Flutes n' Banjoes

A musician friend of mine once told me that the thing that depressed him most about being a songwriter was the knowledge that the more prolific you are and the more prodigious and heralded your output, the greater the likelihood was that someone would eventually arrange one of your songs to include a flute solo. To him, the flute is the worst instrument ever, but can any musical instrument be truly evil on its own? Of course not -unless it's a banjo. Banjos are way worse than flutes, although flutes are indeed extremely heinous. Actually, flutes might be even worse. It's so hard to pick!

Flutes, of course, are willow-y and gentle, coquettish, bewitching; and should all be destroyed. Of all the musical instruments, the flute is the least butch, yet it is also the instrument most likely to be used to exterminate rats. Apparently, some flautists are horned, which again makes me a little wary about the whole operation.

Banjos on the other hand are loud, cockeyed, and belligerent, in the manner of a guest who tells bad jokes and will not leave. They were first discovered about twelve years ago on the same day as sex with barnyard animals, which might or might not be a coincidence. Orchestras very rarely have banjos, because even musicians have to draw the line somewhere.

Flutes are feminine, banjos are masculine; as always, either gender can wear you out completely in about ten minutes. But still, in the hands of a brilliant virtuoso, a flute becomes... well, no, it doesn't; banjo doesn't either, they both get, like 5% better, which is still pretty intolerable. And this isn't just my opinion, either -it's just plain true.

So which is worse, flute or banjo? I guess we'll never know for sure, which only makes it that much harder to figure out which one to cast into the ocean first. I could go on, but what's the use?

It's like the weather we had in June -awful. The End.

Before we go, I'd like to mention some totally worthwhile things I might've been writing about this week in greater detail, if flutes and banjos didn't exist:

NEW CDs: “Bitte Orca” by the Dirty Projectors -bracing, challenging, never dull; “boatclub” by boatclub -debut CD from Oakland, CA band that includes ex-Cape Codder Tom Carns also challenges, but sounds great and rocks in a free-spirited and open-hearted yet occasionally cynical manner; and “Love Letter To Andromeda” and “Holy Tweet” by Terry Adams -the former being an adventurous, mind-blowing solo recording on prepared piano and celeste, while the latter is an unexpectedly consistent blast of rootsy pop from NRBQ's resident genius with a new band that makes a respectable stab at filling the gap they left.

BANDS THAT DELIVERED: Dumpstaphunk at the Wellfleet Beachcomber -for my money, their album doesn't really do the job, but these Neville chillen were wonderful live, especially Ian Neville, who showed why rhythm guitar can still matter; and Samite at the Payomet Arts Center, who was gentle and elegant but still got the hippies up on their feet last Sunday armed with nothing but a kalimba.

GOOD MOVIES TO RENT: “Quid Pro Quo” and “Two Lovers.”

ON THE OTHER HAND, NO MATTER HOW LONG IT KEEPS RAINING, STAY WELL CLEAR OF: “Gran Torino” and “He's Not That Into You.”

Kelp on Grace

I have some strange rules about cowboy hats, rules that no one should ever hear, that I'd like to share with you now. The first and most important rule is that while I find I can accept cowboy hats in fiction or movies, I find them completely incongruous in real life, and for some reason I'm almost never happy to see one there. I feel the same way about buccaneer hats, and Indian feathers, for that matter: they just don't blend.

It's almost too bad, because cowboy hats are a trip to wear. For one thing, I think they actually make you look taller, but also, more like a pirate. Plus, you're actually 50% more likely to have a mustache if you're wearing a cowboy hat (in fact, as soon as you put a cowboy hat on, you can actually feel one starting to grow! Try it -I swear to god!)

I have a friend who wears a cowboy hat -someone I know personally -and I'm trying to figure out how I feel about that. He seems to be normal otherwise, and, y'know, kind of a nice guy, who doesn't really seem that depraved, other than the hat.

On the other hand, he has chosen New York City as a great place to play country music, so of course all kinds of warning signals go off there, too. And apparently about half of his songs are about drinking, and that does represent a serious commitment of some sort. The four albums Jack put out after his relatively earnest debut, "Introducing The Sounds Of Jack Grace", were called "Stayin' Out All Night", "I Like It Wrong", "The Martini Cowboy", and (now, his soon-to-be-released) "Drinking Songs For Lovers." One does detect a certain thrust, and Jack seems to be a very personable sort of fellow, thankfully less drunk than his set list would lead you to believe.

Problem is, long ago, I promised Jack I would never listen to his music, if he would reciprocate and never read my column. And I believe he's kept up his end of the deal (I mean, say what you will about Le Codder, it's nothing if not avoidable), but I find myself curious about the music. I mean, there's some great titles on here: "If You're Gonna Raise A Drunk", "When The Morning Margaritas Hit You Right" " (which has a great line about "waking up at the crack of ice"), and my favorite, "The Worst Truck Driver In The World"... the guy can definitely write a lyric.

Hell with it, he sent me the damn thing, I'm going to listen to it.

NO! That's just the devil talkin'! YES! YES! I'm a listenin'! I'm a' listenin'!!

This starts out kind of in Johnny Cash territory... lots of cool songs about drinking, and you know? I haven't been drinking enough lately anyway, I believe I'll take the hint, try to get in the spirit of things...

Sure enough- this sounds better! Banjo on track five, and it's not really bothering me... yup, the booze is working. Just heard "I Drank Too Much Again", and then "Drinking & Gambling", wait, this isn't killing me... more booze... it's FINE! I don't know what I was being so uptight about!

Then you get "The Worst Truck Driver", which is definitely my fave; and "Ugly" is interesting, and "It Was a Really Bad Year"... it's almost like salsha! damn, this is OK. Yeeaaahhhhhh! Capitol O-k, phew i'm getting slakkurrd. This a really good ban...

Another thing I like about Jack is, he's got another band that does all bastardized country versions of (whooooooaaaaa) Van Halen songs called (mmmmmm...) Van Hayride. Now, lots of people might get a idea like that, but Jack actually did it. It's like wearing a cowboy hat on earth!

The Jack Grace Band appears at Joe's Bar and Grill on Main St. in Orleans this Friday, April 10th, and at the Squealing Pig in Provincetown thish Shaturday, Apl 11nch.

Celebrity Apprentice

I feel a little sheepish about admitting this, but I no longer remember what I was going to write my column about tonight. At one point, I think I really had a pretty good idea for one, and sort of remember even pitching the idea, but, boy, it's gone now.

And the thing is, let's face it, I'm an older gentleman and then some. and there's a very good chance I'm finally losing my brain completely, but really, I shouldn't look at it like that, because, man, what am I going to do, shoot myself? No! You get up, you shuffle along, you try to make the best of it, even though you know you can't win, you're going down, you know your body is in serious decline, times ten, really, I mean, it's obvious, I'm done. I'm old, and tired... hell, I can't even remember...

I remember I called Douglas and said I definitely had something going, it's an idea that will be no sweat to write, a natural for the paper and quite a human interest story at that in the way the girl finally comes to accept the cat after Johanna gets lost in the fire, even though technically, it's not even her cat.

I'm also upset because I'm in Florida at my crazy parents' house and using their stupid Mac and can't find the damn spell check which could be embrawrassing. See? Crrp!

Damn, what was it, though? I can remember all the little things I was going to add to my central conceit, but absolutely have no trace of what the headlining notion might've been. Hmph.

As long as I'm here, though, and faced in your general direction, I would like to observe: regarding "Celebrity Apprentice", quick, blow up all these people now while we've got them all in one room, before any more if 'em slip out (we already missed Andrew Dice Clay, and we might never get a chance to blow him up with a bunch of other people this annoying again.)

Opportunity is knocking, people! They must film this somewhere; just find out where, and bring bombs.

Again we learn that celebrities are the worst, most relentlessly nasty slime around, but it never hurt this bad. I actually sort of wanted to know which one got kicked off, but I already had to take about a half hour off in the middle of the show because the people were just SO awful, and then I got back in, figuring I'd catch the last fifteen minutes and see who got booted, so I watched again for about ten minutes and I really had only five minutes to go to find out who got the ax and I COULD NOT DO IT.

By the way, I consider myself a person who can watch ANYTHING. Literally. At the Manor, we have the TV on at all times, partly for enjoying, but just as much for bludgeoning, and covering up the relentless yapping of the Kelp Hounds, black as night, dark as pitch, senselessly howling deep into the night, and you know, we both enjoy it. Mrs. Kelp, still ravishing at 26, of course, has her "progrums", as she says, and they last all day and all night, but do mask the noises of the other animals, which is all to the good.

And I can watch all of them. I can watch "Will and Grace" without even breaking a sweat. I almost enjoy some of ABC's daytime soaps. Oprah, Dr. Phil -again, celebrities, horrible people I am sworn to despise, but I pretend I like them for my wife's sake, and no one is the wiser. If they had a show called "Where's My Stitches?", I would be able to watch it. "Carry My Broach" -I could watch that, too.

I only got beat once. "Orange County" was the one that broke me down. We watched on DVD, a whole bunch of them in a row, and I did, I watched them, a whole season, but I totally drew the line at Season Two. It was the same as trying to wait for the end of "Celebrity Apprentice"... I just couldn't go another step. Like a Spartan with about eighty spears in him, I finally collapsed.

We've all had similar experiences, and you know, now that I think about it, I'd kind of like to hear yours. If you're so idle and bored that you'd like to consign another few minutes of time that could've been used for something positive to oblivion, then by all means write to me here at Le Codder. Describe to me the occasion on which a television hurt you the most. It may've been one too many episodes of "Cannon", or a particularly difficult "Three's a Crowd". Or, who knows? -even a passing relative. There's so many possibilitities (damn this keyboard!)

I know you haven't gone unscathed, and we can help! Well, there's only really one of "us", and no, we can't actually help, but we would if I could

Tell us your story: write a letter (about watching TV! What could be more perverse?)
to me at: Hard Luck Tales Of Miserable Viewing '09, Box 113, Eastham, MA 02642. And if anyone does, I promise to read it, right here in Le Codder, although not necessarily aloud if I think it's scary.

We thank you.

Antoinette Rules!

A belated happy Mardi Gras (or whatever you call it a week or two later in french) to one and all, even as we all try to act normal after receiving the terrible news that the Empress of the Universe, Mrs Manaugahide, and one of the last Real Baby Dolls, of course I could only be talking about the one and only Antoinette K-Doe, is dead, way too soon, the youngest sixty-six year old I ever met. As some kind of symbolic gesture that we're all still struggling with, she accepted her new assignment on Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras Day itself, the last day of revelry, a brief but massive heart attack having prompted her decision early in the morning. No one would've thought she'd have had it that way.

You have to assume she would've put it off until Ash Wednesday if she could have, because the widow of the legendary performer and personality Ernie K-Doe (the original hit singer of "Mother-in Law", "Certain Girl" "Ta Ta Ta Ta Ta Ta Te Ta Ta", who was, coincidentally. the Emperor of the Universe, not to mention Mr. Maunaugahide) loved Mardi Gras, and Mardi Gras loved her back. Together, they embodied all the earthy wonder of N'awlins in ways so simultaneously elegant, primitive, charming, and hilarious that the world could only marvel. They were also both very much the glorious figments of their own imaginations.

So great were their powers and their concentration that when Ernie died, in 2001, he only missed a handful of jobs before going back to fulltime, as Antoinette quickly acquired an Ernie K-Doe mannequin, which she outfitted with a little speaker in its chest and Ernie's clothes, jewelry, and wig. Darned if in no time Ernie the II wasn't working just as many dates as the real Ernie ever did, and spending just as much time in their bar, the Mother-in-Law Lounge. holding court while relaxing between engagements. (The last time I saw him there, he had no hands -they were out being manicured. At the time, I didn't even ask, but later on, I wondered about that a little.

Now, I once bowled with Ernie K-Doe. In fact, I even shared the stage with him at Tipitina's one time, and he was a delight (And, by the way, if it weren't for Ernie's having had one, the Chandler Travis Philharmonic would've never had their valet, as Fred Boak learned everything at the feet of Ernie's man, during a flood -but that's another story.) Anyway, the new Ernie is ok, -you can definitely tell the difference, but it's better than no Ernie at all.

Years later I saw a play, again in New Orleans (of course), this time in the downstairs room of the Mid-City Rock and Bowl, that was at least in part a biography of both Ernies (man and mannequin), in which Antoinette starred as her own mother, Ernie's "Mother-in-law" of legend. About midway through the play, the mother-in-law, well portrayed by Antoinette until this point, morphed somehow into an older woman, who obviously had never been in a play before and didn't know any of the lines; still, she gamely soldiered on, supplying a few muted words of some kind whenever one of the other actors seemed to be asking her a question. After the scene had gone on for four or five minutes, she wandered off, and the next time we saw the character, it was again played by Antoinette. Later on that night, during the part of the night when the audience and performers dance to some records, and consumed by curiosity, I asked Antoinette why her character had changed in mid-stream. She replied matter-of-factly that she had received a call on her cell phone, and one of her friends had filled in for her while she was taking the call.

My head is swimming with Antoinette stories, and I didn't know her well at all. One thing I can tell you is that she was soooo cute! Also that she leaves a huge hole in a city with too many already (luckily, despite murder, flood, and devastation, it's still a magic city.)

And so energetic! When she first chose Ernie from the crowd of available suitors (not all that long ago, either, as they became a couple around 1990), he was a washed-up, occasionally unruly alcoholic, but she somehow got him back up and running with a vengeance. And the merchandising! I have plates, pillows, and even a toilet paper holder bearing his (and, sometimes, Antoinette's) likeness(es.) And not only did Ernie keep working after his death -he even ran for mayor, and, I'm told, did quite well.

My sister, Nurse Ticky Travis, was (you guessed it) a nurse at Charity Hospital in New Orleans for many years, and attended Ernie when he was dying, and there got to know Antoinette, who she remembers as staying by Ernie's side for days on end in a rumpled pink poodle skirt, bobby sox, and ponytail, trying to coax him back to life with the threat that "the nurse is coming to fool with Charlie." She was sure she could rouse him with this strategy, as Charlie was their nickname for (as Alex Haley might put it) his maleness, but even that didn't do it. For his part, Ernie, largely unconscious, still wore his maximum impact jewelry and Louis XV wig on his death bed.

The city (and his young wife) threw him a hell of a wake, with Baby Dolls, Skeletons, and every conceivable local music luminary you can think of (including Allen Toussaint, Jean Knight, Walter "Wolfman" Washington, (the usually reclusive) Barbara George, Davell Crawford, and Monque-d, not to mention the backup band of your dreams) -and this was just for the wake! And don't worry: Antoinette sold out her funeral, too.

Ernie's funeral was also a party and a half. My sister's hospital was very relieved that they had been able to recover Ernie's body in time (it had turned up missing for a time during it's stay in the morgue as Antoinette secured a burial site, eventually settling on St. Louis Cemetary #2, noted in the "Haunted New Orleans" Tour website with the following: "You don't even want to think about visiting St. Louis Cemetary #2 -it's in a very rough neighborhood. Pass it by." Hey, I can take a hint...

So much more: Antoinette appreciated Ticky's care at Charity so much (which made sense: Ernie had always said that he was "the greatest boy-child ever conceived at Charity Hospital", and always considered himself a Charity baby) that she held up Ernie's huge funeral a day to wait until my sister could make it; Antoinette at the Mother-in Law during Katrina, ready and willing to fight off invaders; Antoinette in infant gear at Jesse Hills' funeral, reviving the "Baby Doll" tradition; but maybe most of all, Antoinette at the Mother-in-Law Lounge, dispensing free drinks, red beans and rice, gumbo, even tiny little glasses of free champagne when Obama got elected, with the cutest, friendliest smile....

She was a dynamo, and a generous person. She'll be missed big-time.

Bob and Ray

[Originally published in two parts in the Barnstable Patriot on March 6th and March 13th, 2009, and reproduced with permission from the Barnstable Patriot (and thank you, Ed Maroney and the Barnstable Patriot, for the delightful assignment!]

To me, Bob and Ray have always been the Beatles of comedy (in other words, the best there is), and when I recently saw a new DVD of theirs, “An Award Winning Film by Bob & Ray”, for sale at my local Booksmith bookstore in Orleans -indeed, not just for sale, but on display at the check-out counter! -I had to ask myself, what kind of time-warped hallucination was this? Ray's been dead for almost twenty years, and I really hadn't been expecting anything in the way of new material.

For one thing, they're not that popular -even in their prime, they were never household names, never best sellers. They were just completely original, incredibly beloved and ridiculously, truly, madly, and deeply hilarious -but not so's you'd notice. You never saw them in stores or magazines; their names were never on everyone's lips; they weren't even on TV that much. In fact, they were basically radio guys, who (with timing that can only be described as “peccable”) first appeared on the scene right around the time radio took a TV-induced nose-dive. They were on the radio, for god's sake -no wonder you never heard of them!

Even at that, they were somewhat regional, having started out at WHDH in Boston in the late forties and spending most of their career (as late as 1987) broadcasting out of New York City, making them kind of a northeast thing. They did log some TV time, first with a daily fifteen minute show of their own on NBC (in the process shortening “Kukla, Fran, and Ollie”, not a particularly popular move at the time), but also guesting on “What's My Line”, Ed Sullivan, Johnny Carson, and later Letterman and Saturday Night Live, on which they hosted and also did a prime-time special, “Bob & Ray, Jane, Laraine & Gilda”.

Sound familiar? Well, maybe not, but I'll tell you who loves Bob & Ray: comedians. All of the above (Carson regarded them highly enough that, years later, they were given permission to use Tonight Show” footage on this new DVD, which is rather rare) is just the beginning. Sports and newscaster Keith Olbermann contributed particularly excellent liner notes to the project (making the observation that Bob & Ray's parodies of daytime radio soap operas outlasted the thing they were satirizing by a couple of decades); other fans include Garrison Keillor and Jerry Seinfeld, both of whom inherited their heroes' ear for excruciatingly mundane and redundant subject matter.

The writers and cast of SNL worshiped them, though Bob Elliott today says that even so, Franken and Davis would not let them off the hook about performing Rod Stewart's “Do You Think I'm Sexy”, despite their protests (the song ended up being the hit of the show.) Kurt Vonnegut aptly described them as having their own field of gravity, and my good friend George Carlin not only bought scores of Bob & Ray products (first reel to reel tapes -!!! -in the seventies, then cassettes in the eighties and nineties, on into CDs over the last decade or so) for himself, but also lucky me (and, of course, we were both always after whatever vinyl we could scrounge!)

So, it would not be an over statement to say that I was glad to see “An Award Winning Film By Bob & Ray”, and I am very happy to report that it completely lives up to (and perhaps even beyond) expectation in every area except length (it's only a little over forty minutes of material, even including the “Mary Backstayge, Noble Wife” audio set to the “Bonus! Bob & Ray Personal Photo File”.) Fortunately, even the photo file is fun, and the centerpiece of the DVD, a short film of the duo cutting some radio spots in 1968 by Orleans filmmaker David Jacobson, is nothing less than revelatory, revealing a couple of guys with an amazing work ethic improvising great material to order the way most people make a sandwich or write a letter, just like breathing, no big deal.

This attitude led to the production of a mountain of material over their forty year-or-so career that goes way beyond prolific. RadioArt, a not-for-profit label run by Larry Josephson, has 28 different Bob & Ray sets in their catalog at bobandray.com, all but two of which contain four CDs each -which equals, strangely enough, exactly 100 CDs, most of them between fifty and sixty minutes each. What kind of guy puts out 100 Bob and Ray CDs? You've got to wonder.

And that's not all they have out by any means -there's also Darryl Hawkins, who runs a company called Radio of Yesteryear (www.originaloldradio.com) out of Berea, Kentucky, who offers yet another hundred-plus hours of Bob and Ray, available in 10 or 11 hour chunks via mp3s on CDs (the website notes that these are “not playable on most regular CD players”, implying, I assume, that you could use them in your computer), available for $7.00 a pop -certainly the bargain of the century, as the RadioArt CDs go for a relatively daunting $34.95 plus shipping per four hour, four CD set, but I haven't seen the packaging, and was unable to find out whether they do a proper job of paying performance royalties (I did ascertain that RadioArt does.)

All this came to light while trying to track down information on which of their many releases a new listener might want to start with, which has emerged as today's $64,000 question. Amazingly, despite RadioArts 100 hours and Radio of Yesteryear's 100 plus, many of my favorite Bob and Ray tracks are out of print at this point, in some cases because they were originally issued on larger companies like RCA (Bob seemed to agree that 1960's “Bob and Ray On a Platter” might be the rosetta stone, including my single fave comedy track of all time, “Two Face West”, a five minute improvisation concerned exclusively with two cowboys trying to get off their horses) and Columbia (which originally released “The Two and Only”, Bob and Ray's successful Broadway show.) Both albums were re-released on RadioArt at one time, but the licensing fees proved prohibitive.

Adding to the fun is that RadioArt and Radio of Yesteryear cover some of the same ground, but both also have some exclusive material; and the liner notes can be a little sketchy, so the whole thing is really fairly bewildering. All parties seem fairly flummoxed by the concept of putting out a short “Best Of” style compilation (Bob Elliott said that it would be like trying to pick a favorite child, to which I wish I'd replied, but really, who has hundreds of children?), and one can certainly understand why, as that's a hefty bit of treasure hunting. But the question remains, where to start? Even getting through my own collection was hard, because most of them are on loan, like candy stripers, out there helping people...

The good news is that a good chunk of the Bob & Ray RadioArt catalog is available online at itunes, Rhapsody, Yahoo, and emusic, etc., so you can try a few cuts without leaving your house. Larry Josephson recommends starting with their “Carnegie Hall: Night Of Two Stars”, and it's a sensible approach: it's only two discs, and is a good attempt to collect some of their best bits -I'd especially suggest the “Slow Talker” routine, “The Komodo Dragon”, “Speaking Out”, “Wally Ballou at the Paper Clip Factory”, and perhaps the McBeeBee Twins. The only downside is that it's recorded with an audience, and Bob & Ray are unique among comedians in the regard that they were actually at their best without a live audience, taking full advantage of the intimacy that radio affords.

Which brings us back to the DVD, which is, as noted, too short and features some segments with an audience (the Tonight Show clips); and some would say that they're better off unseen, though that's a little extreme. David Jacobson's film segment of them at work, though, is just priceless, and despite it's brevity, the DVD actually covers a lot of bases, and makes quite a nice little intro -at least until “Two Face West” gets re-issued.

I'm only a little ashamed to admit that I cheerfully (though nervously) used all of the above as an excuse to interview Bob Elliott, something I considered years ago and decided I just wasn't up to, not just because he's a genius, but because I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep a straight face. Luckily, it was just a phone call, and he couldn't have been more charming. Now in his late eighties, he was sharp as a tack, and delighted to observe that the Elliotts are probably the only family in the world to have provided three generations of comics who have been featured on “Saturday Night Live” (Bob's son Chris was a cast member in the eighties, as Chris's daughter Abby is now.)

Among his observations:

“Everything we do was based on elongating whatever the idea was and carrying minute, unimportant things to big levels, and that's what made 'em good, but it also required time and they don't have that now.”

“We were testing ourselves, to see what we could get away with. On the Cavett show, we did Wally Ballou in a diner interviewing the chef, and all he was making was a fried egg sandwich, but he described everything that went in to this, the preparation, and we had to kill time till the hot plate heated up. We did about 7 minutes, frying an egg -one of Wally's biggest achievements.”

“Ray was funnier as far as doing original funny reactions and lines, than I am.... I was the -what do they say? -the arsenic in the pudding...” Ray always did remarkable female characters, never falling into using falsetto, and “Ray's voice got deeper and deeper as he got older... [Ray's character] Mary Backstayge was the disciplinarian, and Ray could bring things back down to earth through her character when he had to.” They both loved the overly treacly MC's of daytime TV, and Bob did a mean Arthur Godfrey impersonation (“I did it better when I was smoking”.)

The pair didn't socialize extensively -they got to see plenty of each other at work -but they always got along well, and the two clans (Bob had 5 kids, and Ray had 6) occasionally vacationed together, once in Hawaii ... “It was always fun... it was really difficult” when Ray died of a hereditary kidney disease about 20 years ago after having been on dialysis the last 10 or 11 years of his life... “how he did it is amazing, because he never complained about it, never complained, and we didn't have to lose any particular work that I can remember... it's difficult -he went too soon...”

We also talked about our mutual love of bad singers (“Leona Anderson! -we picked the farthest offbeat that we could”, including the wonderful Jo Stafford (Jonathan and Darlene Edwards) and even Florence Foster Jenkins... somehow I resisted the temptation to ask if I could have a crack at his record collection, but, Bob, if you're reading this, I really, really need a crack at your record collection...

More great Bob and Ray stuff to check out? -Mary Backstayge, Noble Wife; Dean Archer Armstead; Aunt Penny's Sunlit Kitchen; Mr. Science; Wally Ballou's interview of Professor Groggins on the occasion of the launch of his satellite, which was made of “folding chairs , mostly, and some balsa wood, like you say”, and flew at an altitude of about 15 feet for awhile until it hit a barn; anything with Calvin Hoogevin, or his soul mate, Webley Webster's book reports... You can also find them on Sirius and XM radio, on channels 117 and 163, respectively... hey, there's only a couple hundred hours out there -party down, peoples!

Long Live the Eastham Cuisine!

Let's see, where was I? Ah, yes, my semi-annual year end wrap up...

I think we're all agreed that 2008 was basically a crap year. This week, let's focus on loss, betrayal, and disappointment, and, in so doing, see if we can nudge '09 toward being even worse.

Of course, attitude is everything. You can look at 2008 as the year Obama was elected president, or you can look at it as the eighth year in a row George Bush was president.

In 2008, I lost time, money, self-respect; hair, my temper, mind, nerve, cool, and will to live; and a couple of restaurants I used to really like eating at, but the greatest of these is restaurants I used to really like eating at.

I hear the Seadog in Eastham may re-open in the spring, and I hope it's true, as the Seadog is the closest thing we've had to a diner in Eastham in years, always nice people (thank you Gary and Tracy!), happy to go out of their way to please (I once made them put Bearnaise sauce on a hamburger; my wife, the always fashionable and lithe Mrs. K., could never get over that they offer salads served on top of a bed of french fries; and there was also the time Gary gave me a remote-controlled helicopter for no reason.) Good folks, regular old comfort food, free remote-controlled helicopters - I hope they re-open, but I'm worried.

Back in the fall, D'Arturo's closed. They gave it a good go, too, with an actual in-house p.a. system and a stage for the bands (pretty rare on cape these days), plus, they could make a respectable burger.

Unfortunately, discerning drunks who drive tend to avoid that Rt. 6 stretch in Eastham, which might not be a problem except it's pretty much the only stretch we have in Eastham. I've often said that we should try harder to appeal to drunk people, not only because they're dangerous, undiscerning, and entertaining, but also because they lose things and have trouble counting. To me, it's a dream demographic, but I can't seem to get the powers that be on the same page.

This shouldn't surprise me, as no town on cape prizes its invisibility as much as we do -thus our town slogan, “Keep Drivin'!" (My idea was to add, “unless you're drunk, in which case, stop and set a spell!”, but the town council would have none of it at the meeting, and I was jeered and poked at.)

Or what about the Coast in Orleans, also closed! Terrible idea! Again, good bunch of folks, occasionally great food (on the right night, the deep-fried turkey dinner could be insanely wonderful; on a bad night, you might find yourself questioning their storage methods, but hey, I like to take a chance, nothing ventured, nothing gained.) Plus, they occasionally had some good music and it was a comfortable, nice sounding room and I really tried to talk 'em up but nobody listened and now they're gone and I'm upset, dammit.

Where am I supposed to eat? This place has just been going to hell in a hand basket, ever since Lo Cicero's closed a few years ago -now there was a place! Now, we've got no diversity -we don't even have Friendly's to kick around any more.

The one good thing that happened in 2008 was when some unidentified maniac went to a great deal of trouble to drop a piano off in the middle of the woods in Harwich, implicitly for hiking musicians and various other rusticators and assorted riffraff to use however they saw fit. This completely charming idea was immediately ruined, of course, by the local constabulary, who hauled the piano into the basement of the police station -hard to believe too many folks are going to be jamming away down there.

I say, put the piano back. Perhaps the soothing music can take our minds off the fact that there's no place to eat.