Return from Oz (part 1)

Photo by Carrie Thomas

I hadn't slept all night when I arrived at LaGuardia Airport at 5am to catch my 7am flight to Kansas City. I arrived 2 hours before the scheduled departure, thinking it would be enough time to make it through security.

I hadn't counted on the fact that coils of people in snakelike lines had wrapped their way around the check-in area and that these people were all waiting for self-check-in.

Self-Check-in by the way is an aspect of airline travel disguised as a means of conveniently and efficiently checking in that is actually just a means of getting around hiring and paying competent, knowledgeable employees to interact with people. God forbid.

I unfortunately had luggage to check. This meant that after self-check-in, I had to fight my way into an angry crowd of people who might as well have been lepers begging for Jesus action. Instead they were all intently focused on one Indian woman with a baby voice who was whispering people's names for the tags that go on their luggage. Of course people were screaming at her to speak louder which just made it harder to hear her inaudible mumblings which could have been "Johnson" or "German" or "Sherman" for that matter.

There were two other women behind the counter typing. What they were typing? Who knows. People were yelling at the two women in outrage of the fact that the only person calling names was our baby voiced Indian woman, god bless her poor ragged soul.

At this moment of sleep deprived confusion, my cellphone rang with a call from my mother. I pick up the phone and very abruptly tell her that I can't talk, I can't hear her over the yelling and that I will have to call her back.

After finally getting my luggage tag, paying $25 because my bag is too heavy and then hauling my own fricking bag to the x-ray area, because apparently I'm a part-time employee for American Airlines, I was ready to get into a 2nd line for security.

This is the only time in my life that I thank god for being born without any pigment to my skin because let's face it, they aren't butt searching blond boys. If you think for a second there isn't racial profiling in our nation's airports, then think again. If your skin is a shade shy of beige, they'll snap on a latex glove and bend your black ass over so fast, you'll be whistling dixie and wondering where your false tooth went before you know what hit ya.

After 2 hours of torturous waiting,herding, prodding, and the always lovely searching of my personal belongings, I was given the privilege of getting onto a crowded plane bound for Kansas City. I call my mother who is now crying because I apparently bit her head off.

This is the beginning of my wondrous Christmas journey to Kansas.
(to be continued)

Santa Baby

Photo byCarrie Thomas

Every year I usually do some sort of holiday performance. This year I sang a song the last two nights to start off Hedda Lettuce's Christmas Show.
On the opening night of the show, I sat on a bench at the west 4th street subway station waiting for the train and listening to Eartha Kitt's rendition of Santa Baby. The next thing I knew someone was behind me whispering into my ear... "It's a small world"

I turned around and felt the blood rush from my head to my stomach. It was my stalker. I will not go into detail as to how this made me feel as it is possible he may read this. I will merely say that the encounter involved my ipod headphones being violently and painfully ripped out of my ears.

After escaping the subway and thinking I could leave the incident behind, I stood at soundcheck unable to remember any of the words to Santa Baby. This is not like me. I instead started the show with Little Altar Boy, my mother's favorite song off The Carpenter's Christmas album.

Last night I am pleased to say that I sang Santa Baby flawlessly,unhindered by the violent subway encounter.
It was a triumph over the power that this man tries to weild. Fear can be a potent weapon. I choose to not give him that power. A soon to be issued restraining order is an equally powerful tool in the battle for self preservation.

Though it has been a rather violent week with fire and stalkers, I feel so blessed this holiday season. I have been given a loving family and a great group of supportive friends. I look to the New Year with anticipation and excitement. Most of all though, I look forward to baking chocolate chip cookies, pouring a tall glass of milk and falling asleep by the fireplace in hopes of catching a glimpse of a fat brightly dressed man who is the ultimate symbol of american greed and commercialism.
As the change drawers in cash registers across the nation jingle like so many bells, I hold my breath, light the yulelog and softly say...

Hurry Down the chimney.....tonight

Photo of Robert German going up in flames courtesy of Carrie Thomas

Yes Virginia,

I did catch on fire.
In response to the "outpouring of concern" I have compiled this frequently asked questions section.
By outpouring of concern I mean 2 emails which were more mildly curious than concerned, but
let's humor my inflated delusions of self worth.

FAQ

Q: Were you burned?
A: First of all, I was not burned. Thank you baby Jesus.

Q: How did you catch on Fire?
A: There were tea candles on a table at waist level. I leaned back and the highly flamable lining of my cordaroy jacket lit up like a hannuka candle.

Q: Were you outraged by the party host's response to the situation?
A: I am constantly and consistently outraged by the lack of compasion many fully functioning human beings exhibit. Yes. Thank you for asking.

Q: Has there been any kind of apology?
A: Yes, in fact I received a very nice apologetic phone call two days after the event ,and the party host offered to replace my jacket. This 360 degree turn in attitude is appreciated but so confusing to my little head which had settled into a state of justifiable outrage. Is it two days late and $300 short? Probably not, I'm going to go with the baby jesus and embrace forgiveness and the new distressed jacket that I'm passing off as a bohemian fashion statement. Though I kind of smell like burnt hair now.

Stop Drop and Roll

Photo by the extraordinary Carrie Thomas

I must have been on fire for a while before i realized what was happening. First of all, when you catch on fire all logic goes out the window. Somewhere in the back of my head was a hippie kindergarten teacher yelling Stop drop and roll. Instead, I casually placed my drink on the table and turned back to look at the flames. It was like it was happening to someone else.

People began beating at my jacket to try and stop the fire. A girl actually yelled "Stop, Drop and roll." I squatted on the floor and threw my jacket off. people began stomping on it to put out the last of the flames. My first thought was that I hoped they weren't stomping on my ipod. I picked up my jacket and stared at the holes and the charred bits of cordaroy, less concerned about my own life or well being than i was with the amount of money that I had spent on the jacket. My mother always used to say that we just can't have nice things. As usual, she was right.

The host of the party came over as I was surveying the wreckage, not to make sure I was ok, but rather to make it clear that he would not be reimbursing me for the damage to my jacket. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but instead smiled and said. "Oh, I know. Don't worry about it."

My brush with fire became an anecdote that propelled the momentum for the rest of the party. By the way, for those of you who decided to use every form of the word flame...flaming...flamer....Yes, I appreciate your creativity. You are so cleavor, I can barely contain myself. Bruce Springstein's "I'm on fire" started playing on repeat in my head.

I was unable to stop drop and roll my way to silence on that one.

Wisdom from the Homeless (trash talk #1)

Photo by Carrie Thomas

"All this pushin' and shovin'. Just can't tollerate it, no sir. What is this? Rush hour? Can't say I agree with it, all this rushin'. If it ain't huggin', I don't want anything to do with it."

-wise words from a homeless man on the 2 train in brooklyn at 8:45am.

The Rat Race (Critters Part 3)

Coming Soon...

Chloe & Ferdinand (Critters Part 2)

Photo of and by the fancily footedCarrie Thomas

They loved with a passion befitting a trashy romance novel.
Though I was happy for them, it brought out my jealous side, which is never pretty.
Eventually though, I became accustomed to their being around and didn't know how I could live without them.

Chloe was a beauty, the kind of girl who wins the homecoming crown but still has a heart of gold. You want to hate her but you can't. She has great bone structure and will grow old gracefully. Her feathers were whiter than freshly fallen snow with little speckles of brown that said, "hey, I'm Cindy Crawford, I have a beauty mark."

Ferdinand was a dancer. He could puff his chest up with best of them. His tight muscular legs supported a beefy body that somehow floated gracefully above the ground when he would come courting the ladies.

These two exceptional creatures found each other in a city where I'm sure it's hard to find a good pigeon, let alone one with whom you could settle down and raise a family.

The heat in our little apartment on 12th street was always too high, so we kept the window in the kitchen cracked a few inches. I had noticed the birds flying around outside the window, which wasn't that unusual. I didn't notice however that two of them had begun to build a nest on our window sill. It wasn't until I went into the kitchen one morning and saw Chloe, beautiful Chloe sitting on the nest that I realised a pair of lovers had moved in. At first, I would go to the stove, which was right by the window, and Chloe would frantically fly away. She was never gone for long though, fearing her eggs would get too cold.

Eventually, we came to an understanding that I was not going to bother them. In fact, I quite enjoyed the company. I would cook my breakfast and chat with Chloe. I'm sure she appreciated the chit-chat with Ferdinand off foraging for food. Of course one day, Chloe was gone and Ferdinand was sitting at the nest, and I must admit that we didn't have a lot to talk about.

As spring began to thaw the winter, three of the ugliest little creatures you've ever seen busted out of that nest. Let me just say that there is nothing more awkward looking than a baby pigeon. However, over time these gnarly little munchkins grew fuzzle which began to form into feathers and they were adorable.

It was about a week until the pigeons would fly. They were testing their wings. Unfortunately this was the week when we had to move out of the apartment on 12th street and into the place on 3rd avenue. I decided to have a conversation with the girl who was moving into the place to make sure she let the pigeons live.

It was a sad day, when I found out from a downstairs neighbor that the nest had disappeared and the window had closed as soon as the girl moved into the apartment.

My heart went out to Ferdinand and Chloe. I had grown so fond of them. I had watched all of their dedication, love and hard work. It hurts my soul to realize the cruelty that resides in the human heart. A woman's hand ruined in moments what had taken months to build without a second thought. We often refer to animals as savages. Most animals only kill to survive or to protect themselves. Men kill without need, without regard and without reverence for the beauty that each life holds, whether it be an Iraqi child or a baby bird.

Critters

Photo by the gorgeous & Talented
Carrie Thomas

When I was in the 4th grade, my parents were called into my gradeschool to deal with the backlash of my hyperactivity. I had apparently become a distraction to the other students by making strange noises. Most of these students were probably so harmed by my noisemaking that they were unable to acheive success beyond the dead-end jobs they found in that small Oklahoma town.

I take full responsibility for their failure.

Of course my life of audio pollution didn't end in the 4th grade. I am a serial noise maker. I have always been fascinated and oddly connected to animals and as such have found the need to communicate with them. I used to spend hours in my apartment on 5th avenue in Brooklyn watching the pigeons dancing on the adjacent rooftop,studying their sounds and later calling them to me, much like a siren, though
I meant no harm.

The gravity of my noisemaking became undeniably apparent on a trip to Boston to visit Chan Chuy Yi or Chewy as I liked to call her back in the day when we lived in our first roach infested apartment,and I worked 80 hours a week for an entire summer.

We were walking through Boston Common when I decided that I wanted to chat with the squirrels. I started my little clicking/nibbly noises and it made chewy smile. Squirrels began coming towards us from all directions, not two or three but at least a dozen. Soon,We were surrounded by squirrels and they were closing in. I'm not sure what I was saying to them exactly, but it must have been quit intriguing.

Chewy clutched my arm and ordered me to stop.
I wonder what would have happened if I had kept talking to the squirrels.

Two nights ago, I was walking on Montague street at 1 in the morning, guitar in tow. I stumbled upon a churchyard where two rats were having a very intense conversation. I stopped and listened for a while. Sometimes, you have to have conversations with the critters or at least pay attention to what they have to say.

We all have to get along in this world, and I hope that by doing my part, the critters feel a human connection. I'd rather introduce myself to the rats and be on speaking terms than meet them in a dark alley when they're having a bad day. It's best to establish a cordial relationship from the get-go. Don't think for a second that rats don't talk by the way, if you piss one of them off, you are in serious trouble.

Mr. Carpentier

I am pleased to announce that instead of going into a post-turkey coma, I finished a new song, Mr. Carpentier.
I am super excited about this little tune as it is inspired by an amazing friend.

I will be introducing it to the world at my next show on Dec. 7th.

My alter-ego

Occasionally when the mood strikes me and I feel posessed, I embrace my alter-ego.
It is in these moments that I cannot resist the urge to climb atop a piano.



Sometimes it's good to let loose and get the demons out.

The Song: Tori Amos' Ode to the Banana King(part 1)
The Singer: Robert German
On the Piano: Jeff Cubeta
Location: The D-Lounge, Union Square, NYC
Video produced by: Bizarre Farm
Courtesy of Brian Maschka and the Snake Oil Show

A Shout "Out"

This week, Lovetastic.com re-released a podcast from December of last year when I sat down with founder, Ryan Norbauer to discuss everything from religion and polution to the then untitled album I was recording.

Included are alternate and demo versions of songs that are on the album.

I greatly admire what Ryan is doing with this site. There should be more things like this out there
If you're a man of the "man-on-man" persuasion not looking to disco til your dick falls off, then you should pay this site a visit.

Listen

Coffee or Tea?

Photo by the very talented Carrie Thomas

I stumble groggy and confused, bumping into and tripping over things, the result of 6 months without two consecutive nights of decent sleep. I find myself taking cat naps on the train, unaware of my surroundings and not really caring if I am mugged or assaulted just as long as I can get a little bit of rest between frantic efforts to accomplish something. What is this something? Is it worth the toll that it is taking on me?

I switched from coffee to tea in an effort to ease the jittering hyperactivity that I tend to induce when overcompensating for that which can not be replaced, regular deep sleep.

I'm writing sad songs and eating massive amounts of bacon. Last night I devoured half a package of lower sodium bacon, not a choice, but rather the only thing the deli had at 2:00 in the morning on the way home from my gig. It was given to me like a fresh newborn wrapped in a glistening plastic skin. It tasted oddly saltier than regular bacon which made me think I might be losing my mind.

Crazy people obsess about things like global warming and conspiracy theories. Sometimes I think they are spouting the jumbled truth, and we are too caught up in our desensitized little lives to smell the coffee, the roses, or the shit that is stuck to our shoes.

I've become very concerned with the world and its demise, marked today by temperatures so warm you could wear shorts. People have decided that they will wear their thick woolen coats and vests simply because it is November and not because they are necessary. This is part of their denial that the Earth is frying away on the fossil fuel griddle.

At every deli where I buy food wrapped in plastic shoved in a plastic bag, I am greeted with fistfulls of disposable plastic forks wrapped in plastic. I try to refuse them, but deli workers are confused and offended when you don't take as much plastic as your arms can carry. After using or not using this plastic, I throw it in a garbage bin lined with more plastic.

I feel caught up in the momentum of the Earth's destruction and unable to stop it.
I also feel oh so tired. Now what do I do? The question is whether I have coffee or tea. Either way, it will be served in a disposable cup with a plastic top and I will eventually throw it into a plastic bag and jitter my way on to my next act of global annihilation.

Follow Me Home/Knock on My Door-Lyrics

Follow Me Home

I was dressed to the nines,
it was a quarter to five.
You were standing on the platform waiting for the train to arrive.
When I saw your pretty face I had to grab the pole to brace my fall.
She touched her nose then touched the pole.
I think this pole has touched it all.
Two more stops then I'll be home,
climb up the stairs
turn out the light
crawl into bed
and fall asleep alone
or
You could follow me home, boy.
I said You could follow me home.
If you'd like to get to know me just a little bit more,
You just gotta knock on my door.

Knock on my door
and I will come.
You've just gotta ask
and I'll give you some.
You don't need money, honey.
This little ride's for free.
Knock on my door and I'll slip you the key.

Pull down your pants
and pull down the shade.
We'll call it a night
when some love's been made.

Fuck me so hard that the neighbors complain
and the cops have to tear us apart.
Knock on my door and I'll give you my heart.

The morning will break
and the sun will rise
and I'll wipe the sleep
from your clear blue eyes.

and I'll start your day in a way
that just couldn't feel better to me.
I'll knock on your door and You'll slip me the key.

Today is the day!

Buy it at CDBABY!

Download it from iTunes!

...................................As you probably know, I've been working on a little album called Sirens of Brooklyn. I'm excited to announce that today is the official release. All proceeds from the sale of this album go towards feeding a little independent musician, aka, me. So, hopefully you will buy it and get all your friends to buy it so I don't have to get Sally Struthers to do a really sad commercial for me. I can't actually afford Sally Struthers, so you should probably just buy the album.

Chorus of Hebrew Slaves

I have completed most of the recording on Unplug,
a new track for my next album.

When I went to play the song through iTunes the title
"Chorus of Hebrew Slaves" came up for it.
This is oddly appropriate. You'll just have to wait a while to find out why.

Tomorrow

Tune in to Radio Crystal Blue
This Sunday, Nov. 12th at 7pm.
They will be playing music
from my soon-to-be-released album
Sirens of Brooklyn.

Don't forget.
The album comes out on Tuesday Nov. 14th.
Every copy purchased is another meal I can eat and well, I like to eat.

Listen to the show

Tonight on WOR Radio

Tune in at 2am EST to hear me on the nationally syndicated Joey Reynold's show on WOR Radio, 710 HD broadcasting from New York City. You can listen online, on 710 AM or 710 HD if you have a receiver.
Listen to the show!


...................................

Do Ask. Do Tell.

The tide has turned and the democrats have taken control of the legislative branch of my country.

Upon hearing this news I immediately went out and bought a goat, not just any goat but a young and very energetic goat. If you are going to commit to living your life with another, it is best to find one that can make it through the long haul. I never thought this unholy union would be possible. The Republicans repeatedly said, "hey, well if we allow gay marriage, then what next? People will marry goats."

I have anticipated this next and natural step by purchasing Theodore, the best goat you could ever imagine. Though I know we will have to fight long and hard before people will accept our union, in the end I know that it will have been a worthwhile struggle.

Also, I have joined the army. Many of you may be familiar with the Don't Ask Don't tell policy. maybe you don't remember, but this policy was passed under president clinton, a democrat president. I am very pleased that soon we will implement the do ask and do tell policy. I'm holding tightly to Theodore until that day arrives.

The 1 and the 9

Lemon Scented is #1
on Bear Radio's top 10 requested songs.

Marlboro Man is #9
on the same countdown.

Thank You to bear Radio for playing the songs.

You can listen and request the songs by going to
bearradio.net

The Cellphone is the New Cigarette

Photo by Carrie Thomas

In case you hadn't noticed, smoking has gone out of fashion. Once a tool of actors at the dawn of the silver screen , a symbol of rebellion and a post-coital requisite, the cigarette has reached a level of appeal formerly reserved for asbestos and radio-active sludge.

I was speaking last evening with my good friend, Jason, about this very subject. He was lamenting the loss of his smoking friends to their non-smoking lifestyles, me included.

When I first moved to New York a trip to a bar meant smoke filled rooms that brought your eyes to tears and left your clothes smelling like an old man's smoking jacket. When the city passed a smoking ban in bars, the smoky atmosphere was replaced by an odd smell that can only be described as cleaning products used to cover up the smell of stale smoke. For a while, this chemical smell lingured. Now, I don't really notice any smell at all upon entering a bar.

Cigarettes, though thoroughly demonized served a purpose. This purpose was to create an illusion of busy-ness. People want something to fiddle with, suck on and flick to keep from staring at a blank wall letting others see how utterly alone and purposeless they fear they look.

Cigarettes are also a barrier. People fear close contact and interaction. A cigarette is a distraction, a reason to pause in a conversation and think of a witty retort while taking a long deep drag.

Obviously this void had to be filled. Thank god that angels decended from the heavens bearing cellphones, sidekicks and treos. These gifts have allowed for constant contact, something so necessary for human existence. Why carry on a conversation with someone when you can pretend you're listening while text messaging? Are we more connected? I think the answer is no. We are all disconnecting from each other. We are plugging in and unplugging from reality.

Ask yourself the question....How long can you go without grabbing your little device to check your messages, send a text, or pretend you're busy? How long can you go without taking a deep drag?

Yes, the cellphone is the new cigarette.