a teacher before he was shot dead by a community member, authorities said at an evening news conference. (source) 

The children were 5, 8, and 11 years old. Nothing in the news yet about the teacher. Additionally, a 7-year-old and 54-year-old were hospitalized.

I only mention it but one of Ten’s grandchildren goes to the Silver Rail elementary school. Yes, his grand is home and fine but Jesus fucking Christ Almighty! Three of his grandchild’s schoolmates didn’t go home last night. One, possibly, spent the night in hospital. Three sets of parents are devastated. WHY does this happen?!

Reports are that an unnamed armed bystander saw the shooter, followed him, took him out, and then vanished like the Lone Ranger into the mid-afternoon.

Wild West much? Rare case of a brave, good guy with a gun?

Meanwhile, here on the East Coast, I had a good if tiring day in Hospital Land yesterday. The tumors along my spine are stable — that is, there’s no growth worth mentioning. YIPPEE!!! As for my brain — there’s been a slight increase in size in one of my meningiomas but, at this point, it’s nothing to break out the scalpels or radiation beams over. More YIPPEE!!! Naturally, after few misdiagnoses* over my many years on this spinning planet, it takes me some time to cool down, trust, and get happy about the decree.

 * (The worst, most extreme misdiagnoses was the one that came close to leaving me a paraplegic )

AND in Podiatryville, the infection is now officially gone. About fucking time too. I am now in the healing stage and will hopefully be able to wear shoes again soon. That’d be awesome since winter’s coming AND Jen and I leave for our little Iceland vaca in a few weeks. YEA!

 'scuse me now, I gotta get cleaned up for a 10AM Zoom doc appointment. I LOVE appointments where I don't have to leave the house! 

MGH Day

I have a full day ahead of me at my home away from home — that’d be Mass General Hospital, of course. 

Nothing heavy, necessarily. I mean, first up is my thrice-yearly check-in with Doc Plotkin, my NF2 neurologist. This follows my October first MRI-athon. I don’t *think* I’m in for any big, awful news (a la YOU NEED MORE BRAIN SURGERY NOW, NOW, NOW!!!) but we’ll see what Mr. Wizard has to say. 

I checked my test results (posted on MGH’s Patient Gateway site) and the write up is, weirdly, much less detailed and less extensive than usual. What up with that? I know I’ve still got quite the active tumor farm goin’ on up top so … did the MD/tech writing the report just get overwhelmed by all the nasty lumps they had to describe? Maybe typing up my tumor report triggered carpal tunnel syndrome or gave them a bout of tendonitis?

Next up is a check in with one of my podiatrist about the big toe on my goddamn, fucking left foot which has been subject to stupid fucking infections, on and off, for the last year. I hope to Christ we’re nearing the end — that I’m finally healing properly. If so, I’ll undergo one last procedure at the beginning of December and THAT should end this horror show.

So, time for me to clean myself up and pack a bag for a day of sitting around in waiting rooms, hoping for good, or at least not bad, news.

I will try my best to stay away from the news. Gotta say though, it’s kind of fun to watch trillionaire Leon MusKKK throwing his former bestie, the billionaire Pedo Prez under the bus. 

Starshield, what Ukraine uses to fly its drones, is the Pentagon-funded version of MusKKK’s Starlink. Leon’s company SpaceX builds and operates Starshield but the systems are owned and ultimately controlled by the U.S. government. Kegseth and Pedo decide speed, usage, or operational restrictions. They're the ones who chose to throw a spanner into the works — to give Russian forces a larger advantage.

The old fuck’s doing everything he can to destroy our (former) allies and lose the midterms.

Nick Anderson