It’s cold outside. Sweet sainted mother of Mr. Whipple! Right now my phone tells me it’s 4 degrees, FEELS LIKE -8. I don’t care for it. Yesterday I was out there cleaning off the cars and within a small number of minutes, it felt like my hands were on fire. This is bullshit. Yeah, yeah… I know about gloves. You’re missing the point. It’s cold, very cold. That’s the point.

One more move, my friends! That’s what I’m clinging to. You’ve got to have something to cling to, right? I know I do.

As I’m typing this I don’t have the Monday podcast back from the guy who makes it sound good, but I’m hoping it’ll be coming over any minute now. In it I talk about the times I got injured doing stupid shit. I’m fairly risk-averse, so my stories are not very dramatic. Hopefully funny, though… But I’d like to get yours if you have any. Or even the stuff you witnessed. There’s seemingly no shortage of people doing stupid crap that leads to injury. Tell us all about it, won’t you? Also, give the podcast a listen for my modest entries into this category. It’s a solid episode I think.

By the way, the Tom Petty CD linked as Now Playing below is one of my favorites. It’s a great album, without a bad song. And nobody ever thinks about it or mentions it. It’s all Damn the Torpedoes and Full Moon Fever and Wildflowers with that man. But he had other great records. In fact, he never made a bad one. Yowza! If you only know the hits, do yourself a favor and dig a little deeper. Petty was great, for a long, long time.

I was talking to Toney this weekend about how I can’t really whistle. Oh, I can manage a weak little whistle lite, but it’s an affront to purveyors of the true whistle. I don’t know why I can’t do it, but I can’t. You can file a lawsuit if you’d like. Sheesh. Anyway, I’d like to know about simple things you can’t do for whatever reason. I’ve known people who can’t snap their fingers. Ha! It’s hilarious to watch them try. Anyway, please share whatever you have on this one. Use the comments.

And the podcast was just delivered. You can listen to it here, or wherever you snag your podcasts. Here’s the summary:

The title says it all. In this one I talk about the times I injured myself doing stupid shit. Although to be perfectly honest, I’ve never really been a daredevil. So, my tales are not super-dramatic. I throw in some other people stories though, and I’m pretty happy with the way it turned out. I hope you enjoy it too. Thanks for listening!

Last week was terrible at work, my friends. One of the worst in recent memory. But I’m going to make this week better. We have a certain amount of control over things, right? If nothing else, our mood and general approach. So… to an improved week! Let’s all have a better one. And if you need inspiration here’s a little boost from one of my spiritual leaders, Ray Davies.

I’ll see you guys again on Thursday.

Have yourselves a fine week.

Now playing in the bunker
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Apparently there’s some kind of monster storm bearing down on us. Up to 16 inches of ice and snow. Yikes! The good news? It’s supposed to happen over the weekend when I don’t have to worry about getting to work, or feel guilty about NOT going. So, that part’s good. The bad news? Shoveling all that crap. Man, that goes beyond suck.

But we’ll just make sure we have plenty o’ real food and junk food and beer, and ride it out.  What other choices do we have? As long as the electricity doesn’t shit the bed, due to the ice, we’ll be good. Probably.

Yesterday I received a notification on my phone that caused my heart to skip a beat. It was a partial headline that started with ‘Longtime Reds Announcer Marty Brennaman’. Then it cut off. He died?! Marty bought it?? NOOO!!

But, thankfully, he’s still alive. He did, however, announce his plan to retire.  The 2019 season will be his last behind the microphone. His 46th year! The man has been the voice of the Reds since I was a little kid. I can’t even remember anyone before him. I know Al Michaels preceded him in Cincinnati, but I was too young to remember any of that.

So, it’ll be weird. He was a huge part of my childhood and beyond. I used to listen to almost every game. I drifted for several years, and am now back to my old habits. And Marty’s still there! It’s fantastic. He sounds exactly the same. It’s a direct thread to simpler times, if you know what I mean. I hate to see him go. But I’m glad he’s not dead. They scared me!

And I need to get into the shower, buy some Chinese food for lunch (I’ve got a very real hankerin’), and head on down the Devil’s Parkway. I told you this one was going to be kinda half-assed. I apologize. I have a new podcast for patrons, though. Check it out here. Man, that new microphone makes a big difference. The performances might not be any better, but the sound is full and rich. So, that’s something, right? Here’s the summary:

In this one I tell you about a ridiculous new project I’ve undertaken: collecting audio files of the person I consider to be the funniest man in the history of the human race. I also discuss my longtime love of radio, and a few other assorted odds, as well as ends. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for the support, and thanks for listening.

For a Question I’d like to know what your weekend plans are. You know, while I’m out there shouting profanity with ice crystals forming inside my underwear? Tell us about it, won’t you? Also, what’s the longest amount of time you’ve worked at the same job? Can you approach Marty’s 46 years? I worked for Time-Warner for 17 years, but it was three different jobs in three different cities. So, that doesn’t really count, does it? My longest would be my current job: eleven years. Holy shitballs! That’s amazing. In any case, what do you have on this one?

I’ll see you guys on Monday, unless I’m stricken by the Big One or whatever.

Have a great weekend, boys and girls.

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A million years ago, give or take, I was encouraged to buy a compilation album called Pillows and Prayers. It was a collection of songs by artists who recorded for a British indie label called Cherry Red. I don’t think I’d heard of any of the bands on it. But it was cheap, something like five bucks, and my music mentor (Barry Budget) was the one doing the encouragin’. So I bought it. Barry, by the way, ended up creating the cover art for my novel Crossroads Road a long time later.

Anyway, I fell in love with that album. Especially the songs by a band called The Monochrome Set. When I saw one of their full-length albums (Eligible Bachelors) in the import bin at Budget Tapes & Records I asked Barry if I should take the plunge on it. It cost way more than five dollars. He said, “Absolutely!” Then he went on for a long time telling me how great The Monochrome Set are. So I bought it, and it’s one of my all-time favorite albums. I can’t explain it, but there’s some kind of crazy magic in that thing. Some of the lyrics are hilarious, but it’s no joke. Every song is great, and there’s just a general vibe that I find highly appealing. And it felt like Barry and I were the only people in the world who knew about them. At least in West Virginia (ha!). Here’s the original AllMusic review of the album:

One of the classic, undiscovered albums of the early ’80s, Eligible Bachelors is a tour de force of wit and musical imagination. It features some of the funniest songs ever committed to vinyl, kicking off with “Jet Set Junta,” which, alongside bookend song “The Ruling Class,” pillories the neuroses of the wealthy. “The Mating Game” is also deeply amusing as a cad’s cynical guide to the opposite sex, with lyrics like, “Blond, brunette or redhead, black, yellow or white/They taste the same, in the mating game.” But it’s not all jokes. “The Midas Touch” is an exquisite slice of whimsy riding a near-perfect guitar riff, with an emotional reach that shames most peers of songwriter Bid. Whether or not the rear cover testimonial from Andy Warhol is genuine, the Monochrome Set had released an age-defining record here. It’s a shame nobody else knew about it.

Hey, I knew about it! Oh, I knew about it real good. In fact, when I was at WEA Atlanta one of my co-workers was going to London and I gave her a twenty and asked her to find a CD copy for me. She came back with it, only mildly annoyed that I’d given her an assignment during her vacation. In any case, the band broke up in the 80s and got back together in the 90s. Then they broke up again and re-formed in 2008. And (check this out!) I’m going to get to see them in March! I can’t believe it.

They rarely come to the U.S. But they’re doing a quickie tour in early spring, and I’ve already purchased my tickets for the Philadelphia show. And I only had to wait 35 years! I’m super excited. I’m taking the younger boy with me. Oh yeah.

And speaking of bands breaking up and getting back together. I have a theory about that. I believe there’s a timeline that goes something like this:

• Band forms with no expectations. Fun!
• Band builds a small following, and members start to believe this might actually add up to something.
• Band experiences even more success: the upward trajectory has been established. The sky’s the limit!
• Band plateaus, and eventually backslides in popularity.
• Band members start to blame each other for the fact they’ve been doing this for seven years now and playing the same places or worse.
• Band breaks up, vowing to never speak to any of those assholes again.
• Band members take jobs in the civilian world, realize it SUCKS MASSIVE ASS, and quickly re-group.
• Band hits the road again, thanking the Lord God above that they still get to play the same places or worse.

I’m not talking about The Monochrome Set here, I’m just talking about bands in general. That’s gotta be the way it works, right? They get beaten down and resentful, leave the music world in a blaze of defiance, and quickly realize they had it pretty damn good. Even if they didn’t become U2. What do you think?

The new podcast episode is up. Check it out here, or wherever you get your podcasts. Here’s the summary:

In this one I tell about our new dishwasher fiasco (it’s currently inside a box in our living room), a brief run-in we had with a surly store clerk (asshole), a disappointing visit to my beloved Five Guys (no horizontal hold), and a travel back in time in search of an elusive beer (found it!). All that and The Whistle Dick of the Week. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for listening!

I don’t really have a question, so I’ll go with this… Just like that generic band, I was talking about above, have you ever made a sizable change in your life only to realize that the grass is not always greener on the other side? In the comments please tell us about the times you’ve made big decisions that didn’t work out for you. Like leaving a job I guess and realizing later that it wasn’t so bad after all. Heh. Use the comments.

And I need to go now. Another week of “opportunities” awaits. Sweet sainted mother of Bump Wills!

See you guys again on Thursday.

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I used to collect baseball cards. Yeah, I know that’s not unusual. Lots of boys (and probably some girls) did that. But, over time, my collecting turned into something mildly insane. It wasn’t just buying packs down at the corner store, sticking them in a shoebox and trying to get all the Reds players, or whatever. Oh no. It started that way, but in 1975 it turned some kind of crazy corner.

That summer, when I was 12, I decided I was going to amass a complete set: all 660 cards that were released by Topps that year. So, I made my own checklist, which was typed if you can believe it. I had every number from 1 through 660 hand-typed by yours truly on a piece of paper and would mark off each card number as I obtained it. Getting all those numbers marked off became a full-on obsession. It’s all I thought about, and that’s not much of an exaggeration.

And when you get down to the end, where you only need 15 or 20 cards, it becomes MADDENING. You buy pack after pack after pack and not a single number gets marked off. Topps also had what they called rack packs, available at places like K-Mart. Here’s what I’m talking about:

As you can see, six cards are visible in each pack: three on the front and three on the back. So, I’d beg my parents to drive me around to stores in other towns to try to track down the elusive cards. If I could actually see a needed card through the plastic it was a beautiful day. Otherwise, I’d have to just roll the dice, keep buying regular packs, and hope for the best. We also did some low-grade trading between friends. I’d gladly give up a Mike Schmidt card, or a Pete Rose, for some second-string outfielder I still needed to complete the set. But a lot of those guys didn’t take care of their cards, and they were appallingly bent and scuffed. And I can’t have that.

So, anyway. That was the summer when the obsession took hold. Then, Steve and I moved into ordering vintage cards through the mail from dealers. I think we saw an ad in The Sporting News or something and sent off for their price list. It was something called The Trading Card Company in Dearborn, Michigan. Oh, we did a lot of business with them during the early days of the mania. The hobby was nothing like it is today. It was small and the prices for cards were low. I can remember receiving a 1957 Topps card from them for a player named Moe Drabowsky. I couldn’t believe it! Something inside my brain exploded. It felt like I was holding some kind of impossible magic in my hands. 1957! Had this been some kid’s card, back during the Eisenhower era? I romanticized the shit out of it and was fully hooked.

Eventually, I was subscribed to two hobby magazines: Sports Collectors Digest (still in existence?) and The Trader Speaks. I believe SCD came out every two weeks and was fairly thick: probably 90% ads from dealers offering cards for sale. I’d go through those things with a goddamn highlighter, and spent nearly every cent of my paper route money on baseball cards. The Trader Speaks was for a more advanced collector, and I couldn’t afford most of the stuff advertised there. But I loved reading about it. It also smelled really good, the ink and the paper etc. That was one great smelling magazine!

So, it got way out of hand. But I quickly built a nice collection. I liked the 1950s Topps stuff, and early 60s too. But I also had some items from the 30s and 40s, and even some old tobacco cards from 1910 or whatever. I have a Cy Young card if you can believe it. And Ty Cobb. I started running ads of my own in SCD with lists of things I wanted to buy. So, price lists arrive by mail, and my mother would frown with concern. What’s going on??

But, beer and girls and music eventually caused my first obsession to fade a bit. However, I became equally crazed about music. This album triggered it. It wasn’t exactly the same, but close. I didn’t really think of it as collecting, the way I had with baseball cards. I just wanted to build the best music library possible. I wasn’t attempting to complete sets. It’s a small difference. But, make no mistake about it, I was FULLY obsessed and equally ravenous to find missing items. I can remember my dad joking that he was going to have to install support beams in the kitchen of our house because of the weight of all that vinyl in my bedroom above.

What’s your relationship with collecting? Do you collect anything? Have you ever? I can’t afford it anymore. It’s a young man’s game. Or a millionaire’s. I still have the tendency in me, it’s just lying dormant at the moment. Also, what’s the most extreme personal collection you’ve ever seen? I mean… people can become crazed with this stuff. Believe me, I know. How about bizarre collections? Tell us all about it in the comments.

And I’m calling it a day, my friends. I don’t have the podcast back yet, but expect it any minute now. Hopefully, I’ll be able to upload it before I leave for work. Stay tuned.

Wait! Here’s the Thursday podcast. I’ve decided to make it available to everyone. You know, so non-patrons can hear what the second weekly podcast sounds like. Here’s the summary:

In this one, I tell you about the plans I’ve made for the new year, including my travel and writing goals. I also discuss previous New Year’s resolutions, and why I don’t do ’em anymore. Thanks for the support! And thanks for listening.

Hey, I kinda like this one and have decided — on a whim! — to make it available to everyone. Just so you non-patron folks can hear what the Thursday shows sound like. Enjoy! And don’t forget this part:

Need twice the Jeff Kay? We’ve got you covered. Just pop on over to patreon.com/jeffkay, sign up for a $4 (or more) monthly donation, and you’ll immediately gain access to the Thursday shows. They’re a full 30 minutes each, and only available to supporters at Patreon. It’s a lot of fun, so do it up!

I hope you guys have a great weekend! This week eats it from the ass in, and I’ll be happy to get it into the proverbial rearview mirror. Sheesh. If I could only write about everything in my life…

I’ll back on Monday.

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I have a lingering cold. It feels like yesterday should’ve been the final day, but it’s the visitor that will not leave. Oh well. At least it’s just a cold, and not some vomit-launch high-fever diarrhea-catapult jamboree. I hear that’s going around. In fact, I have no medical evidence of this, but I’ve convinced myself that since I’m almost finished with a bad cold, my immune system is operating at a higher level and fighting off all the worse illnesses out there. If it’s not true, I don’t want to hear about it. Keep that shit to yourself.

Indeed, everybody’s hacking and coughing and sneezing. Everywhere I go it sounds like square dance night at a 1957 Tuberculosis sanitarium. The fact that I’m in the throes of illness should not surprise me. The spores of sickness are airborne and plentiful. The grossness has been weaponized!

But today’s gotta be the end of it, right? What’s this lingerin’ bullshit? It started on Wednesday. It’s too much.

In any case, I finished watching a show on Amazon this weekend that turned out to be FANTASTIC. Have you seen Catastrophe? Man, that’s the good stuff. It’s a comedy, but no hack sitcom. This ain’t Alice, goddammit. It’s about an American guy who has a quickie relationship with an Irish woman while traveling on business in London. She calls him about a month after he returns to Boston and informs him she’s pregnant. When his phone rings it displays Sharon (London Sex). He ends up moving there, to be a part of the kid’s life. He barely knows the woman but is determined to do the right thing. And there’s your premise.

It is very funny and super-smart — every episode is written by the stars, Sharon Horgan and Rob Delaney. It’s fairly raunchy and is LOADED with memorable lines. I’m thinking about watching it again, ’cause it’s is so dense with filthy and brilliant dialog. Here’s another review in which they call the show depraved. I don’t know about that, but I loved it. In fact, I can’t stop thinking about the final episode of Season 3. It was genuinely suspenseful and gut-wrenching. As well as hilarious. Crazy!

There’s one final season, which I believe is being shown in England now. At some point, Amazon will add it. They have some sort of stake in the show, with exclusive streaming rights, etc. Looking forward to it, but I wish they weren’t calling it quits on the show. It’s really, really good.

I recorded a podcast over the weekend, while I was totally sick. I was late sending it to Producer Zipp and don’t have it back yet. It’s my fault, and he’s also probably pulling his hair out editing out all the coughing and sneezing and snorkeling. Maybe I should’ve skipped it? I don’t know. I’m fairly fixated on sticking to the schedule these days. As soon as I can get it posted, I will. It has some laughs in it, despite your host wiping his feet at death’s door.

UPDATE: It’s up!

And speaking of Zipp, he and his podcast partner Bob are releasing a one-hour scripted comedy… radio drama or somesuch. I heard it in advance, in fact, I listened to it twice. Very silly, and very funny! Here’s the trailer and the full program is supposed to be released today as the latest episode of their No Redeeming Qualities podcast. This thing was a year in the making, a huge undertaking. And I’m not kidding, I laughed throughout. Please check it out. You’re going to like it.

And I’m calling it a day here, my friends. If you know of any hidden gems, like Catastrophe, on Netflix/Hulu/Amazon, please share. I didn’t even know about that show. It nearly got past me, and I wonder what great shows have gotten past me? There’s an embarrassment of riches out there!

I hope you guys have a fantastic day.

I’ll be back on Thursday.

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