“I can break it down in ways you can’t imagine!”: Weird Tales of the Internet-“Stem Cell Rap”

Science is Sexy

 

This marks the second edition in my “Weird Tales of the Internet” and this comes courtesy of Tufts University professor Jonathan Garlick, breaking it down with “Stem Cell Rap” from Youtube.  Now admittedly I found this because I’m avid watcher of G4/TechTV and especially Attack of the Show, but because it’s yet to really become an internet phenomenon, Garlick could use a bit of push into celebrity. While admittedly stem cell research is controversial and, at best, a tad boring, it’s admirable that Garlick (whose rap name is Dr. Jonny Cool J, and admits that he’s been rapping ince the 1980s) decided to try and appeal to younger audiences by literally “breaking it down”. And it’s an instant classic! What with a line such as “I try so hard to treat disease, my brain explodes with stem cell ideas, if you come to my lab I’m in culture all day making tissues while you wait” then it’s obvious Garlick needs to collaborate with Dr. Dre and spin an entire album dedicted to biology. 

Garlick is currently at work on a sequel called “I See Cells” , written to the beat of Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back”, a song about pathology. 

Weird Tales of the Internet: Canadiangiantess.com

I’m  a well known sucker for most things Canadian: one of my favorite hats (lost at the moment) is a copy of Jay’s toque that he wore when Jason Mewes and Kevin Smith cameoed on Degrassi: The Next Generation that says S N O O G A N S, with the Canadian flag above that. And speaking of Degrassi, I’m such a huge fan of the series that I was very giddy when I learned that Amanda Stepto (who portrayed punky Christine “Spike” Nelson on Degrassi Junior High and Degrassi High in the 80s and 90s, and also reprised the character for D:TNG) approved my friend request on Facebook. In Mallrats, Brodie (played by Jason Lee) owns a Degrassi jacket that I’ve always wanted, and even Kevin Smith has said that he was influenced by John Hughes and Degrassi, particularly having a favorite character in Caitlin Ryan.

I was scouring the internet one Monday evening, looking up videos of the Muppets, specifically, Kermit the Frog. Earlier that day, I’d been practicing my Kermit voice (which my friend Evie says sounds a lot like Bill Cosby) and was looking at examples of other people doing the voice that Jim Henson perfected, when I stumbled across a youtube video of a guy in Canada who gues by the username jimsupreme. He’s an artist, writer, and voice actor who did some work for a film called Fantasize.

That’s just to give you an idea of what Canadiangiantess.com is all about.

True to it’s title, the site caters to the fetish of Macrophilia, which, for those at home following the home game, is all about those feelings of being small and helpless in front of a giant. Men have mostly been seen with this fetish, but it wouldn’t be doubtful that there are some women who want to be dominated in this regard as well. Anyway, with CG.com, you’ve got all that…except the fact that the girls are dominating tiny GI Joe and Homies figures…and they’re Canadian.

Apparently everything is big in Canada

The girls are cute from what I can tell. These aren’t just garden variety amatuers, there are some on here that I wouldn’t be surprised that have actually done some work elsewhere in other fetish genres.

And as a disclaimer, I don’t have in any way, shape, or form, have an interest in Macrophilia myself.

Just to make that perfectly clear…however that doesn’t mean I won’t share something for the closet perverts out there.

Interested in checking out more? Go here

Stabbity Stab Stab: Ghostface’s newest victim is Emma Roberts

Ghostface gets another virgin to terrorize

Old franchises never die; they just get sequels.

It’s been reported for the last several years that Dimension has been wanting to restart their dormant Scream series with a fourth entry that would provide a new trilogy for the character Ghostface, first seen in the now-classic 1997 original that starred Neve Campbell, Courtney Cox, and David Arquette. Alongside these returning actors, several names have been tossed around as potential fodder for Ghostface to wreck havoc on: Ashley Greene (best known for portraying Alice Cullen in the Twilight franchise), Hayden Panettiere (“Claire Bennett” on Heroes),  and Rory Culkin (You Can Count on Me) have all been in talks for starring in the upcoming Scre4m (or Scream 4) that is also confirmed to be helmed by the original creative team of Kevin Williamson and legendary director Wes Craven.

However, aside from definite confirmation of the crew behind the project and the return of Campbell and the Arquettes, the only solid peice of casting  news has been reported by Entertainment Weekly, with Emma Roberts (Nancy Drew) being confirmed today for the role of Jill Kessler, cousin to Sidney Prescott (Campbell). Details are still being sketched out as the film gears up for production, with the Weinstein Company look for a release date of April 15, 2011. Jamie Kennedy, who appeared in Scream, Scream 2, and a cameo in Scream 3, was also rumored to reprise his role as film geek Randy Meeks, despite being killed off in Scream 2.

If You Want Blood, You Got It!

There’s always an Elm Street…

I remember sitting in 5th period Journalism in high school, in the back corner with Darby and Thomas and we were discussing slasher villains. It was joked that of the big three (Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, and Freddy Krueger), Jason would be a metalhead, Freddy’d be into disco, and Michael would be the sophisticate, with his smoking jacket and fez hat shaking his head at the children he gave birth to. I also remember the end of Jason Goes to Hell vividly; it’s the one where it was revealed that this whole time, Jason Voorhees was the product of some demon worm, for those playing the home game. Anyway, at the end of the film, when all is said and done and Jason has been dispatched for the last time (until Jason X), Freddy Krueger’s gloved knife hand pops up out of the ground and, laughing maniacally, grabs Jason’s mask, bringing it down to hell with him. Along with several references to Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead series, this set the peice for not just 2003’s Freddy vs. Jason, but also the immensely popular Freddy vs. Jason vs. Ash comic books from Wildstorm, Dynamite Entertainment, and DC Comics.

What does all of that mean? It means that the stuff nightmares are made of, Freddy, Jason, along with Chucky (Child’s Play), Ghostface (Scream), Michael Myers (Halloween), Ash Williams (Evil Dead/Army of Darkness), Pinhead (Hellraiser), that fiend Dr. Herbert West (Re-Animator) and more come together in a PC-fan game entitled “Terrordrome: Rise of the Bogeymen”. The game’s creators, HUR4C4N, Fabien Rixens, and Mike Tibo, have brought together some of the biggest names names in horror for a Mortal Kombat/Street Fighter style one-on-one fighter (using an engine that looks similar to the polygonal one used for Mortal Kombat 4). In a nod that could only come from fans of the old MK games, the announcer either appears to be an appropriation of the one that shouts “FIGHT!” or it is the same guy.

Is it 1984 yet?

Terrordrome is populated with all your usual fighter moves: grab, punch, kick, and dodge, and also throws in some special goodies that hark back to specific scenes from the films the characters come from. What this means, according to the game’s creators, is that if “You’re an unconditional fan of Japanimation style video game, pose to pose animated characters, and epileptical moves happening in the blink of an eye, you may not be seduced by Terrordrome. The game is more about realistic characters and animations with even more violent and lethal moves than any ninja or karate master!“: in the case of Ash, who is designed according to his classic Army of Darkness look, you have moves that allow him to open up the Necronomicon for Spell (down, right, K), another for use of his shotgun (down, right, S), which can also be augmented with an air shotgun move using the same combination. Sadly, I was not able to use much of Ash’s chainsaw when I was playing, but I am looking in the future to figure out a combo for it so that I could. Leatherface, however, is able to use his fully functional chainsaw for all moves, including the Thunder Saw, which provides some devastating damage that allowed me to dispatch Freddy before he went wormy on me. Each level is also a specific scene from the killers movies, allowing you to chose where you want to do battle. We’ve got Crystal Lake, Elm Street, even the old Myers place in Haddonfield puts in an appearance.

Good, evil, undead, it don't matter, as long as I'm the guy with the gun

What also makes the game ideal, besides the plethora of slasher/serial killer legends, is that the game is free for download. Yes, that means that all it takes is just the click of a button, cleaning out the 4gb’s of porn that you probably have to make room, and then downloading Terrordome to start enacting all the ideas you’ve written down for fanfictions; wanna have Maniac Cop take on Candyman? It can happen. Jason in his many different looks beat the crap out of Chucky? You got it. While there is no definite storyline, it’s probably appropriate; I mean, what slasher film has ever had a clear, cleanly defined storyline in their series? After all, Jason’s made it through ten sequels and a remake without anyone knowing what the heck’s going on. In effect, by taking out that pesky element, that leaves the gorehound to sit back and enjoy the fights without anything in between.

Shapes and Masks

Check out the game site for more news and for the free download. Not sold yet on whether you wanna play? Take a look at the bottom for a sample clip.

Holy moist punanny Batman!

Batman's gonna pet this pussy (cue audience "booooo")

 The idea of comic books and adult entertainment is as old as the medium itself. Do you think that your favorite superheroes were innocent back then? Well, maybe after the 1950s they were for a while, but in the early days, there was a lot of kinkiness hidden in the most subtle contexts of numerous titles…one that immediatley comes to mind is Wonder Woman under William Moulton Marston and her legendary penchant for bondage and domination. And then there’s the art of Greg Land, whom I did not notice before until I read this article that Land has a dirty, dirty…pencil. But that’s another subject for another blog.

On May 10, it was announced the one of the biggest distributors of adult entertainment, Vivid, has launched a superhero pornographic imprint called Vivid-Superhero and they are looking specifically at the stable of heroes that populate the universes of Marvel and DC, but they are also looking at the non Marvel/DC character the Green Hornet for parody purposes.

“The parodies under this new imprint will pay tribute to the world’s most popular comic heroes,” said Steven Hirsch, Founder/Co-chairman of Vivid. “[Lead Director] Axel [Braun] already started pre-production on a parody of Superman, which will be followed by those of The Green Hornet, Spider-Man, Wonder Woman, Captain America, Thor, and The Incredible Hulk. We made the decision to create the imprint after working with Axel on “Batman XXX: A Porn Parody“, an Axel Braun Productions movie to be distributed by Vivid. Axel truly did an amazing job with it, and we agreed that together we could mine the really rich treasure of superheroes and have a lot of fun doing it”

Previously there was a notable Spider-Man porn parody in the form of the softcore, Cinemax feature “Spiderbabe”, starring Misty Mundae in the title role (that had so-so production values and a humorous switch on the Raimi plot), but this is the first time that a large adult company has decided to take on some of the big names from the big two of Marvel and DC. Out the gate first, as mentioned in the above press release, is “Batman XXX”, of which there have been two trailers released so far, and, from what I can tell, Vivid definitely has spared no expense in this venture.

 One of the first things I noticed in the trailer (there are two, by the way, both posted at the bottom of this article) is that this is probably one of the most faithful parodies I’ve ever seen. From the outset of the first trailer, it shows that Vivid did not pussyfoot around when it came to creating the look and feel of the Adam West 1966 Batman television show. There is a rumor (unsubstantiated as of yet) that some of the original costume designers from the show did work on this parody and it shows in the below picture of Evan Stone as the Riddler…if he’ll even be called that. Interestingly enough, while Vivid was able to get the rights to likenesses for use in this parody, this did not extend to the famous iconography of Batman (portrayed by Dale Dabone) and Robin (brilliantly cast James Deen) who are now sporting XXX’s and X’s in place of their famous logos.

Riddle me this, riddle me that: What weighs 500 pounds and flies?

 Also starring Tori Black, Lexi Belle, and porn legend Randy Spears channeling Cesare Romero as the Joker, the parody also looks to be adding the original 1966 Batmobile along with the famous “red phone” , wall gags, and….well, you’ll just have to check out the trailers for good measure.

Both are safe for work, by the way. Sit back and do the Batusi while you’re at it.

Bark Like a Dog

It’s taken me a few weeks to really become acclamated to the warmth of the sun that is summer. I’m not particuarly fond of it, or it’s sister, spring, but live in it I do. It usually means intense heat, pollen and dust aggravating my sinuses, working ten hour doubles,  and worrying about the upcoming Fall semester. It’s interesting to denote, however, that it never used to be that way, that somewhere along the way I lost track of summertime funtime, and became jaded to the inherent fun a lot of my cohorts see in it.

Driving to work Sunday morning, it was already warm; my uniform Target consists of nothing but a plain red shirt, khaki pants, and a name tag that displays my name. Over the near two-years I’ve been employed there, I’ve tried to break up this visual monotony; recently I added upon my lapel the Ghostbusters logo. But this was the furthest from my mind as I crossed Fir and began to make my way towards Jasmine, where on my right was the Flash Foods store, already buzzing with business this early. And to my left was the Cinema 7, the only theater in a town and the only bastion of entertainment that we have left. As I sat at the red light, I quickly scanned through the lineup: Shrek 4, Robin Hood, Date Night, and Letters to Juliet sounded appealing. But then my eyes fell upon the words “Eclipse–On Sale”. It had crept up on me that the next film in the Twilight Saga was already upon me…and I had not even seen New Moon yet. I’d declined the offer to go see it during Winter break because I had no interest to revisit that part of my life (not to mention the offer came from an individual I had issues with and was not looking forward to being the butt of jokes), but I knew that I was going to see Eclipse, for the very large fact that we would be seeing the Quileute werewolves in all their hair. It is a rich bias, but I have always had an inclination towards werewolves insamuch as movie monsters go.

But only because I understood the subtle tragedies of feeling as though I were different on the inside than out that I was ever able to truly appreciate that feeling of being other.

When I was growing up, I looked forward to summer vacation; not for going outside, due to the fact that I was consistently sick as a child, but because my mother allowed myself and my younger brother to stay up late at night. This meant that on weekdays, I could be up for hours in the evening looking through the channels for something to watch. I don’t know what it was, it may have been getting the Monsters series of the Real Ghostbusters toyline that did it, or maybe it had to do with seeing the box art for the re-released Universal Monsters on VHS, but I was always on the lookout for the original movies. I became pretty good at sitting in front of my grandfather’s television at the old Previews channel and watching those boxes go up the screen. Occasionally my eyes would drift to something like “Weird Science” or “The Breakfast Club” and around 2:00 p.m. I’d switch over to Fox for Disney Afternoon. But I never gave up the hope of looking for those old horror movies, but it wasn’t until we moved around the corner to our house did I see my first classic scary movie. I can’t tell you what channel I eventually found it on…but I do remember it being a Friday night in October, my brother and mother were asleep and with the volume down low I switched over to a film I’d heard about on the news and read about in school…1981’s An American Werewolf in London.

A decade on, An American Werewolf in London still tends to send shivers down my spine due to that transformation sequence; I didn’t see the original Wolf Man (with Lon Chaney, Jr.) until high school, so this was my childhood exposure to seeing a realistic enough portrayal of a man transforming into a wolf. In hindsight, the sequence might look a little dated since we’ve expanded past Jim Henson style animatronics, but man….staying up at 2 a.m. and watching that at the age of 8, I held my breath as I saw David Naughton’s bones crack, break, and shift into his feral form as he screamed in agony, with Sam Cooke’s version of “Blue Moon” (along with the Marcels and Bobby Vinton’s) being used in this sequence that it, along with “Mr. Sandman” still rank as one of the unlikeliest creepy songs.

I didn’t really have a lot of close friends until around middle school; in hindsight that is probably my own doing as I didn’t know how to relate to anybody in any of the classes I had. I would mostly sit out of recess and read near the swings while everyone else played and this went the same way until around the end of 5th grade, when I began forging the group that have remained, for the most part, in my life for almost twenty years. We’re not as close now as we were five years ago, but even though we’ve splintered somewhat, there are still indelible trademarks that have remained the same. We were all geeks and misfits in a way, though I’d never say we were ever Goths or “Spooky Kids”. We were just a bunch of kids who did their own thing different from everyone else and in a way, that mindset has still remained the same even when we’re older. For instance, if not for Darby Nickless, I probably wouldn’t say I do a lot of things or go a lot of places without his push. But even so, even he was one to deride some of my habits back then. Even though I was technically the oldest, I was still enamored by childish hobbies, and among my group, I was probably the only one who truly enjoyed watching Big Wolf on Campus.

From a memory standpoint, no episode stands out, except that I liked the show enough to watch all 65 episodes. Maybe if they ever come out with a big DVD box set of the show will I ever remember why I liked it; the production values were low, even by Canadian standards, and the stories (from what i can recall) were even lower, but had a low-brow Three Stooges kind of feel to them. But that didn’t really matter in the long run. Even though I continued to watch the show, I found myself moving on into high school, and the shocking idea that maybe it was vastly uncool to still keep talking about Ghostbusters and He-Man and comic books. I’d stopped playing with toys around ’98, and had lost nearly all of my original Ghostbusters items (save Ray, whom I had kept in a spare shoebox that I discovered again at my grandfather’s years later) in a mass purge. I’d changed, but what hadn’t was that I was old enough now to start looking at garage sales and used bookstores for the VHS tapes I’d liked looking at so much as a kid. I didn’t worry about a curfew much anymore; whenever the original 1931 Frankenstein was on at 11, I’d be up and watching the Gothic nightmare of someone misunderstood.

A lot of people will speak fondly of their high school experiences: the parties they went to, the games they lost or won, the friends they made, all they women they fucked. I can’t speak for myself in that regard; I kept to myself primarily, eating lunch by myself if Darby was unavailable, or Devin Hughes was somewhere else; I’d find a spot behind the cafeteria, a lonely pair of stairs in front of the loading zone of the cafeteria where I could stretch out and read. I was even more isolated from my main group by Junior year and it was still settling in that I had had failed spectacularly in really making memories in high school. By that time, I had begun moving into a darker mindset, and began to ask questions that I hadn’t really thought of before, and began to denote myself as an Outsider, even when I didn’t have to be. It just seemed all the more comfortable for where I was heading; if I was going to be a monster with my messed up thoughts, why drag someone else down to the windmill to burn with me?

It was Valentine’s Day of ’04, bitterly cold around that time that a lot of students tended to wear scarves to class. I forget how low it was, but I know that when the temperature drops low enough for anyone to simulate smoking, it’s definitely a chilly day. The cafeteria was packed, and even if I had wanted to eat inside, I didn’t feel like sitting next to or across from someone I didn’t have anything in common with. And that was pretty much E V E R Y B O D Y. Heading outside to my secret spot, I ducked really quick so that none of the teaching staff would see me; I could get in trouble for not eating in the designated area. Not serious trouble, but enough to be sent to Brenda Peterson, principle of our high school, instead of Rodeffer, the dean.

Once I knew the coast was clear, I grinned to myself. I had intended to eat my piping hot Red Baron pepperoni pizza and fries, and get down to reading a book I’d brought from home. I no longer remember what book it was, but I’m willing to suspect it was an issue of Fangoria, becauase of what happens next.

I saw her from a distance and recognized her immediatley. She was in my next class, and we didn’t really talk, but I had to admit that I had a faraway schoolboy crush on her. She was also sitting in my spot eating her lunch. The submissive part of me wanted to just turn around and leave her there; I’d never been very good at confrontation and, logically, she was there and where would she go if I made her move? But then logical thought was flawed; I was there first, had been since last August. I was owed that place dammit.

I have an unusual way of walking: I rarely make noise. She did not hear me as I crept up on her. I could see that she was engrossed in a book, which I surmised to be for our class. “Hey.” 300 years of the English language comes down to one syllable. She looked up at me, and her blue eyes became wide with the momentary startle I had given her.

I’d often thought about what it would be like to have a girlfriend. The first real crush I had was a girl named Erika, who was a Beatles fan. Perhaps that is indicative of girls I’ve liked; they were all fans of the Beatles. With this girl in front of me, I forced myself to make conversation: shop talk about our class, school, until she noticed the magazine tucked in my arm. “What’s that?” she asked. I told her; she grinned. I did not realize she liked the old horror classics, and was too a fan of horror movies. I asked her what her favorite was. “The Howling” she answered.

We stayed friends until June, when she moved to California. I haven’t heard from her since. We never got to be boyfriend/girlfriend, and part of me wonders if I was even mentally mature enough for one. But I’ll retain the memory of her bringing her laptop one day in March and we watched The Howling at what had become “our” secret spot.

Things changed, people change, but the spot hasn’t…and neither has The Howling

In the Spring of this year, I was with Darby when it was decided we should go see The Wolfman, starring Benicio Del Toro. I was no longer living at home at this time, staying in a dorm at Jacksonville, so we hightailed it to Regency Square Mall’s AMC 24. I’d never felt like Jacksonville was my city; I’ve met some great people going to school there, and some have even become friends I want to keep for a long time. But there are others who sour the experience in such an epic way that I looked for any opportunity in my free time to get off campus and not stay around in the dorm watching my other roommate and his fuckbuddy be annoying. I did not like being reminded of how many times I’d failed in moving past the Friend Zone with some of the girls I’ve met at the school. In fairness, I did not have a “get up and go” attitude either; I just saw that “No” blazing red right above their heads before I even said anything to them.

I’d struck up a long-distance friendship with a girl who did not live in Jacksonville, but shared a lot of the same interests I did. It marked one of the rare times that I did not feel like a mutant as I talked to her. I would not meet her until about a month and a half after watching The Wolfman, but back then, our texts were like conversations as we conversed throughout the day. I was really digging her. 

Sitting in that darkened theater, we talked until the credits began rolling. The Universal logo rolled before morphing into a moon. There weren’t a lot of people in there with us, and I didn’t care. The plot was slow in building up to the action that everyone wanted to see, but it paid off handsomely. The love story between Talbot and Gwen Conliffe (played by the stunning Emily Blunt) wasn’t as realistically portrayed as it could have been. But the growth of their romance was interesting because here was someone that nobody quite understood trying to overcome his own shortcomings…and being bitten by a werewolf proved to be a vastly large shortcoming. It was a bloody good time. At the end I could hardly wait to tell my friend all about it, so she could see it, and perhaps slyly suggest her to come up to see it with me. That never happend, remaining a consistent fantasy.

We eventually met and things didn’t click as much I was hoping they would. I spent a little while back and forth, wondering what it was that I had done so wrong. I didn’t want to approach the idea that sometimes people just don’t click, but I eventually had to. No matter how much one person matches so well with another, it’s a scary thought that being matched together doesn’t necessarily mean things line up perfectly. And maybe it was all for the best; maybe again I still wasn’t ready for a relationship, and I asked myself when the day would come that I would be able to breathe and not feel frightened at the fact that I’m still vastly immature inside after all.

 

I don’t think I’ll ever truly stop asking myself questions of who I am and where I’m going. I’ll never be fully satisfied with the person that I am until I have probably found vindication for everything that I’ve done and gone through. I also ask myself why is it that out of all the movies I’ve loved since I was a kid, that it has to be films about people turning monsters that I identify the most with, that tend to have a larger impact on my life than even Ghostbusters has. I don’t think of that as a bad thing; in an ever fluctuating timeline, werewolf movies have remained consistent for me. I don’t think I’ll be able to go into a Blockbuster without my eye immediatley gravitating towards the horror section and my thumbs running down the spines looking for a title that has to deal with lycanthropy.

It makes me wonder that when my wedding day comes, if the cake will have an image of Lon Chaney imprinted on it (providing whoever my spouse will be, is cool with such a thing) or that as I’m getting ready to go to the church I’ll flip through channels and see Werewolf in a Women’s Prison on somewhere.

At least I know I’ll always have something to look forward to in this crazy mad world.

 

\m/^—^\m/

http://geeksofdoom.com/2010/05/16/rock-legend-ronnie-james-dio-has-died/

 

“- Wendy Dio

Today my heart is broken, Ronnie passed away at 7:45am 16th May. Many, many friends and family were able to say their private good-byes before he peacefully passed away. Ronnie knew how much he was loved by all. We so appreciate the love and support that you have all given us. Please give us a few days of privacy to deal with this terrible loss. Please know he loved you all and his music will live on forever.”

The above is an attempt at an emoticon that pays tribute to one of heavy metals most enduring symbols, namely throwing up the horns. I don’t mean the poor attempt at metal where it is either symphonic metal, screamo metal, or goatee metal rap such Limp Bizkit. I’m talking about the metal of the early 1980s (roughly 1980 to about 85/86, before the second gen speed metal bands such as Anthrax and Metallic arose), the metal that was something mysterious and dark, and, at the start, crazy, insane fun. Despite metalheads and punk rockers hating each other vehemently as much as Yankees and Red Sox fans hate one another, one cannot deny that both had a similar manic energy built upon insanity built upon rage built upon youth. Particularly at the outset of both genres.

Black Sabbath is to metal what the Ramones are to punk; pioneering bands who did not get the recognition they right deserved until years later. Whereas the Ramones hung up their leather jackets after twenty-two years, Black Sabbath has remained a mighty force indeed. Over forty years on, Black Sabbath is still active, with the original lineup of Ozzy Osbourne, Tony Iommi, Geezer Butler, and Bill Ward still there, even though all four weren’t present at the same time. The group suffered through several detours in lineups after Ozzy was dispatched, and while there are several who played with the group that are some of the biggest names in metal (Vinny Appice and Cozy Powell to name a few), one name in particular is seen with as much reverie and wonder as Ozzy (and perhaps the most notable name to the group that’s not an original member) was Ronnie James Dio, who passed away on May 16 at the age of 67 from a brief battle with stomach cancee.

Dio was a member of Black Sabbath for five years, leaving the band Rainbow (you’d have to be a badass to have a band named Rainbow…or Ritchie Blackmore in your band) for his most lasting legacy in Sabbath; he originally stayed from 1979-1982 and returned at different intervals, and recorded three studio albums with group, along with one live album. But the periods where Dio was out front are arguably Sabbath’s most enduring after the work with Ozzy (and arguably the most available: in 2006, the compilation “The Dio Years” was released, which marks the first time that the non-Ozzy period of the band was officially spotlighted, as the previous “The Sabbath Stones”, covering the years 1983 to 1996, was never formally issued in North America). His vocal range was unique, at the one hand rhythmic, working alongside the guitar to provide a contrast to the rising highs and lows, and on the other hand dramatic and sweeping, a style that gave metal diversity (Bruce Dickinson of Iron Maiden employs a similar style). Dio was also first and foremost, a fanboy. The video to one of his most popular songs, Holy Diver, employed a style that owed a lot more to Conan the Barbarian and Lord of the Rings than the Lord Satan.

Words can’t do Dio justice, and his influence is insurmountable. The torch will never be passed .

R.I.P. Dio

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLOzKtSuPBE

In Bloom

In Bloom

By Cedric G! Bacon

Slouched and puffy-eyed from a late evening (that turned into early morning) writing songs he felt he’d never play for anyone, Garth Lillington contemplated laying his head down on his desk and catching up on the sleep he missed because he was wrestling with rhyming “indentured” with “tenure”. He had to use his English major for something other than sleeping in class, he felt.

He didn’t usually get these slacker feelings often; more like they would creep up on him when he least expected them to pal around his shoulders, sort of like a suburban Laurel and Hardy. Of course, being from suburbia, it had the superpower of doing things like that to someone.

He heard a chair squeak beside him, and looked up lazily; it was Ding-Dong Fowler, beaming so bright that light reflected off his heavily bleached bicuspids, off of Garth’s glasses, and into his eyes. “What up dude?” he said sliding into his chair, slinging his backpack on to the chair’s spine, then sat on top of his desk to face Garth.

            “What up with you?” replied Garth. Being that it was too early for Ding-Dong’s usual shenanigans, Garth glared blearily at his companion with a look that made him resemble an alcoholic..

            “This,” and Ding-Dong produced from his pocket a folded piece of paper, handing it to Garth, who eyed it suspiciously, recalling once during their Freshman year the last time Ding-Dong had given him something that was folded up. The pages were “mysteriously” stuck together, causing Garth to regret this action for the last three years. “It’s clean dude,” laughed Ding-Dong. “I ripped it off the wall near Steinburner’s office.” Weighing his odds like Slim Pickens facing down doom in a deserted dustbowl dance, Garth gingerly took the paper, grabbing it by the edge, and unfolded it. Plastered on the front in bright red bold letters against a black backdrop ran the following:

BATTLE OF THE BANDS

UNF

WANTS YOU TO ROCK!

            Followed by the usual descriptions of time (Wednesday, 8 p.m.), and where (Jerome Horwitz Memorial Gym). Two days from now. The poorly done Photoshop job was of some no-name 80s hair metal band whose image joined countless billions when one wanted to search for “rock music” in Google or Yahoo.

            Garth finished reading this and looked up at the smiling Ding-Dong, who had now produced his drumsticks and was beginning to twirl them, a dark look in his eye that told Garth two things. “And my answer is no,” was Garth’s reply.

            “Aw come on! You didn’t even think about it!” pleaded Ding-Dong.

            “Okay, how about this?” Looking up at the sky, Garth pretended to give Ding-Dong this benefit of the doubt, before replying, “Okay, thought about it. Hell no. Better?”

            “But why, man why? This is everything that the Jughead’s need!”

            Sitting upright now, Garth looked directly in Ding’s eyes. “First,” he said, holding up his forefinger, “We gots no songs. Feel me?”

            “We got songs,” Dingy grinned. “You just don’t wanna let her know that we do.”

            “Secondly,” Garth continued, ignoring Dingy, “it’s just me and you. We need a singer,” he tacked up his middle finger along with his ring finger, “and a bassist. We ain’t the White Stripes here.”

            “Hey, Meg White’s a hot little…”

            “It’s too early in the morning and I’m a little past tired to hear the end of that sentence.”

            “Just talkin’ bout Meg.” No answer from Garth. “Dig it?”

            “I don’t dig. As much as I don’t dig dragging our band—which we barely have by the way—to a Battle of the Bands in two days with no songs or even a proper rhythm section. You do realize the only people who go to those things are bands who bark more than sing!”

            It was Dingy’s turn to have the floor. “You’re much too hard on our band. You play rhythm guitar anyway, so if we just get a bass player, we’ll just have you sing…”

            “Hell no.”

            “Or get her to sing.” Ding-Dong nodded over behind Garth’s ear, knowing Garth was too chicken to look at Shannon Hale come striding in, her long legs making their appearance first before her curvaceous figure followed the rest of her inside the classroom. “You know she plays bass guitar too.”

            “Shhhh! Shut up before she hears you!”

            Ding-Dong grinned. He’d brought out his Ace; he’d been friends with Garth since Sunday school, where it was him, Garth, and their mutual friend Froggie who got kicked out for saying words that began with F. And S. And C. And A.  And another A, the one that has “hole” added at the end. They’d been through so much together, they knew each other well.

            And Ding-Dong knew that Garth was such a hopeless romantic.

            “Isn’t she…”

            “Schlock Pussycat broke up last week. Cat told me, so Shan’s up for grabs. And single.” Ding-Dong grinned broadly as these words left his lips, watching for Garth’s reaction and seeing the gears (albeit spinning slowly due to sleep deprivation, but still working) running behind the Jugheads erstwhile leader. Why else would he throw that bit out about her singledom if he didn’t know that would give Garth the push to…

            “I’ll talk to her,” he finally said.

            “Knew you would,” replied Ding-Dong relaxing back in his seat. It was a poorly held secret that Garth had a thing for Shan since middle school. The only person the college who didn’t know it? That would be Shannon, who had always treated Garth like a really good friend, never knowing that her “really good friend” did not have the balls to admit his long-standing crush on her. Ding-Dong often heard the laments in the songs that, despite Garth’s claim that the band had no songs, he knew full well weren’t just about any random punk rock dream girl. Ding-Dong had seen his friend often keep quiet in his crushes, preferring to let his poems and lyrics say what he couldn’t say as he remained a “ really good friend”, rather than the boyfriend that he wanted to be.

            And hey, if it meant that Garth would be less of a sour-ass son of a bitch, then Ding-Dong was happy to push things to their rightful conclusion.

            Shannon sat down and began going over the materials for class that day. Garth stopped a moment, allowing his heart to catch up with his legs. The nerve he’d had just forty-five seconds ago was slowing leaving him and settling quite nicely in his bladder.

            He was starting to turn around back to his seat when he heard a sing-song voice say, “Oh, hey Lillie.” He winced a little when she said her affectionate nickname for him. “What’s up?”

            Shit! “Hey Shan, not much, did you do the homework last night?”

            She shook her head. “Not all of it. Thank God that old man Bowyer always comes in late from his morning coffee eh?” They both shared a laugh at their Biology teachers morning habit.

            “Yeah,” Garth said. “Say, listen, I had…something I, uhhhh…wanted to ask you.”

            “Yeah, sure Lil. Shoot.”

            It didn’t take long for Garth to explain himself to her, and she listened with eagerness, looking wide-eyed, and surprising Garth with her how attentive she was to his every word.

            “Seems like a rock solid plan, Lil,” she finally said. “When do you wanna have practice?”

            Garth thought on this for a moment. What would a leader do? he thought, stroking the little scruff on his chin. “Ummm, when’s a good time for you…to come over that is.” Yeah, that was a smooth move exlax.

            “Sure, sounds fine with me,” Shannon said smiling. For a second, Garth felt a sense of elation enter him, as though he could honestly see himself as worthwhile.

            “Hey Shannon.” Garth turned around, to see Mike Horner wave and subtly elbow Garth out of the way. “What’s up? We still on for tonight?”

            “Definitely!” Shannon said, then turned to Garth. “Hey, you know Garth Lillington right?”

            “Oh yeah,” Mike said. “You got that one band. Aren’t you queercore?”

            Heat from the anger he felt flushed to his face, but Garth kept it in. “Uh, only our old bassist, Brian, was.”

            “Oh yeah, that’s right.” From Mike’s tone, Garth could tell that this conversation was over and he could add nothing further. “So I’ll see you tomorrow night then Shan?”

            “For sure Lil!” Shannon said.

. . . .

            “Alright, that was good, but let’s take it from the top again.” Beads of sweat were dotting across Garth’s forehead as he gripped his Olympic white Fender Mustang like a battle axe, his left hand wrapped around her neck in a choke-hold worthy of Ultimate Warrior. He wiped the moisture away, cursing that they had decided to practice in a garage (“We’re a garage band!” Ding-Dong had explained, offering up his garage as the setting of their “Behind the Music” episode), namely one that lacked proper air conditioning. Still, though, he realized it wasn’t all bad: the day before, he’d talked to Shannon after class and one look in her emerald eyes and he almost had to toss himself into a vat of cool water to keep his composure from freaking out.

            He looked over at Shannon, who’d taken a minute’s breather and was sitting ontop of her amplifier. She was wearing her usual leg-warmers, accentuated with a plaid skirt and Chuck T’s, with a Bauhaus (or was it Love and Rockets? There was no name but Garth definitely recognized Daniel Ash between Shannon’s breasts, which he tried not to be caught looking at) t-shirt completing the look. He watched as she pushed back her long blonde-hair, light glinting off her glasses, and took a sip from a water bottle with the label ripped off. Her bass, a ’66 Fender Jazz in Lake Placid Blue, smiled at Garth as she leaned next to her.

            He’d been lying if he didn’t say that the thought of what may have happened between her and Mike Horner last night hadn’t been aching at him as he leaned into the mic to sing “New Rose” by the Damned (just a crazy insane punk song, to get the crowd going) and happened to catch a glance at Shan, wincing a little at the irony as he sang the opening lines: “Is she really going out with him?” before Dingy came crashing in with his drums.

            “Come on, give us a break G-dizzle!” complained Ding-Dong, wiping his face with a towel. “We’ve been over the same four songs since school let out. I can’t even tell what time it is in here!”

            “It’s Gucci time, and I don’t think we’re as tight as we can be.” They had agreed on two originals, and two covers; “New Rose”, and the Ramones “Teenage Lobotomy”. Dingy’s desire to be the next Keith Moon came in handy for “New Rose” but he was way too sloppy for the other songs and Garth knew this. A band was only as tight as their drummer and the drummer was undoing everything. “Let’s go over the songs Shan did again.”

            “I dunno, my throat’s getting kinda hoarse,” quipped Shannon. “I read that for special school events we were excused from classes. Let’s call it a night and work some more tomorrow. Lunch maybe?”

            Dingy agreed. “I second that. I wanna watch some wrestling and…”

            “Shut up Ding,” Garth said. He then looked over at Shannon. “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah. Pfft, I’m fine. Just a little tired is all.”

            Garth nodded. “Alright, well, I guess we can call it…”

            “FINALLY!”

            “Shut up Ding.”

            “Well that’s great guys,” Shannon said putting away her bass. “So lunchtime is cool right?”

            “Yeah, cause it’s gonna be a pain my ass moving my kit and…”

            “Shut up Ding! Yeah, Shan, that’s fine.” Garth stopped for a moment, and thought. Then he added, “Is your roommate picking you up?”

            Shannon shook her head. “Nah, I’m walking back to the dorm tonight. Nobody’s there at so I’m mostly by myself.”

            “You hear that?” winked Dingy

            “Ding…”

            “Okay, I’ll shut the fuck up.”

            Shannon laughed. “You guys are too much.” She looked over at Garth. “I’m glad that we’re working together. Tricia Woods said you were pretty good, and I’m glad that she wasn’t lying.”

            Really? Garth thought. “That’s awesome.” He smiled crookedly.

            “See ya.”

            “Yeah, see ya tomorrow.”

            “DUDE! Go after her!” Ding-Dong threw his drumsticks at Garth’s back as Shannon left, closing Ding-Dong’s garage door behind her back.

            “Yeah right, we’re just friends,” Garth said as he began packing his Mustang in her case. He’d gotten pretty good at lying to himself, to avoid the unutterable pain one goes through when the status quo is disrupted. And Garth knew that, the moment you utter the words “I”, “like”, and “you” to a friend, well, you were certainly doomed. Kiss that friendship goodbye.

            “Because you say you’re friends! Have you even had a real conversation with her?”

            “We talk all the time.”

            “That’s gonna change when she really does join this band.”

            Good point. “I gotta go.”

            Ding-Dong grinned. “I thought so.”

. . . .

            Even though I’m straight-edge, I don’t think Ian Mackaye would mind if I thought about drinking some liquid courage, thought Garth, one of millions of thoughts that were racing through his head. Despite Ding-Dong’s garage feeling like the 10^th Level of Hell, a cool breeze had begun to swish around the neighborhood of Mount Vernon and Fairview. Though he was wearing a Mighty Ducks hockey jersey and jeans, Garth could feel it in his bones, causing his nerves to dip ever so steadily. His eyes searched the encroaching darkness, but Shannon had already gone. He contemplated turning around and going back inside, and looking at Ding-Dong’s face. In the back of his head, he could just imagine that everything he’d ever done he’d done in secret because he didn’t want to embarrass himself.

            Which is why nobody knew about his band except close friends and family.

            Which is also why nobody knew he played guitar.

            And which is also why he could never admit his feelings for Shannon to her face.

            “Damn I’m such an asshole,” he said to the wind. “If I were a sad emo kid, I’d so be posting this on LiveJournal right now.”

            “Try Twitter. You’ll get better sympathy that way.”

            He turned around. Shannon was leaning against the garage, smoke twirling and curling from between her fingers. “Why do you want to post on LJ anyway?”

            “To complain about Ding’s bad drumming,” Garth joked. Shannon smiled. There was silence between them for a few moments, enough so that the beats could have been filled by Marky Ramone on a good day. Finally (sighing in his head), Garth opened his mouth and sucked in air and spoke.

            “I thought you were heading home?” Geez why not say “What the hell are you still doing here!”

            Shannon shrugged. “Was, but then I had an idea for a song. Since we’re, y’know bandmates and all. Thought I’d run it by you and see what you thought.”

            “Oh. Okay.”

            “Also, I was getting a little bit hungry so I thought I’d  swing by that Denny’s on Adams for some nom. Wanna join in?”

            “Yeah sure!” Garth replied his voice a little louder than he intended. Bringing it back to normal, he said, “Just lemme grab my guitar and let Ding in on the plans.”

            “Uh, actually, I know Ding’s your friend and all but I was kinda hoping to hang out with you since we don’t really do a lot of that outside of school.”

            Bwah? Garth thought.  Does that mean…

            “Sure. I’ll totally be out in five minutes.”

            Shannon smiled.

            She did not see the Pepper-Jack cheese grin on Garth’s face as he entered Ding’s garage, catching him in the middle of cleaning his cymbals, and nodding to Ding without saying a word and was outside again all within forty-five seconds.

. . . .

            “Bacon cheeseburger, medium well, with sweet potato fries.”

            “And for a drink?”

            Shannon thought for a moment, and then looked over at Garth. “Am I too hipster for black coffee?” she said with a laugh.

            Garth shrugged. “I won’t tell anyone. Your secret identity is safe with me Hipster Girl.”

            “Then coffee, black please, and could I have a dessert menu?”

            “Sure thing hon.” The waitress now turned towards Garth. “And for you sweetie?”

            “Uhhh, fries and a coke please.”

            The waitress scribbled on her notepad. “Got it. Be back with your orders dears.”

            “Thanks,” Garth and Shannon said in unison. Denny’s was oddly empty for a Tuesday night; Garth looked over in one corner booth, and saw an elderly couple wearing matching red berets with black motorcycle jackets and white silk scarves. At the bar was a chef with a greasy apron serving a slim young woman with hay-colored hair and wearing a dark hoodie. Up and down the street outside were the usual Ladies Night crowd at Huntington’s across from Denny’s, singing their favorite drunken carols.

            Things were quiet between Garth and Shannon again. Garth was trying to consciously not make eye-contact, instead concentrating on knuckle-rolling his lucky Johnny Ramone guitar pick that his dad had given him for his sixteenth birthday. An image of the bowl-cut wearing, Mosrite power-chord wheeling guitarist formed as Garth thought, What would Johnny do? He wouldn’t be scared out of his mind to talk to the most beautiful girl in the room right now. He’d say…

            “So that song I was telling you about earlier,” Shannon said, interrupting Garth’s thoughts. “I was up late last night with my brothers watching ‘Night of the Living Dead’.”

            “Romero’s God,” replied Garth. “Did you like the movie?”

            “Eh,” shrugged Shannon. “Zombies aren’t really my big thing for horror. But I liked the idea of a feminist zombie song.”

            “Huh?”

            “Like…” Shannon leaned in a little bit closer. “What if a chick came back from the dead to be a zombie and was starting to chase the boy of her dreams? She’s free of any insecurities and inhibitions she might have had while she was alive.”

            “Except she’s dead,” Garth said.

            “Nobody likes you/ When you’re the/Living impaired/Boys get turned off/When they see my yellow teeth/And balding hair!” sang Shannon with a grin in her voice as she relaxed back in her seat. “People don’t lie in songs, you know.” Garth was impressed; he usually sat down for hours and even days to come up with a lyric that good.

            “You could probably throw in some stuff about how she has to worry about her D-cups falling off and slapping someone in the face at a concert,” he added. “And maybe how she didn’t use to be a maneater but now she’s got the hots for a Manwich.”

            “She wants that meat and knows how to get it,” laughed Shannon. Garth looked around, poking his head above the booth. “See anybody coming?”  Shannon asked.

            “I don’t think you’re gonna get your dessert menu anytime soon,” Garth said.

            “Good.” Shannon reached in her jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette. “Don’t mind do you?” she asked.

            “ Totes cool.”

            “Thanks.” She placed the cigarette in her mouth and lit up for a few seconds before she pulled it out and put it out under the table. “It’s a bad habit, I know.”

            “Nah, totes cool.”

            “Totes…I’ve always wondered you say that. Is that some regional thing?”

            “Me, Ding, and Froggie’s thing. Short for totally actually. When me and Froggie lived in Tampa we started saying it,” he laughed.

            “Oh I see. So I gotta be from Tampa to be cool eh?”

            Garth grinned. “Totes,” he said, causing Shannon to smile. He was beginning to see that it never really took much to make her happy or smile. Sure he knew he’d said some stupid things during school that made her laugh, but he was realizing that she actually enjoyed him outside those walls of the college.

            Some more customers began piling in as their food was finally served. Shannon looked down at her food and then at Garth. “I usually don’t order this much, but I haven’t eaten at all today.”

            “Heh, it’s cool. I’m the same way. Something about my stomach telling me ‘Yo, feed me Seymour!’ throws a heavy hint.”

            “I know right,” laughed Shannon as she dug in. Garth looked around and realized that it was going near midnight when the college kids started piling in and anchoring themselves in all the back-corner booths and at the counter. A couple walked in holding hands, reminding Garth of the old couple (long gone by now) in their near matching outfits, and the long, loving looks they had in their eyes. “Almost looks like they’re gonna eat each other,” Shannon said.

            Garth looked up. “Yeah, a kinda ironic spin on that old saying: Boy meets girl, Girl falls in love with boy…”

            “Girl eats Boy’s Manwich,” Shannon finished as the couple walked by them and parked in a booth two rows down from where they were. Within seconds the couple was making out, their lips locked in a seemingly eternal embrace from which no force on earth (or even heaven for that matter) could break them apart.

            “Yeah,” agreed Shannon. Her plate clear she began sipping her coffee. “I wouldn’t do that though.”

            “Oh?”

            “Yup. Drama-seeking whores only do that. I’m more of a back-row at the movie theater or a quiet lonely night at the beach kind of girl.”

            Almost sputtering on his coke, Garth managed to gargle out, “Bwah?” Shannon laughed as she quietly sipped her coffee.

            “Figured that’d catch you off guard.”

            “Gotta say it did,” laughed Garth.

            Smiling, Shannon said, “So since we’re clearly in the comfort zone with each other now, I want to tell you something.”

            “Uhhh…really?”

            “Yup. There’s a reason why I didn’t want Ding-Dong coming tonight cause I didn’t want him hearing what I want to say.”

            “Oh.”

            “I know you know we hang out a whole lot outside of school,” Shannon said. “And Ding’s a pretty cool guy. Funny, smart. He’s not a bad looking dude either.”

            Shit. Should’ve known, Garth thought. “Yeah, well, that’s Ding for you. I don’t know who’s all on his hit list though.”

            “Oh I know about the hit list. Not really impressed, he goes out with some real bitches from what I’ve seen.”

            “He could use a good girl,” Garth said rolling his eyes. “If you want, I can set something up between him and you.”

            “Eh, I’ll leave him to his dipshits. It’s you I’m interested in.”

            BWAH?!?!  Garth’s mind exploded. Did he hear what he thought he’d heard? “Ahhh,  you’re just messing with me.”

            “I’m not shitting you, Garth. I like you. Bottom line.”

            “But…I don’t get it. Why?” His mind screamed at him, You idiot, I’m checking out if you’re going to keep acting like an asshole. “I mean, we’ve known each other for a while, but I don’t know what you’d see in me. I’m not even your type!”

            “Oh hush up Lillie,” replied Shannon as she finished the last of her coffee. I know what I like. I know how to pick apart dipshits and good guys that I like. And you’re the good guy. I can tell that just from hanging around with you. And as far as being my type…I just know I don’t like being held to what looks like a good jigsaw fit and it turns out to be messed up. You match up well with me without any of the bullshit that a lot of other guys have.”

            Garth was silent for a few moments. He grabbed his Coke glass and began to sip at the ice, scrambling for something at the bottom so he can fathom this bombshell. The only words he could muster were:

            “It’s getting late.”

            Shannon nodded. “Yup. I agree. I’ve probably got like a zillion messages on my answering machine from my dad wondering where the heck I am.”

            They got up from their booth, leaving a tip for their waitress and paying at the counter for their meal, and disappeared into the night, walking with their guitars in their hands as they banged against their sides saying nothing to each other. They stopped at the outside of Shannon’s dorm, standing downstairs opposite each other. Garth did not know what to say, feeling like complete and utter shit the whole way, and there was Shannon looking all calm and cool.

            “Sooo…tomorrow, practice before the show?”
            “Yup,” Shannon said. There was something oddly cool about her response that sent shivers up Garth’s spine.

            “Okay,” was his reply. “See you tomorrow.”

            “Sure. Take care.”

            The chill of that last comment followed Garth all the way back to his dorm, slinging his guitar into the corner and hopped into bed, staring at the ceiling some until sleep took him away.

. . . .

            That afternoon, Garth showed up a little bit late to practice, returning to his previous bleary-eyed state that he had been in days earlier. Leering, Ding-Dong looked at his friend with Groucho Marx eyebrows and said, “So, how’d it go?” Before Garth could muster up an answer (or an excuse), Shannon walked in; in Garth’s mind, the correct word would be glided in, as though she were Stevie Nicks with her flowing scarves. She did not look at Garth, but grinned at Ding-Dong as she took her place to Garth’s left shoulder and set up her equipment.

            Garth sang the covers, and Shannon sang her originals, followed by a little bit of an instruction from Garth about Ding-Dong’s drumming needing to be a little tighter for Shannon’s stuff.  Afterwards, Shannon packed her things, and, before leaving, said, “I’ll be back when the show starts.”

            “Shannon wait,” Garth began. Shannon turned around and looked at him through her glasses. And Garth lost his nerve. “Thanks for helping out.”

            “Yep.”

            After she left, Dingy looked at Garth and said, “Dude! That was colder than when Felicia Wright shot me down! What was going on there?”

            “She likes me,” was all Garth said.

            “That’s awesome! What’d you say to her?”

            “I said it was getting late.” Ding-Dong’s face had suddenly taken on a resemblance to Scooby-Doo that Garth found a little bit funny. He was silent for a few moments, before he said:

            “Dude, you’re worthless.” He walked away from Garth, leaving his friend alone.

            Showtime, the group was playing fifth, right after a couple of hip-hop and dance acts. They weren’t the only rock band playing, but they definitely weren’t the best, from what Garth could see on the list; there was Mike Horner’s band, who was playing right before theirs, and at least three more down the bill. Not too bad.

            Standing beside Ding-Dong at the school amphitheater, Garth craned his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of Shannon. He did; she was standing right next to Mike Horner, holding his hand. Rather than the sounds of Shakira and Beyonce, the sound of a pounding jackhammer filled Garth’s ears. He began thinking about everything, as Mike Horner smiled smugly holding a hand that could have rightly been his…if he hadn’t been so wishy-washy. That was his internal conflict; externally, how could he prove to Shannon that there was more to him than the asshole last night.

            Mike Horner’s Band (that was their real name), was called onstage, and Mike Horner left Shannon alone, allowing Garth the opportunity he needed. But before he could move in, the crowd began to swell when Mike kicked in with a song by the Casualties, that caused a small mosh pit to form. They played two more numbers, both being high energy punk songs needed to induce the crowd, but in Garth’s mind, he saw this as one more obstacle.

            Finally, the Jughead’s were announced, and Garth gulped a little bit. He looked back to the spot where Shannon was standing, but she was gone. Picking up his guitar, he made his way towards the stage, when he ran into Mike Horner, he grinned smugly. “I heard about you and Shannon,” he said.

            “So what?”

            “She came to my house yesterday. Wanna know what me and her did?”

            Garth launched himself on top of Mike Horner, but Mike, being bigger and better built than the slight Garth, slammed Garth against the wall, and held him until Ding-Dong came and broke them up.

            “Hey hey, let’s let the little rockstar get up on stage, eh? All’s fair in love and war, remember?” Mike looked at Garth and then at Ding-Dong.

            “Me and Shannon fucked last night after you left her,” Mike Horner said then spat at Garth’s shoes.

            “You alright man?” Ding-Dong said, patting Garth on the back. “Your lip is bleeding a little there.” Garth did taste the metallic grunginess of blood getting into his mouth. Spitting out a crimson wad, he said “I’m okay. Where’s Shannon?”

            “Backstage getting ready.”

            Garth only nodded, saying nothing as he grabbed his guitar with Ding-Dong following him. In the back, there was Shannon sitting ontop of her bass, her Jazz bass getting ready to shred. She glanced up and turned away, only to quickly say, “Garth?” when she saw his face. Putting her bass down, she went over to him and looked him over. “Jesus Christmas carol, what the hell happened?”

            “Your boyfriend happened,” Ding-Dong said with malice.

            “What?” Shannon replied.

            “Mike Horner gave me a knuckle sandwich…good thing I didn’t have room for dessert,” Garth said.

            “What’d he say to you?” Shannon asked.

            “It’s no big deal. Are you to go on?”

            “Yeah, but…”

            “Ding, get your drums ready. I’ll tell the old man we’re ready.”

            “Right on boss.”

            The lights faded on the audience, making it difficult to see. If he’d been anybody else, Garth would have been ecstatic because that meant that he didn’t have to look at one’s faces to see how much he sucked. But now, he wished he could because that would mean that he could face their face, and see their reaction. Holding his Fender Mustang, slung low, he looked over to Shannon.

            “I like you Shannon Hale. Always have. I don’t care if you and Mike fuck or suck or whatever.”

            “What?” Shannon said. “But Garth…”

            “We’re on.” Garth stepped up to the microphone. “Hey everybody, we’re the Jugheads and this one’s called ‘New Rose’…Is she really going out with him?”

            They blazed through both covers, and followed Shannon’s originals. Garth checked his watch. They had about three minutes left in their set, why stop now? he thought.

            “We got one more song for you guys. It’s an old favorite from our big brothers collection.” Ding-Dong looked at Shannon who returned the glance when Garth faced them both. “Follow me,” was all he said. Then he struck a B-chord, and right away both knew what he was playing, as the crowd went wild.

            “He’s the one, who likes all the pretty songs, and he likes to shoot his guns, and he likes to sing along, but knows not what it means…” Garth sang into the mic with brutal conviction and honesty, as he looked back at Shannon, who was smiling at him.

            In his mind, Garth himself didn’t know what all of this meant. His eyes drifted across the crowd of faces, trying to pinpoint Mike Horner’s, but he did not see it. Probably best that he didn’t, because he would have returned the spit from earlier.

            Although the song was winding down, in his mind Garth imagined that he was being called back for an encore, and put away his Mustang in favor of his J-160 acoustic/electric, with Ding-Dong going offstage to get some snacks for himself. He imagined Shannon sitting there looking confused. He also imagined grabbing a chair, sitting down, and tuning up, before getting down to playing.

            “Words are bleeding through my fingers, heavy with the thoughts that linger, in the mind, I’m thinking only of you.”

            The lights would dim, and he’d say what all he needed to say.

            People do not lie in songs, you know.