GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1016: GOODBYE TO TOM LEHRER

 I first heard of Tom Lehrer through the Dr. Demento cassette collection, the one that's delineated by the decade. It was "The Masochism Tango" that caught my eye (not literally in your left castanet, thank you), and it quickly became one of my favorite songs. On another cassette I found "Poisoning Pigeons in the Park," which quickly became a second favorite. But it never occurred to me that he might have made more songs. (I was a freshman in high school at the time, so I wasn't very bright.)

Around the same time I caught an episode of HBO's Real Sex that featured the song. I giggled, thinking, I know that one! And I also learned that Weird Al Yankovic, the only musician I'd seen in concert at the time (now it's one of two, the other being Alestorm when they were too young to drink at their own show) and someone I respected a great deal, revered Lehrer, which meant he'd made more songs than two.

(Incidentally, I didn't have a bedroom back then, so I didn't have an inner sanctum to escape to with the volume low. I slept on a cot in the living room, but we had a basement where we--meaning, me and my brothers mostly--watched a lot of stuff. I was 14, so I could watch PG-13 movies, but my brothers were still forbidden. So we watched Real Sex with the volume low enough, and if we heard someone on the stairs, they would certainly be someone who would disapprove, so we had the remote set to return us back to another channel just in case.)

Back then we didn't have the internet, so I went to the library to do more research, and lo! and behold! We had one of his live albums! It was Tom Lehrer Revisited, and I listened to that tape so much it practically became my Bible. Imagine my pleasure when I discovered more albums, which I quickly purchased from Borders (because they could order it, and Best Buy wouldn't).

(Another side note: when the library decided to get rid of their cassette collection, I saved this one from the garbage. I recently had to abandon my own cassette collection, but I saved a few, and this is one of them.)

Without Tom Lehrer, I don't know what my sense of humor would be like now. He's an essential part of my building blocks. For the longest time I had a quote of his paraphrased on my wall next to my dinosaur computer (back when it wasn't a dinosaur but top of the line!): "If after [reading] my [stories] just one human being is inspired to say something nasty to a friend or perhaps to strike a loved one, it will have all been worth the while." But there's an even better scenario that he described that works more toward my way of thinking.

I think he was interviewed by the New Yorker back when I was still working at the library (I found it while I was working the periodicals section in the haunted up-upstairs area), but the gist of it was this. He said he described his humor as thus, and I'm going off memory here, so don't be too harsh if it's not exact. He said, "You throw a baby up in the air and catch it, so the baby laughs. But I throw the baby up and don't catch it, so I laugh."

I know for a fact that I've written a GF about Lehrer before, maybe a few, but this is the first time I've done so since he died last week. He was well into his nineties when he passed. He'd left music to go back to his true love, teaching math (he worked at Los Alamos . . . as a spy), but he was always a violently funny musician to me.

Tom Lehrer is gone, and I'm going to miss him, but before he died he released his music into the public domain so anyone could use it. That was pretty nice of him. You can go here for all your Tom Lehrer needs. And if you don't think I'm a big enough fan of Lehrer's, please know that I once got in trouble at Conference Plus, my first big boy office job, for singing one of his songs on the floor. This one, in fact. It's the greatest love song ever written in my opinion.

If you've never heard his songs before, I encourage you to listen. If you think it's too old-timey for your likes (they were mostly written from the 'Fifties to the 'Seventies), just listen to the lyrics. Keep an eye out for the guy who took a knife and monogrammed his wife and dropped her in the pond and watched her drown, oh yes indeed the people there are just plain folks in my hometown!

Goodbye, Tom Lehrer.

PS: He also wrote the greatest end of the world song ever.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #566: WEIRD

 I came to Weird Al as many my age did: through "Eat It." And then a friend of mine played me "Nature Trail to Hell" and I knew I'd be a fan for life. So of course I had to watch Weird: The Al Yankovic Story. It's on Roku, so it's free if you want to wade through the commercials. I'm pretty sure this is the first thing I've ever watched on Roku. I loved the hell out of it.

If you're looking for the true story, you're in the wrong place. He's the greatest living parody song writer on earth, so why would he not parody his own life? Going on from here, we have some spoilers, so beware.

I love that it starts with the usual don't-do-that-crap-you're-going-to-be-famous-for-someday stuff from his dad to the point where he viciously beats the shit out of an accordion salesman. No, Al has to get a job at the factory where you don't get to know what they make there until you get the job. (He doesn't even find out when he does get the job!) Of course, guess what his father used to be when he was a kid? That's right, an accordion player. It tore his heart out, and he wanted to stop his son from treading the same waters. Oh yeah, and Mr. Yankovic grew up in, um, an Amish paradise . . .

Did you know that "Eat It" was the original song and Michael Jackson ripped him off with "Beat It?" Did you know that Al was in a torrid love affair with Madonna? Did you know that Al got the idea for "Like a Surgeon" when he was brought back to life in the ER after a vodka binge? Most importantly, did you know that Weird Al was assassinated live on stage by Madonna?

One of my favorite parts is when he comes up with "Another One Rides the Bus," and no one knows who the bassist for Queen is. Rainn Wilson as Dr. Demento and Jack Black as Wolfman Jack are astonishingly funny. And I love that Daniel Radcliffe continues his trend of doing batshit crazy things in his attempt to leave Harry Potter behind him.

Although I have one problem with this movie. When Al goes to kill Pablo Escobar, why on earth did they not put Radcliffe in the Rambo body suit from UHF?!?!?!?!??!!! Talk about a missed opportunity.

I got to meet Weird Al twice. Once was when he was on his Off the Deep End tour at Drury Lane, where I would eventually get a job selling season tickets to theater. The second time was for his children's book tour. He was at Anderson's in Naperville, and when I told him about that concert and said that it was odd to see people stage diving at that theater, and he said, "I didn't stage dive, did I?" No, he didn't. And he told me that was probably the last time he could have gotten away with doing something like that in his life. Seeing him live was a lot better than seeing Gallagher live. Weird Al is a classy act. Always has been, always will be.

Did you notice who the real Weird Al played in the movie? One of the Scotti Brothers!

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #7: MY TASTE IN MUSIC

When I was a kid, I loved a lot of music. Now that I'm an adult, I love a lot of music. The difference between the two situations? A lot. Very few artists from my youth survive today as music I listen to now. Let's face it, one can't listen to the same ol' shit over and over again.


Who survives now? You might be surprised. At the top of the list is Weird Al Yankovic. You may be shocked, but I enjoy his music now even more than I did when I was a kid in the 'Eighties. Of all the shit I listened to back then, he's the only guy I still listen to now who has gotten even better. As much as I like "Nature Trail to Hell," I love "Party in the CIA" even more.


I'm so glad he's got a new album coming out soon. I have already pre-ordered MANDATORY FUN, and if you are anything like me, you should have done the same. It'll be hard to be better than my favorite album, POODLE HAT, but I think he can do it. ALPOCALYPSE was really fucking good. I can't wait to see the new songs he has in store for us.

EVERYONE'S GOT ONE #23: HOW I'VE CHANGED

Most of the people who know me personally are probably laughing at this title right now.  Everyone knows I don’t really change all that much.  I dress the same way I did when I was in elementary school, I get the same haircut, I eat the same shit, and I try to avoid new technology.  (For example, I didn’t have a cell phone until maybe four years ago, and I just got internet in my house last year.)

But contrary to popular belief, I do change, if only a little bit at a time.  Look at it this way:  take two people who know a guy, and then send one of them away for ten years.  Bring them back together, and the one who’d disappeared for a while will be surprised to see how much that person changed.  The guy who stayed, though, won’t think much of it because he’s seen the subject every day of those ten years.  It’s like that.

There are four things that I’ve noticed about the ways I’ve changed of late, and I find two of them mildly disturbing, and the other two disgustingly shocking.

--I don’t remember anyone’s phone numbers anymore.  Even when I was a kid, I didn’t have a mind for numbers, but I still retained maybe ten phone numbers in my head that were absolutely essential to me, among them my home, my grandparents’, the library’s, my best friend’s, my cousin’s, and a few others.  Now, I can’t even remember my own cell phone number.  It’s crazy.  The only thing I can think of, aside from early senility, is that since I can just save phone numbers on my cell phone, my brain has decided it no longer needs to waste space on this remembering them.  This is mildly disturbing.

--I can’t remember directions anymore.  I used to be a parts driver for the City of Elmhurst, so I had to have a map of every place in my head.  I knew the suburbs and a lot of the city like the back of my hand.  Now?  I remember very little of it.  Again, senility comes to mind, but a more likely suspect is the GPS I have in my car.  Who the fuck needs to remember directions anymore?  Hell, when was the last time you gave directions to someone?  This is mildly disturbing.  (It should also be noted that this seems to go for cab drivers, too.  When I was a kid, cab drivers knew where everything was.  Now, as an adult, whenever I get into a cab, I have to give the fucker directions.  And that’s even WITH the GPS they usually have.  How the fuck is it possible that cabbies don’t know how to get to Midway?!)

--I’m losing my ability to spell.  Shit that I should know is no longer in my head.  I’ve always been an excellent speller.  Straight A’s on that one throughout my entire life.  This one I lay squarely at the feet of spell check and auto correct.  This is disgustingly shocking because I’m a writer, and I should know these things.  I’m supposed to be smarter than this machine when it comes to this kind of thing.

--This is the most disgustingly shocking thing of all.  I’ve always been a fan of bookstores.  Once upon a time, I would take my weekly paycheck and go to a bookstore and peruse their wares.  I would inevitably spend too much, but it would always be worth it, considering my prizes.  Even though it was more convenient and cost-effective to shop on Amazon, I resisted for a long time.  But then the mom and pop bookstores disappeared from my area.  And then Borders disappeared.  And I refuse to shop at Barnes & Noble because they were the ones who started the remaindering process.  Where the fuck else did I have to go?

I gave in.  I haven’t bought a book from an actual store in maybe three years.  Yeah, I know.  But the thing is, during that time, I forgot the bookstore experience.  I’d gotten caught up in the cold, antiseptic (but ever so convenient) practice of buying from Amazon.  And this is not to knock them, because Amazon is a fabulous thing.  I’ve probably spent thousands of dollars with them, and I’ll probably spend even more before my death.

But there is beauty in an actual bookstore, and I’d forgotten that until I’d gone to see Weird Al Yankovic at Anderson’s in Naperville.  (It could have happened a month previous, when I’d gone to Joe Hill’s signing there, but since he had an actual show to put on, I paid attention to that and not my surroundings.)  I sat down in the stacks to read while waiting for my turn to meet Weird Al, and directly in front of me was a bookshelf loaded down with glorious, wonderful books.

It’s hard to say how I felt in that moment, letting my eyes drift over spines and covers.  My heart quickened, thinking about how much I would enjoy having each and every one of those books in my own collection.  My head opened like a rose in the morning sun, and I found myself glancing up over whatever I was reading to admire the view before me.  I felt like I was 20 again.  I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten this sensation.  I started calculating how much money I had in my pocket, and I felt the almost overwhelming urge to grab a handful of books to take home with me.

I resisted, since I’m trying to battle my way out of debt right now, but I know that the 20-year-old version of me would have lost that struggle.

So how about it?  In what ways have you changed over the years?  And are you disgusted with yourselves or proud?  Let me know in the comments below.

MEETING AUTHORS #7: WEIRD AL YANKOVIC

Okay, it sounds kind of odd to call Weird Al Yankovic a writer, considering his prominence in music, but he HAS written two books.  He’s out promoting his new release, MY NEW TEACHER AND ME, a kids book about the importance of creativity, even at the price of truth.  I found out that he was going to be at Anderson’s in Naperville for a signing, so I preordered the book and got my number in line:  236.  Yikes.

Of course, I knew it was going to be extremely crowded.  Anderson’s may be pretty big for a family owned bookstore, but it’s still a small place.  I expected maybe 500 or so people to show up, and I really didn’t think they could fit that many people in there.  Maybe not even legally.

So I made sure to get an early start.  I got out of work, rushed to my comic book shop (it was Wednesday, after all), and sped out to Naperville.  I got there about an hour before the signing was scheduled to start, and I was surprised to find that there weren’t a lot of people there yet.  I discovered that he wasn’t going to do any kind of show or anything; he was just going to sign.  That was probably for the best.  There’s no way they could have accommodated 500 people that way, especially since his signing the previous night had taken five hours.

After I got my book, I scouted out a place to sit.  Just in time, too, because that’s when people started flooding in.  I got real comfortable, because I knew I’d be there a loooooong wait, and I zipped through Weird Al’s book pretty quickly.  It’s a fun little read.  It’s exactly the kind of book I would have worn to pieces when I was two.  I then started reading my comics.  I got through about half of them before he arrived.  By then, the bookstore was packed from wall to wall, and everyone was ready to murder each other over a place to sit.

I got through all of my comics and more than half of the novel I was reading at the time before the night was through.  I heard them calling out blocks of numbers and lining them up in the stacks.  Even though he was only signing the book and nothing else, the line went cripplingly slow.

The thing that surprised me the most was how many fat people were in that room, and they were all completely inconsiderate.  I’m a fat guy myself (255 lbs. as of this writing, something I’m trying to change), but I don’t go around carelessly knocking into people with my flabby gut and NOT apologizing to people.  I was jostled so much by these people, it’s insane.  There was plenty of room between my chair and the bookshelf in front of me, yet all these fat people kept knocking into my knees, sometimes violently pushing my legs away.  None of these fuckers so much as acknowledged my presence.  Seriously, these guys were so big I wondered if maybe they were auditioning for a sequel to the “Fat” video.

Anyway, they finally called my block of numbers, but when I got lined up in my cattle chute, we found out that he was still on the 170’s.  Fuck.  I’d given up my good seat for standing up for the next hour or so.  In front of me was a couple of young kids who were constantly making out.  Behind me was a quiet, polite woman who had bought two tickets so she could get something extra signed.  I sat between them and started reading again.  The woman behind me said, “That’s a good idea.  I should have thought of that.”

Before long, we were in the real line, and we could finally see the man himself.  He sat at a tall, round table, and he looked like a giant.  Also, he’s got a freakishly long face.  You can see it when he’s on TV, but in person, it seems even longer.

As we got closer, I could hear him bantering with his fans.  One guy said, “This is a pretty good book.  I read it while I was waiting in line.”  Weird Al replied, “You read the whole thing?!”  Another guy was so nervous that he knocked over the Anderson’s sign off to the side as he retreated.  Weird Al asked if he was okay, and the guy responded to the affirmative with a quaky voice.

Finally, it came time to meet him.  He was sitting down on a stool, and his head was just a bit above mine, which meant he was probably taller than he looked on TV.  Like, maybe six-three.  [Edit:  it turns out he’s six feet exactly.  He looks a lot bigger.]  He greeted me eagerly, calling me by name and shaking my hand with a firm grip.

I told him that many years ago, I’d seen him perform at Drury Lane in Oakbrook for his OFF THE DEEP END tour.  He remembered the show with a fond smile.  I then said that it was probably the only time stage diving had ever happened in that theater, and he seemed to get a kick out of that.

For those who don’t know, Drury Lane is a theater whose main demographic are retired folks who want to see classic plays and, at least once a year, a Debbie Reynolds concert.  Weird Al playing there is a very unusual thing, especially for OFF THE DEEP END.  The single off of that one was “Smells Like Nirvana,” so unsurprisingly, audience members felt the urge to stage dive.

After I told Weird Al that, he said with some faux-nervousness, “I wasn’t the one stage diving, was I?”  I laughed and told him it was people from the crowd.  “You know,” he continued, “that was probably the last time in my life I could have gotten away with stage diving.”

We laughed, and I shook his hand, thanking him for his time.  I then went on my way, which was a bit difficult because the way out was blocked by a lot of stuff.  I managed to get back around to the rest of the store when I found myself confronted with a phalanx of people standing in place, obstructing my view of the door.  Certainly a fat guy like me would wind up knocking people around on his way out to freedom, right?

Nope.  I sucked in my gut, slipped my bag around behind me, and made my way through that fleshy maze without coming into contact with anyone.  Not a single person.  And even if I had, the first words out of my mouth would have been, “I’m sorry.”