(Scene: A gathering of friends, acquaintances and total strangers at a party in a loft apartment. The host’s name is Thad. Thad doesn’t factor into this at all, except to worry about how everyone likes the cheese dip. The cheese dip is fine. A Guest ((AG)) is the focus of attention of a Subset of Other Guests ((SOG)), due to AG’s 1.) level of intoxication and 2.) disregard of “indoor voice.” AG speaks.)

“Here’s what I’ve arrived at: There are two types of people in the world. One of these two types of people is taking a walk in the woods. ‘One’ is ‘You.’ You are walking on a trail when suddenly – BIG burst of surprise – Bigfoot tromps out of the woods and onto the path, roughly 15 feet in front of you. The creature stops, and turns to face you.

“This is Bigfoot. Sasquatch. Skunk Ape, whatever. A 7-foot-tall, reeking, muscular, covered-in-reddish-brown-hair, bipedal hominid. You know this isn’t a guy in a suit. No faking. This is the real fucking deal. Oh, one thing I forgot to mention – you’re carrying a gun.”

(Sylvia, who has been just sort of hanging out on the SOG periphery – which is so Sylvia, by the way – speaks up. Sylvia decides to make this all about her ((again)) and, in that tone, says she can’t imagine walking in the woods – or anywhere – with ANY kind of gun, and especially not one of those “Columbine guns.” AG, keeping it pretty cool, really, though with a strained patience, explains that the gun is a rusty, double-barrel 20-gauge like the one Sylvia’s ((beloved, recently dead)) grandfather showed AG and Sylvia that time at Christmas. AG and Sylvia “have a history.” Sylvia does that smirky, eye-y thing that conveys, “OK, whatever, go on.” “Whatever, fuck you, too, Sylvia,” AG thinks, then continues.)

“Setting the stage: Bigfoot isn’t in attack mode. In fact, Bigfoot is more or less frozen in place with fear. So you’ve got a choice…

“One: You shout ‘HEY!!’ and Bigfoot lumbers into the concealing protection of the forest. There is a snapping of twigs and low-hanging branches. Then nothing. Bigfoot is gone, a lingering stench the only evidence that you briefly stood face to face with Popular Folklore Made Manifest. You will tell no one of this encounter, content to go to your grave with the knowledge that Bigfoot is, like, a real thing.

“Two: You level the shotgun at Bigfoot’s chest as the frightened creature’s heavy-lidded eyes widen in alarm, as its furry hands rise upward, palms out, in a silent entreaty of ‘Please.’ Then you unload both barrels at Bigfoot’s chest. BOOM!! Bigfoot falls to the ground with harsh bursts of final breath, expiring fairly quickly. You have killed Bigfoot. You have put decades of speculation to rest and are the provider of once-elusive proof. In one shotgun blast, ‘cryptozoology’ just became ‘zoology.’ All because of you. Naysayers will be silenced, researchers will be in a state of near-religious ecstasy, and mankind will never be the same.

“There are two types of people in the world,” AG says, swaying a bit from the Jell-O shots. “Those who allow Bigfoot to live, and those who shoot Bigfoot. For the sake of not arguing, let’s say there is no wrong answer. Is there any cheese dip left?”

Thad, heartened, says there’s plenty of cheese dip.

(Written by Scott. Photo by Bevan)

Have you been craving new sounds in your ears? Have you been wondering if you should give your hard earned money to iTunes for some new music? Hell, have you been wondering if you should spend five minutes of your precious life to download new music for free?  We at Safe As Toast would like to help. Thus, we humbly present to you a new ongoing feature…

The Opinions of Middle-Aged Men: Album Reviews

The Black Keys, “Turn Blue” (2014)
I heard this album at some point.

Pink Floyd, “The Endless River” (2014)
OK.

Lana Del Ray, “Ultraviolence” (2014)
The artist-listener dynamic is transactional more or less like this: You don’t give a shit, I don’t give a shit.

U2, “Songs of Innocence” (2014)
“Every Breaking Wave” achieves no mean feat: The comfort of the familiar coupled with the shock of the new. A surge of feeling and truth crests on “Every Breaking Wave.” Helluva song, “Every Breaking Wave.”

Black Sabbath, “13” (2013)
< The first five Black Sabbath Albums
= “Sabotage,” “The Mob Rules,” and that one with the baby devil cover they did with the guy from Deep Purple
> “Technical Ecstasy,” “Never Say Die!,” albums with Dio that aren’t “Mob Rules,” the other ones (?)

Courtney Barnett, “Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit” (2015)
Damn, girl.

Savages, “Silence Yourself” (2013)
Goddamn.

AC/DC, “Rock or Bust” (2014)
Can’t do it. Won’t do it.

Death Cab For Cutie, “Kintsugi” (2015)                                                                                          I like this more than I expected, and I have trouble articulating precisely why. Something about the attention to little details most listeners never consciously process.

Royal Blood, “Royal Blood” (2014) and Death From Above 1979, “The Physical World” (2014)                                                                                                                                                      If Queens Of The Stone Age reproduced and created two, hard-rocking, two-piece bands, then Royal Blood would be the sibling who prefers weed, and Death From Above 1979 would be the sibling who prefers cocaine.

Flying Lotus, “You’re Dead” (2014)                                                                                          What the fuck?!

The Bad Plus, “The Rite Of Spring” (2014)                                                                                The Bad Plus are better than your favorite band. Stravinsky agrees.

Aphex Twin, “Syro” (2014)                                                                                                         Aphex Twin rules, and should do an album with The Bad Plus (who have covered Aphex Twin). Stravinsky agrees.

The Decemberists, “What A Terrible World, What A Beautiful World” (2015)             Yeah, about half of it.

(Opinions by Scott and Bevan. Photo by Bevan.)

“Is shit on fire?!?” isn’t something I enjoy asking while looking out the window at an eerie glow, but sometimes it’s the best I can do.

—-

Pointing out that “Jump Into The Fire” is an LCD Soundsystem cover of a Harry Nilsson tune? That’s just being helpful.

—-

Some days I want to give just one more good tug on Stretch Monster. And then put Stretch Monster in the freezer or whatever you were supposed to do when Stretch Monster ripped.

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That guy who checks the Internet to make sure he’s been playing the opening riff to “Paranoid” properly is a guy who cares and listens. So there.

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Don’t feel bad about, “Wait, NOW I get it!” All in good time…

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My friend Bevan recently celebrated a birthday. I wanted to mark the occasion with more than just a card, and arrived at using social media to push for “bevan” as a verb form. “I bevan after work,” “I just bevved, and I feel fantastic,” “You should really bevan.” What action is “bevan”? “Scrutinize” and “hike” would be fine, but not “grave rob.” That’s not Bevan. The Bevan I know would weigh the cost/benefit of digging up a grave and say, “No.”

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Take that scene when Norman Bates is talking to Marion Crane over dinner. He says, “stuffing birds,” “stuffed birds” and “I like to stuff birds” in about a three-minute stretch. It’s like Hitch is saying, “Get it? Get it?” NOW I get it, but let’s pretend I just saw “Psycho” for the first time.

—-

What’s with this either/or, binary code stuff? Why does something always have to be “better” than something else? DC or Marvel? Warner Bros. or Hannah-Barbera? Sheesh. At least let’s put this to rest: Can’t we all just agree that Depeche Mode covering “Can’t Get Enough” and Bad Company covering “Just Can’t Get Enough” would both be ridiculously awesome?

—-

Marion Crane. NOW etc. Seriously, Hitch, just go ahead and do a movie about birds, already.

—-

You can only say, “I don’t think that novel has a theme, per se,” so many times before people who are close readers nod politely and continue their conversation.

—-

Tough not to score instant cred by referencing Howard Zinn. Or Celtic Frost.

—-

DC is Swamp Thing, Marvel is Man-Thing, in a nutshell.

—-

“I’m not racist, but …” is pretty much a giveaway.

—-
It’s Warner Bros. Jabberjaws? Are you fucking kidding?

—-

Maybe today. Maybe today I’ll use “perfunctory” in conversation.

(Written by Scott. Photo by Bevan.)

How could this not work?

I know this is piling on. “The Daily Show” the other night was scathing as hell, and the editorial boards at the print dailies are primed to get in a few more face shots. Which is kind of sad, because you’re already kind of on the ropes lately, aren’t you? So this is another punch, and honestly, I’d say I was sorry if I meant it. However bad you feel, though, you need to feel just a little worse.

Because this hurts, Rolling Stone.

OK, the chum (your reputation) is in the water and the fins are circling, but this hasn’t been said enough: Good on you for owning this. When it became apparent – startlingly suddenly, really – that there were critical structural flaws in “A Rape on Campus,” you didn’t tarry in dealing with the clustermess. You didn’t hide behind lawyers or stonewall or wait for it all to go away. You contacted Columbia School of Journalism and provided full access to RS staff and editors, who responded to inquiry with candor. The resulting “What Went Wrong?: An Anatomy of a Journalistic Failure” was printed in Rolling Stone itself. You did the very best thing you could do. This time.

Even a cub reporter at the Tiny Town Times knows that the best editor is usually an asshole. Not a crusader who knows how the story is going to be written beforehand. Not an advocate. An asshole. The editor who demands that next phone call or five or 10 when, by the reporter’s reckoning, it’s already Beer O’Clock. The editor who insists on another source, fact-checking, skepticism, difficult questions – journalism.

Remember?

It’s not like you didn’t have a story. You had a vitally important story. For Christ’s sake, babies know there’s a rape epidemic on U.S. college campuses. Campus administrators know it. Students know it. Victims know it. And God love you, Rolling Stone, you tried to give the victims something. What they got was “What Went Wrong?” What they got was shit.

With the due diligence a second-year J-school student would give, I don’t know, pretty much anything, “A Rape on Campus” could have been more than just a classic, defining piece of investigative reporting. It could have sparked a discussion, been a force for change, for something good. It could have said, “Stop not looking at this.”

So much for all that.

Some of us have been with you a long time, Rolling Stone. You were the source. You turned us on to music that added so much to our lives. You even helped a few of us decide to be journalists. We read a particular Rolling Stone Interview in the mid-‘80s. That Guy on the Scooter in the Ad was all of a sudden Lou Fucking Reed, and where can we get our hands on “The Blue Mask”?

We still remember a years-ago article detailing the scary, sad death of a Pacific Northwest town – an entire freaking town – in the grip of meth. Remember that one? Yeah, we do, too. Rolling Stone saw something awful happening, did the necessary work and told the truth. It was exceptional journalism, which for Rolling Stone was another day at the office.

Look, “A Rape on Campus” was a mistake. A staggeringly bad, “What do you MEAN you didn’t …?” cock-up, but a mistake nonetheless. They happen. You’ve offered your mea culpa, and you’ve learned something. You’ll be great again. You’ll be Rolling Stone.

Right?

(Written by Scott. Photo by Bevan)

Hmmm. Way past time to get that fixed.

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Do I like Tom Waits, or do I just want to be someone who likes Tom Waits?

——-

A conversation I want to have

Other guy: It’s my right as an American to have one, and I’m not apologizing for doing everything I can to make sure my family’s safe. Any arguments?

Me: Of course not. We’re talking about fire extinguishers, right?

——-

Bailey Quarters was the hot one. Remember that time they played part of Pink Floyd “Animals” on the show? Man.

——-

That makes about 10 too many times in the last two months. I look at a clock or the phone and it’s 9:11. The first five or so times, I chalked it up to coincidence. Now 9:11 is most definitely A Thing That’s Happening. To Me. Worse is 9:10. “Whew, what I relief!” Then, “Shit. Now what?”

——-

Do I like Kendrick Lamar, or do I just want to be someone who likes Kendrick Lamar?

——-

Presidential addresses I want to see (1):

(At the beginning of live broadcast, President Barack Obama takes his position behind podium bearing presidential seal. He speaks.)

“Ectoplasm. Spectral phenomena. Poltergeists. EVP. Things seen or heard in an instant that shadow a lifetime. Spectres. ‘Haints’. We’re talking about ghosts. And tonight, I announce to the American people …”

——-

Your band plays Americana music? Great! No, really. Got some pedal steel guitar, electric piano, Uncle Tupelo urgency, “Rust Never Sleeps” volume and feedback. Here’s the thing, though: I deduct points every time your guy sings something about “this town.” No, you’re being a dick. You don’t like “this town”? Move, god damn it.

——-

“You jive turkey!” I’ve just always wanted to say that. Thanks.

——-

And here I thought Indiana’s economy was largely driven by manufacturing. Truth time: Bakers, florists, photographers, caterers. Don’t that just beat all?

——-

Presidential addresses I want to see (2):

(The president of the United States ((POTUS)) is scheduled to address the nation via live broadcast. The topic: Full-boil tensions between POTUS and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, and the implications that strained relationship has on the setting of restrictions on Iran’s nuclear capabilities. At the beginning of live broadcast, President Barack Obama takes his position behind podium bearing presidential seal. A familiar piano intro is heard. A rapt viewership asks, “Is that REO?” The president opens his mouth.)

“You should have seen by the look in my eyes, Bibi, there was something missing,” the president sings. “You should have known by the tone of my voice, Bibi, but you didn’t listen…”

“Holy fuck,” a rapt viewership says. “Is this really happening?” In fact, yes. A rapt viewership struggles to get its bearings and process the “Holy fuck” import of this historic moment.

“And though I know ‘bout Republicans, Bibi I don’t remember…,” sings the elected POTUS, as a rapt viewership thinks, “OK, but you kind of make a point of bringing it up.” Right before thinking, “No way POTUS is going to …”

“And I’m gonna KEEP ON loving JEWS,” sings POTUS. “Cuz it’s the only thing I wanna do …I don’t wanna sleep, I just wanna keep on loving Jews.”

“Well, holy shit,” says a nation in thrall, owning up that “Hi Infidelity” is a pretty solid piece of work. What, it’s a crime to hear songs on the radio? A nation takes stock of history in the making, and is grateful that its commander-in-chief didn’t opt for “Take It On The Run,” which lends itself a tad too readily to “Takin’ on Iran,” ham-fisted statesmanship (“If that’s the way you want it, Bibi”) if ever there was.

Really, says a once-divided nation, the only way this thing could be any way fucking cooler is if former REO guitarist Gary Richrath came out in the middle of Obama’s speech for the solo. Then he hands Obama the pick so POTUS can do that pick slide that’s, like, a significant chunk of the solo, while POTUS looks directly at the camera and nods sagely as if to say, “Pick slide, bitches. Iran nuke deal or whatever.”

Then that happens.

(written by Scott)

Why do the stick figures have butts?

(photo by Bevan)

In no particular order:

• Bought milk
• Noted changes in hair on several locations over body
• Voted for Obama. Subsequent initiation rite/code access, discreet tattoo (needs touch-up) signifying bearer as Chosen, free(!) t-shirt and collectible mug
• Read “Don Quixote” (OK, no, not all of it. Sue me.)
• Quit work
• Cheered at school-age sporting events
• Learned to play opening riff to “Working Man”
• Thought about that one time
• Finally made time to watch “Point Break” in entirety. Spent entire movie thinking Gary Busey was Nick Nolte.
• Made some friends, lost some friends
• Plotting
• Finally got the upper hand with those damned dandelions
• Set foot north of the Arctic Circle. Set foot in Oklahoma. Enjoyed both immensely.
• Came this close to telling those kids to get out of my yard
• Managed to avoid possible negative side effects
• Read Heraclitus’ saying regarding how no man can step into the same river twice because it is not the same river and he is not the same man. Stepped into river. Waited. Checked map; same river. Checked driver’s license; same man. So, what the hell is this shit?
• Two words: Meniere’s Disease
• Hiked a bit
• Went to concert. Heard Ozzy utter phrase, “There’s one in every crowd.” There’s one in every crowd. Maybe step up your game, Heraclitus. Because I heard some serious Truth at that Emmylou Harris concert.
• Observed the inevitable aging of my beloved parents with mix of sad resignation and trepidation
• Deftly avoided stepping in freakishly large pile of dog feces
• Sank into serious-soul-sucking-employment-rut that lead to well-intended-but-largely-unsuccessful-and-thus-ultimately-dismaying attempts at self-reinvention
• Vacuumed (guest area)
• That whole unpleasant business which left me psychologically and physically scarred, and left an ongoing sense of loss in my life
• Became entirely wireless, experienced heretofore unimagined levels of freedom and capriciousness
• Bicycling more, driving less
• Plodding
• Binge watching “Archer”
• Recorded a couple albums and toured. Lost money on the whole venture. Nevertheless, continued.
• Learned to love in ways previously unknown to me
• Picked up some eggs, too

(written by Scott/Bevan)

Hello. We’re back. Of course, that only matters if you remember us from before. If so, we’ve missed you. If not, then we’ve missed you even more. We’re here for writings, musings, ventings, unsolicited opinions, random verbalizations, and the occasional image of inscrutable intent. We have no idea why you’re here, and probably won’t care enough to ask. But we are pleased you joined us. We love guests, as long as you don’t leave a mess. And we hope you are entertained or amused by what you find here in a way that distracts you from the more unsettling aspects of human existence.

With ever-shapeshifting love,

The Management