It’s Gergmas. Damnit.


Greg Franco (left), in a photo for his band Rough Church

To the stupid “where were you” question I have to respond “asleep” because I’m on the west coast and lazy. Where I was the night before? At my old good friend Greg’s birthday party, because up until 2001, September 11 meant GERG’s birthday. And it still does, goddamnit.

I’ve known him since 1985, and he and I have been in many car crashes. We did a radio show together and played even crazier music than the crazy college radio station wanted us to. We both showed up at a Cabaret Voltaire show in sweaters because we were fucking corndogs. I always bought lunch and he always had a car. We made the same mistakes and forgave each other. We spent a lot of time in the dark listening to some magically good record. We also spent a lot of time listening to shitty music that one of us thought would be good.

He was there for me when my life exploded in college, and when I was a flat broke depressed part-time editorial assistant with a stain on my pants. He saved my ass in the L.A. Riots with his insane courier driving skills and bravery. He and I lent each other two dimes back and forth 1,000 times and ate cheap rice sitting on the floor of a hundred crap apartments. He moved me across town in blinding heat in a 1967 Mustang, 8 trips. I carried his amps and drums around. He kidnapped me from work the day after my dad died and drove me up in the mountains.

My friendship with this guy led to an night sessions at a Persian recording studio in Van Nuys, and to a big beach party we threw where no one came but us, and to a hundred other adventures we can call back with one or two words: “Buttonwillow,” “Psych 201,” “Pepper pot soup,” “Mike F. on acid.”

I have not seen him in a long time but I bet you we could have a conversation entirely in incomprehensible catchphrases to this day.

He makes great music and is passionate about it, and gives up a lot to do it well. Do yourselves a favor and visit Rough Church, see if you agree about the music.

Celebrate Gergmas with me. Instead.

At long last, they have no sense of decency.

Hallmark hasn’t been bold enough yet, but American Greetings has Patriot Day Cards. The link was corrected from an earlier post where it expired; that one shouldn’t, but it should be findable from in any case.

If you’d like to tell them what you think of this, they are:

American Greetings Corporation
One American Road
Cleveland, Ohio 44144-2398
Fax: 216/252-6778

Their toll free customer service number is: 800/777-4891.

Maybe they could tell us where that $2.95 $3.25 is going, or why it’s time to have greeting cards when the hole in New York isn’t filled yet and the war isn’t over and a lot of important questions haven’t been answered. Or what the hell they thought they were doing.

Hmm. Now Hallmark’s site is down for maintenance. I hope they don’t…

Private Ryan and the Skyscrapers of Fire

Hollywood flagshmerz.

Hey I got a better idea. Let’s put Jean-Claude Van Damme and Steven Seagal together in Kickboxer Under Siege: Nevar Forget 9/11. Or CGI John Wayne in a green beret into news footage and have him save the day. Or make an art film in which Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson walk around New York philosophizing while bodies and chunks of burning crap fall around them.

Oh oh oh.. here we go. Flight 93 on Ice! Someone get Wynn on the phone this was made for Vegas…

I hate you, milkman sixteen_shells!