Totally True Tune Tales SPECIAL!: A Step Back

Dearest readers,

I am apologizing here for my lack of an actual real, new column. I’m out of town, I have a busy agenda, and won’t be back in time to properly compose my column in the way it should be written. However, rather than leave you hanging, I have hand-picked some exerpts from pieces I wrote back in 1999. They’re not anything particularly noteworthy, but some of the meanderings remain fun today. And if you just plain weren’t aware that I have been writing that long… this is a nice little gift, isn’t it?

Love, Gloomchen

P.S. – Kanye West makes me giggle a whole lot. Poor Mike Myers.

I discover new things every day!

Like, did you know that Metallica’s old music ISN’T a bunch of Satan worshipping crap? I mean, it’s listenable! When I was a little munchkin, I heard Metallica a couple of times before I heard “One” and it was so scary and evil and I thought that nobody in their right mind (aka Non Satan People) could listen to it without going to hell. Not that this was a religious thing, just that it was evil music. In fact, up until TONIGHT I thought old Metallica stuff was unlistenable, simply by recalling my previous 4th grade experiences. Hell, I even own Live Shit and listened to it many times, and thought all the older songs were good, but figured they were only good because they had updated them or something. But tonight I really wanted to hear Sanitarium for some reason, because I couldn’t find an mp3 of it anywhere that wasn’t live, and I was really surprised to find that their older stuff isn’t really such a drastic change like I thought it was compared to the black album and beyond. I mean, in my head I thought there was some bizarre drastic difference in the time period between… And Justice For All and the black album that somehow made Metallica a completely different band. Now I discover that I was very very wrong! Old Metallica kicks very much ass! Why didn’t I figure this out sooner? What is wrong with me? Why was I so broken?

And you know what else? Whitesnake’s old albums are MUCH better than anything by Bon Jovi. I know this because I was feeling very nostalgic and put this Whitesnake tape in my car. I didn’t buy that tape, I stole it from this bitch who didn’t pay me for babysitting her obnoxious kid, and I only took it for “Here I Go Again.” But that tape pretty much rocks hard. Anyway, I got this hankering to listen to my old Bon Jovi New Jersey tape too, and after I listened to Whitesnake in my car for a few days, I listened to Bon Jovi. You know what? Except for “Ride Cowboy Ride,” a 58 second kick-ass song on the Bon Jovi tape, everything by Whitesnake was much cooler. Why was I so obsessed with Bon Jovi when obviously the whole time Whitesnake was kicking their ass? How come I never noticed this back then? Maybe it’s because I thought Jon Bon Jovi was SO HOT and had posters of him all over my room, and David Coverdale wasn’t so hot. He had better hair than Jon Bon Jovi though, why didn’t I notice THAT? Actually, if I think about it, back then David Coverdale was much better looking, but he looked a lot older than Jon Bon Jovi. Plus, who could compete with Tawny Kitaen?

Also, VH1 pissed me off today. Ever see one of those Before They Were Stars thingys? They make SO much crap out of famous people. Actually, not all of them are all that famous, some were one hit wonders who really don’t need to have even MORE crap made out of them. I mean, imagine being Brenda K. Starr, who had the hit “I Still Believe” which Mariah Carey, one of her former backup singers, covered. They showed some old footage of her being in this crappy early ’80s movie where she was overweight and singing REALLY CHEESY pseudo-rap and dancing like an ass, which of course was very common in the early ’80s. They kept showing this clip throughout the show, comparing people saying “Well at least they never had THIS to live down.” It annoyed the hell out of me. I mean, this poor girl was overweight, and she’s not popular or making money these days, and here VH1 is, ripping on her. I can understand doing that to someone with current financial and other types of success, like maybe Janet Jackson, who deserves it. But some innocent little one hit wonder who is now living the Joe Average life like the rest of us? That’s kind of rude. At least I seem to think so. But then again, what do I really know? Maybe she ditched one of the producers on a blind date or something, and this was his revenge. I suppose we will never know.

Here’s something a trifle retarded. I was watching BET and MTV Jams and The Box, trying to bone up on my rap a little bit so I don’t get out of touch even though there’s very little that I like. Anyway, The Box kept advertising that you can go to their website (www.thebox.com) and order your videos instead of calling the 1-900 number. So I figure, hmmm, why not check it out? Well first I was annoyed because you still have to pay for the videos, although that wasn’t HORRIBLE, just a little annoying. Back in the day, you could e-mail them and they would play it for free. But anyway, I decided to play their little game and order a video, since entering all my information is SO MUCH easier than just picking up the phone and calling. Anyway, I get the secure connection dialog box, yay yay yay. However, the popup appears saying that they haven’t completed the site yet and that online ordering wasn’t available yet. So, of course, every 10 minutes on The Box, there’s a commercial for this website, and IT DOES NOTHING. It mocks you. It stares at you funny and makes you THINK you’re doing something cyber chic. Those commie bastards. There’s a lesson here, a little more broad than Don’t Visit TheBox.com, yet a little less broad than Don’t Go To Websites.


If it keeps on rainin’, levee’s going to break.
If it keeps on rainin’, levee’s going to break.
When the levee breaks, I’ll have no place to stay.

That reminds me of when Charity miscarried. I totally believed that I had a Psychic Jukebox in my head, that I would get a song stuck in my head, and then something would happen related to that song. It was creepy.

I sang “The Silent Man” in my head when I was in the shower. I hummed the whole thing out loud, mostly on key, too. I can reach some really low notes for a girl. When I was in choir, I wanted to be a tenor, but they wouldn’t let me, I was stuck with the f*cking alto bitches that kept saying I was calling them niggers but I wasn’t. Marsha was such a bitch. I think she has a kid now.

In the summertime, da na na na na na. I keep singing that song, and I don’t know any words after “In The Summertime.” Fucking hippie music, f*cking Mungo Jerry and his addictive retarded hippie melodies. My mom was a hippie. That’s why my name is Summer. She wanted to name my sister Fame, but my dad wouldn’t let her. Instead she got named after a Van Halen song, “Jamie’s Cryin'”. At least it was a David Lee Roth-Van Halen song.

When there is reason, tonight I’m awake.
When there’s no answer, arrive the silent man.
If there is balance, tonight he’s awake.
But if they have to suffer, here lies the silent man.

I have such an evil pathetic obsession with Kevin Moore. I think he’s married. I think he’s about 10 years older than me. I feel like I’m 14, I want posters of him all over my walls. I don’t even know really what he looks like, it’s not a looks thing, I just love the words and the music that he paints. Obsession. America the video.


I turn onto the on-ramp, wishing that son of a bitch in the slowass Caravan would’ve been travelling two miles an hour slower so that I might not have had to wait for him to go ahead of me at the previous stop sign. I ride his ass until I hit the other lane, doing 70 before I even have the chance to decide how close to the speed limit I’m going to travel today.

I’m too lazy to plug in the discman today. Instead, it’s good old 97.3 KGRR, the only independent radio station left in this damn town. Sure, there’s another classic rock station in town, but they’re not playing “Bungle in the Jungle” right now, they NEVER play “Bungle in the Jungle,” and so it’s not worth pushing the seek button… ever. And who cares what the next song might be, because more than likely it’s going to be something decent. If not, I might magically become unlazy and plug in that discman after all.

It takes approximately 2.5 seconds to travel the overpass, as all overpasses in large 60,000 metropolises like Dubuque take. I pull into Arby’s, where I’ve never eaten in my life until yesterday when I discovered Jalepeno Bites, and pick up another round for today. They’re so friendly there. I wish I was friendly. Instead, I paid completely in change. They hate me there.

I feel quite disturbed, as I realize Nine Inch Nails just came out with a new album and I didn’t buy it yet. This is what is commonly known as “heresy” in many social circles with whom I associate. I don’t care. All the new shit I’ve heard so far was horrid. Bush has a new album coming out. I am frightened. Foo Fighters has a new album coming out. I much like Foo. Dream Theater has a new album coming out. All I can wish is for anything on that disc to be half as good as “Space-Dye Vest” was. I’m holding my breath, as I’ve been holding, ever since Kevin Moore left the band.

I spin around back onto that familiar overpass. There’s a train travelling alongside me. How can the people at Arby’s hear anything in their drive-thru with that awful blasting horn and rumbling of the tracks right there? I suppose that’s not for me to worry about, but I do anyway, being as my only other concern is the Jetta that is travelling the speed limit in the left lane in front of me. That bitch finally moves over, and I finally pass the four vehicles clogging the right lane before my exit 2.5 seconds later. Yet, another slowpoke on the exit almost forces me to hit them. It’s a game, they’re all f*cking with my head. They want my brakes to give out, as close as they are to doing so already. They want the insurance money. They want to trade their wreck for a Beemer.

The world is depressing me. There seems to be no geniuses left… all the geniuses have let their minds rot and die. Queensryche just released the most disappointing record of their career. Rush’s last album had that awful cheesy song about the Internet. Everything is so bland. I thought Drain s.t.h. was incredible, but after listening to their new album a few million times, I realize they’re just females ripping off Stabbing Westward, with only slightly less lyrical quality and slightly heavier riffs. Where am I to look for the next big thing? Why won’t Dream Theater and Liz Phair improve with age? Why do I own over 650 CDs? Is there anything worth listening to besides 97.3 anymore? Is “Bungle in the Jungle” the closest I will ever get to hearing brilliance again?

And where the f*ck is my Bronco Berry sauce?


For real next time.

–gloomchen

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