As a faith-based celebration Thanksgiving means nothing to me. I have no God in my life, no need of one, nor a code of living associated to one. So any calendrical occasions attached to Christianity or any other religion bear no significance for me beyond the possibility of a day's rest from work. Even then I usually work the stats. In recent years, however, Thanksgiving has shown itself to me as a convenient pause in the year, a time when I have genuinely turned to taking stock of my life and feeling very grateful for where I find myself these days.
In April we moved into a beautiful house, a dream home fully intended to be our last move, the place where Susan and I will see out our days. We both have work paying enough to enable us to meet the mortgage and bills, clothe and feed ourselves and, whether it be a chocolate bar or occasional weekend away, enjoy treats of various kinds. We are able to buy music, books and art. We have Reggie, a beautiful, crazy and richly entertaining feline companion. Our community of friends is wonderful and we feel loved by them. We live in a quiet neighbourhood with good neighbours. There is glorious scenery all around us and pretty much every day we see Hummingbirds. In Vancouver, Seattle and Victoria, we have access to a shot of big city life whenever we want or need it. As I have no blood relatives left alive my whole family, on Susan's side, is close by if we need them, or they need us. It's good to know we have that support network just up the highway.
I could continue, but there is no need. Persistent health issues and life's petty irritations aside, it will be evident from the facts presented here that life is good, that we've never been happier.
We have a friend who works the graveyard shift at a corporate convenience store in the roughest part of town, for $10.75 per hour. He works alone, has been refused a raise of even 25c per hour many times, and is hassled each and every night by hookers, junkies and psychos. He is constantly tired and stressed, has no money and usually looks like hell. His meagre income has been the sole bread coming in to pay the rent and feed his wife and 12-year-old daughter. They also care for the baby of the useless teenage daughter and lard-ass stoner boyfriend our friend utterly despairs of, a couple lacking even the most basic of parenting skills. They are happy to let our friend care for his granddaughter pretty much full-time, while they laze about getting stoned, playing with their fifty or so pet rats (yes, really) and playing computer games all day. The baby is an inconvenience to them. It's a miserable existence, but somehow our friend manages to keep smiling, shrugging off his woes as part of life for the majority.
On Thursday night, our friend's wife passed away, aged 43. She had a heart attack last week and, with subsequent swelling on the brain, when the doctors indicated there was nothing further they could do to keep her alive, the family decided that the best course of action was to take her off life support. My friend emailed me at 3:50am on Friday to break the news, writing with such grace and dignity in the face of such a nightmare scenario that I struggle to comprehend how he could even function. I picked up the email at something-past-six yesterday morning and the tears flowed. We are heartbroken for him and his lovely young daughter.
What will happen next in the life of this poor man? Since we've known him nothing has gone right in his life. He has had health issues to contend with, problems with his circulation, blood clots on his leg and dreadful dental trouble. He works so hard, gives so much love to his friends, and is simply a salt of the earth guy who is doing his utmost to keep his head above water. Just writing these words I am welling up with tears, reaching out to the universe for our friend to catch a break, something positive to give him hope. A friend of the store implied yesterday that he has a job for our friend when he's ready to return to work, so at least he can escape that dead-end hell. We so hope that comes to fruition; maybe it could be the first step towards a considerably better life, one he so deserves.
So, yes, in my own way I will be so very grateful and giving thanks accordingly this Thanksgiving weekend. I feel blessed and a millionaire in comparison to some, but will never take any of it for granted. Life is fragile and uncertain, but while I have it I will appreciate every moment.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Friday, October 4, 2013
Back to the Drawing Board, Boys
Since I formed any palpable appreciation of music at a very young age I've always held a fondness for silly band names. Imagine the hilarity the first time I encountered Splodgenessabounds, for example. This continues to this very day, my favourite this week being the Almighty Lumberjacks of Death (an old band, but their name is new to me).
Yesterday morning I heard the Portland, OR. band WAMPIRE for the first time and, really digging what I heard, thinking she would like Wampire equally, I informed Susan. My dear wife, however, is considerably less tolerant of stupid band names than I. "Wampire?" she snorted, screwing up her face. "More like Wankpire."
Yesterday morning I heard the Portland, OR. band WAMPIRE for the first time and, really digging what I heard, thinking she would like Wampire equally, I informed Susan. My dear wife, however, is considerably less tolerant of stupid band names than I. "Wampire?" she snorted, screwing up her face. "More like Wankpire."
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Ah, the 80s...
I love this video! Minus (most of) the snarky comments this could well be me rifling through Susan's record collection. She owns a fair few of those discs assessed by Dr. Sparkle, and some just as embarrassing as Mrs. Sparkle's real turkeys. This little film is a lovely snapshot of an era that it seems will forever be derided for lack of musical quality, but I personally feel there was some amazing stuff released in that decade. Enjoy and/or, like us, wallow in nostalgia.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
I Would Advise Vegetarians Look Away at This Point
A nice perk I enjoy at work is being able to borrow any DVDs I want. Hockey season aside, Susan and I do not watch TV at all, but we do love watching movies and TV shows on DVD, so it is a perk I appreciate. We have a long list of movies we want to see, compiled from trailers, recommendations, our knowledge of what's coming to the cinema, or things that are causing a buzz.
One movie we had on our list was Cooking with Stella, so when it was traded in at the store recently I pounced on it to bring home and watch that evening. Unfortunately it was rather disappointing, but there are always worse ways we could have wiled away a couple of hours. I returned the DVD to the store the following day, and brought up Amazon on the store computer to ascertain a price we should sell it at. We tend to use Amazon as a guide as it is usually the cheapest online source for most titles, then we price our stuff at around 60% of the cheapest available new copies.
Not changing the catch-all category of 'All,' I typed "cooking with" into the Amazon search box and a whole load of options appeared in the resultant drop-down. However, the search result appearing at the very top made my jaw drop in amazement, shock, and not a little disgust. So, taken from the very page that, ahem, came up when I typed in my search, here is screenshot proof of my findings:
It is a small image, but you should be able to make out "cooking with semen." Yes, that is correct: semen. Not cooking with wine, vegetables, chicken, confidence, or any other of the hundreds of possible options, but semen.
Now, you know how search engines work, right? Without getting too technical - which I happily could as I know all about search engine algorithms and whatnot - it goes without saying search results are ranked by popularity. That much should be obvious, eh? For example, when typing merely 'f' into Google, 'Facebook' appears straight away, as you would expect. So, this means that the highest number of searches on Amazon for "cooking with" was "cooking with semen." To this fact, I have no idea what to say. It is just extraordinary. All I can conclude from this information is that either someone has somehow manipulated the results, which seems highly unlikely and, even for giggles, kind of pointless, or else it is a truly sick, sick world, people.
Once I had recovered from my shock, however, curiosity took over and I decided to follow the "cooking with semen" link. What I found was as, if not more, amazing than the result itself. I found a book entitled Natural Harvest: A Collection of Semen-Based Recipes, for which I strongly urge you to read the book description and, especially, customer reviews. Trust me, you'll bust a gut. And possibly vomit, depending on how broadminded you may be. Then, how could I forget, there is also the epic tome, Semenology: The Semen Bartender's Handbook. Again, you really, really should read the reviews.
So, a whole new world opened up for me as a result of innocently borrowing that crap DVD - a world of cum cooking and baby batter beverage creation, should I wish to explore it further. And I thought I was a man of the world, but it seems not. Wow, what odd creatures we humans are...
As I search today I see that "cooking with semen" has slipped down to # 5 in the search rankings. Poor show, semen! Amusingly, though, "cooking with booze" and, what the hell, "cooking with coolio" have entered the top 10! Hurrah! There is still no sign of wine, vegetables, chicken or confidence, but proudly shitt... er, sitting at the top of the pile today, however, is "cooking with pooh." I hope to hell that's the real book that now dominates the searches on Amazon, and not a spelling mistake. Not that, all things considered, I would too surprised if it was!
One movie we had on our list was Cooking with Stella, so when it was traded in at the store recently I pounced on it to bring home and watch that evening. Unfortunately it was rather disappointing, but there are always worse ways we could have wiled away a couple of hours. I returned the DVD to the store the following day, and brought up Amazon on the store computer to ascertain a price we should sell it at. We tend to use Amazon as a guide as it is usually the cheapest online source for most titles, then we price our stuff at around 60% of the cheapest available new copies.
Not changing the catch-all category of 'All,' I typed "cooking with" into the Amazon search box and a whole load of options appeared in the resultant drop-down. However, the search result appearing at the very top made my jaw drop in amazement, shock, and not a little disgust. So, taken from the very page that, ahem, came up when I typed in my search, here is screenshot proof of my findings:
It is a small image, but you should be able to make out "cooking with semen." Yes, that is correct: semen. Not cooking with wine, vegetables, chicken, confidence, or any other of the hundreds of possible options, but semen.
Now, you know how search engines work, right? Without getting too technical - which I happily could as I know all about search engine algorithms and whatnot - it goes without saying search results are ranked by popularity. That much should be obvious, eh? For example, when typing merely 'f' into Google, 'Facebook' appears straight away, as you would expect. So, this means that the highest number of searches on Amazon for "cooking with" was "cooking with semen." To this fact, I have no idea what to say. It is just extraordinary. All I can conclude from this information is that either someone has somehow manipulated the results, which seems highly unlikely and, even for giggles, kind of pointless, or else it is a truly sick, sick world, people.
Once I had recovered from my shock, however, curiosity took over and I decided to follow the "cooking with semen" link. What I found was as, if not more, amazing than the result itself. I found a book entitled Natural Harvest: A Collection of Semen-Based Recipes, for which I strongly urge you to read the book description and, especially, customer reviews. Trust me, you'll bust a gut. And possibly vomit, depending on how broadminded you may be. Then, how could I forget, there is also the epic tome, Semenology: The Semen Bartender's Handbook. Again, you really, really should read the reviews.
So, a whole new world opened up for me as a result of innocently borrowing that crap DVD - a world of cum cooking and baby batter beverage creation, should I wish to explore it further. And I thought I was a man of the world, but it seems not. Wow, what odd creatures we humans are...
As I search today I see that "cooking with semen" has slipped down to # 5 in the search rankings. Poor show, semen! Amusingly, though, "cooking with booze" and, what the hell, "cooking with coolio" have entered the top 10! Hurrah! There is still no sign of wine, vegetables, chicken or confidence, but proudly shitt... er, sitting at the top of the pile today, however, is "cooking with pooh." I hope to hell that's the real book that now dominates the searches on Amazon, and not a spelling mistake. Not that, all things considered, I would too surprised if it was!
Friday, July 5, 2013
I Want to Play!
For some time now I've been thinking I should engage myself with some kind of sporting activity in order to get a little fitter. The all-action sport of Curling has been the favourite in my mind until, just this morning, I discovered Bubble Football. Surely the world's silliest new sport, it apparently emerged last year from Norway, and as this video illustrates, appears to be the greatest fun ever. How anyone playing manages to keep from laughing themselves insensible during a game I can only imagine!
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Our Cherries Bombed
Moving into a house with a yard containing three apple trees and a cherry tree was very exciting. From the off we envisioned harvesting all the fruit to make into pies, jam and whatnot, as well as spreading some love by sharing our bountiful crop with friends.
Having moved in early April we experienced the joy of witnessing the trees blossom before the serious business of creating fruit started in earnest. Over the last few weeks we've been eagerly watching little green buds swell into small apples, and watching cherries in our huge tree darken and turn lovely and shiny. After nightmare infestations of tent caterpillars in the spring, as gardening novices we had no idea what to expect of this year's yield, so were pleasantly surprised and happy to witness fruit happily growing on the branches. From the elevated vantage point of our deck, the cherry tree looked particularly abundant.
The apples are still developing, but tonight we finally had some time available to pick the cherries at the time it looked most like they should be picked. They were deep red and looking very juicy. First, however, we went onto YouTube to see exactly how it should be done: cut them down individually with secateurs, high up the stalk so as to delay the ripening process. Then, in expectation of a bulging sack of cherries, we also researched the various ways in which they can be used and/or preserved. Excited, we donned our gardening gloves, grabbed the ladder, a container, and the secateurs.
When underneath the tree in search of cherries, we were suddenly somewhat crestfallen. There were a few within reach with the ladder, but many of the cherries that looked so healthy from the deck were soggy or half-munched by birds. Plenty more were entirely rotten on the branch. Stepping back, it seemed the real booty was the crop of cherries teasingly totally out of reach at the very top of the tree unless we were able to employ something like this:
Nonetheless, undeterred, we ploughed on. "Ooh, there's one!" Susan or I would chirrup enthusiastically upon a sighting, one of us then scuttling up the ladder to snip it down. "Oh, it's rotten," came back the reply, the disappointed harvester hurtling it into the distance in annoyance. This process went on for some time until pretty much every reachable, snippable cherry had been extracted from the tree. Then totally forgetting our reason for being in the yard in the first place we got sidetracked by butchering a gargantuan arc of blackberry thorns that had infiltrated our yard from next door. But the more we chopped away at the prickly bastard the more apparent it became that it was totally entwined as an all-but-impenetrable network in the upper reaches of the cherry tree, so after removing what we could we called it a night, shuffling disconsolately off to head indoors to take stock of our cherry haul.
So, ladies and gentlemen, collapse in awe if you will at our cherry harvest for Summer 2013, presented for your amazement by my good lady wife:
There we have the grand total of 26 cherries. Twenty-effing-six. That's less than the average sparrow consumes for breakfast. It's even less than in a single Mini Cherry Cutie Pie, for crying out screaming loud.
No pies, no jam, no whatnot, no spreading some love by sharing our bountiful crop with friends. No, not in Summer 2013. But, as total novices at this game we have learned plenty of lessons for next year. We have learned, for example, that it matters not how much we love birds, it's not the greatest idea to actively encourage them to visit our yard by hanging a bird feeder... in the cherry tree. That was a big mistake right there.
Oh well, let's see how we get on with the apples.
Having moved in early April we experienced the joy of witnessing the trees blossom before the serious business of creating fruit started in earnest. Over the last few weeks we've been eagerly watching little green buds swell into small apples, and watching cherries in our huge tree darken and turn lovely and shiny. After nightmare infestations of tent caterpillars in the spring, as gardening novices we had no idea what to expect of this year's yield, so were pleasantly surprised and happy to witness fruit happily growing on the branches. From the elevated vantage point of our deck, the cherry tree looked particularly abundant.
The apples are still developing, but tonight we finally had some time available to pick the cherries at the time it looked most like they should be picked. They were deep red and looking very juicy. First, however, we went onto YouTube to see exactly how it should be done: cut them down individually with secateurs, high up the stalk so as to delay the ripening process. Then, in expectation of a bulging sack of cherries, we also researched the various ways in which they can be used and/or preserved. Excited, we donned our gardening gloves, grabbed the ladder, a container, and the secateurs.
When underneath the tree in search of cherries, we were suddenly somewhat crestfallen. There were a few within reach with the ladder, but many of the cherries that looked so healthy from the deck were soggy or half-munched by birds. Plenty more were entirely rotten on the branch. Stepping back, it seemed the real booty was the crop of cherries teasingly totally out of reach at the very top of the tree unless we were able to employ something like this:
Nonetheless, undeterred, we ploughed on. "Ooh, there's one!" Susan or I would chirrup enthusiastically upon a sighting, one of us then scuttling up the ladder to snip it down. "Oh, it's rotten," came back the reply, the disappointed harvester hurtling it into the distance in annoyance. This process went on for some time until pretty much every reachable, snippable cherry had been extracted from the tree. Then totally forgetting our reason for being in the yard in the first place we got sidetracked by butchering a gargantuan arc of blackberry thorns that had infiltrated our yard from next door. But the more we chopped away at the prickly bastard the more apparent it became that it was totally entwined as an all-but-impenetrable network in the upper reaches of the cherry tree, so after removing what we could we called it a night, shuffling disconsolately off to head indoors to take stock of our cherry haul.
So, ladies and gentlemen, collapse in awe if you will at our cherry harvest for Summer 2013, presented for your amazement by my good lady wife:
There we have the grand total of 26 cherries. Twenty-effing-six. That's less than the average sparrow consumes for breakfast. It's even less than in a single Mini Cherry Cutie Pie, for crying out screaming loud.
No pies, no jam, no whatnot, no spreading some love by sharing our bountiful crop with friends. No, not in Summer 2013. But, as total novices at this game we have learned plenty of lessons for next year. We have learned, for example, that it matters not how much we love birds, it's not the greatest idea to actively encourage them to visit our yard by hanging a bird feeder... in the cherry tree. That was a big mistake right there.
Oh well, let's see how we get on with the apples.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Jello 'n' Me
Last week was very strange. It was a week when it seemed as if the life of an American punk rock icon and mine were somehow intertwined. This is what happened:
MONDAY JUNE 17
As usual of a morning I sat with my coffee and breakfast having a surf of the news, entertainment sites and music blogs I enjoy each day. It's my routine before ablutions and heading off to work at the music store. One music blog I check in on is called Cover Me. As the name would suggest it is devoted exclusively to cover versions, which I have a fondness for and compile CDs of. One regular Cover Me feature is They Say It's Your Birthday, which "celebrates an artist's special day with other people singing his or her songs." On Monday June 17, 2013, the featured artist was the aforementioned punk rock icon, one Jello Biafra, who turned 55 that day. For better or worse, here are the covers of his songs.
WEDNESDAY JUNE 19
It had been a quiet day at work. Neil and I busied ourselves with the usual jobs in a routine, ho-hum kind of way, until at around 3:00pm a balding, greying middle-aged man dressed head-to-foot in black walked in and caught my attention. With the punk star's image fresh in my mind from two days prior, as he poked about in the 45s rack I thought, 'Wow, that guy really looks like Jello Biafra.' Then when he spoke to me to ask where the Canadian punk records were, I immediately knew it was Jello! Crazy!
What the hell was Jello Biafra doing in l'il ol' Nanaimo? I remember my boss Steve telling me that Jello had been in his store many years before, when it was located in Country Club Mall, buying a bunch of exotica/lounge records, so I asked him what brought him to town. It transpires he has friends in our community, and was here to see them as part of his birthday celebrations. Anyway, we left him to it and he listened to a pile of Japanese surf/60s R 'n' B and other cool records until right up when we closed three hours later, dropping $290 to considerably boost a quiet day's takings.
THURSDAY JUNE 20
A box from our Ottawa supplier J-Mac arrived in the afternoon. As I do with every delivery, I opened it to inspect the contents prior to processing the order. Amongst the LPs were two copies each of Jello's Dead Kennedys' "Bedtime for Democracy" and "Frankenchrist." This may not seem particular unusual - this is a record store, after all - but the fact is we had not had these titles in for the longest time. The latter, in fact, is out of print, so we were lucky to track these copies down at all. All things considered thus far this week, I looked at the records and thought, "Hmmm... what the hell is going on here?!"
SATURDAY JUNE 22
Susan and I (with our friends Art, Carol, Pete and Heidi) attended the awesome Campbell Bay Music Festival on gorgeous Mayne Island on Friday and Saturday. There were hundreds of people there, arriving steadily all day long on both days. The bands were amazing, pretty much keeping my eyes glued to the stage the entire time (Friday included), but for some reason that surely can only be explained by cosmic intervention, at some indeterminate point I suddenly felt compelled to look to where the festival entrance was located a way down the field. And wouldn't you know it, the guy walking through the gate at that precise moment was wearing a Dead Kennedys t-shirt bearing the classic DK logo.
Trust me, chills ran down my spine when I saw this guy. Bear in mind that the Campbell Bay Music Festival is a very folk music-oriented, generally rootsy affair, and despite its DIY ethic is as far removed from political hardcore punk rock as can be imagined. There are lots of hippies and crusties present, and nary a punk in sight. In truth I saw very few band shirts or merchandise of any description, regardless of genre, so this Dead Kennedys t-shirt was something of an anomaly in this situation. Really, if someone was spotted wearing a Belle & Sebastian t-shirt it would have likely been deemed edgy.
What does this all mean? Why did all this Jello stuff arise in one week? Does Jello perhaps have some part to play in my future, his presence and the inadvertent Cover Me heads-up presenting the first clues...? Is he aware of this? Or do I have some part to play in Jello's future, and everything that happened last week was the universe's way of informing me? Of all people and all musicians, why Jello Biafra? Because Susan is the service advisor at an automotive repair garage, does the DK's song "Trust Your Mechanic" suddenly have some significance for us?
Yeah, what a weird week! Coincidence has played quite a part in my life at times, and in weeks like June 17-22, 2013, such occurrences can really mess with your head. Because coincidence is obviously all this is, but coincidence(s) so extraordinary that it is easy to think there is something more 'designed' at play! Ah, whatever... but in the middle of it all I did get to wish Jello Biafra a belated happy birthday, which is presumably not something I'll get that many more opportunities in life to do!
MONDAY JUNE 17
As usual of a morning I sat with my coffee and breakfast having a surf of the news, entertainment sites and music blogs I enjoy each day. It's my routine before ablutions and heading off to work at the music store. One music blog I check in on is called Cover Me. As the name would suggest it is devoted exclusively to cover versions, which I have a fondness for and compile CDs of. One regular Cover Me feature is They Say It's Your Birthday, which "celebrates an artist's special day with other people singing his or her songs." On Monday June 17, 2013, the featured artist was the aforementioned punk rock icon, one Jello Biafra, who turned 55 that day. For better or worse, here are the covers of his songs.
WEDNESDAY JUNE 19
It had been a quiet day at work. Neil and I busied ourselves with the usual jobs in a routine, ho-hum kind of way, until at around 3:00pm a balding, greying middle-aged man dressed head-to-foot in black walked in and caught my attention. With the punk star's image fresh in my mind from two days prior, as he poked about in the 45s rack I thought, 'Wow, that guy really looks like Jello Biafra.' Then when he spoke to me to ask where the Canadian punk records were, I immediately knew it was Jello! Crazy!
What the hell was Jello Biafra doing in l'il ol' Nanaimo? I remember my boss Steve telling me that Jello had been in his store many years before, when it was located in Country Club Mall, buying a bunch of exotica/lounge records, so I asked him what brought him to town. It transpires he has friends in our community, and was here to see them as part of his birthday celebrations. Anyway, we left him to it and he listened to a pile of Japanese surf/60s R 'n' B and other cool records until right up when we closed three hours later, dropping $290 to considerably boost a quiet day's takings.
THURSDAY JUNE 20
A box from our Ottawa supplier J-Mac arrived in the afternoon. As I do with every delivery, I opened it to inspect the contents prior to processing the order. Amongst the LPs were two copies each of Jello's Dead Kennedys' "Bedtime for Democracy" and "Frankenchrist." This may not seem particular unusual - this is a record store, after all - but the fact is we had not had these titles in for the longest time. The latter, in fact, is out of print, so we were lucky to track these copies down at all. All things considered thus far this week, I looked at the records and thought, "Hmmm... what the hell is going on here?!"
SATURDAY JUNE 22
Susan and I (with our friends Art, Carol, Pete and Heidi) attended the awesome Campbell Bay Music Festival on gorgeous Mayne Island on Friday and Saturday. There were hundreds of people there, arriving steadily all day long on both days. The bands were amazing, pretty much keeping my eyes glued to the stage the entire time (Friday included), but for some reason that surely can only be explained by cosmic intervention, at some indeterminate point I suddenly felt compelled to look to where the festival entrance was located a way down the field. And wouldn't you know it, the guy walking through the gate at that precise moment was wearing a Dead Kennedys t-shirt bearing the classic DK logo.
Trust me, chills ran down my spine when I saw this guy. Bear in mind that the Campbell Bay Music Festival is a very folk music-oriented, generally rootsy affair, and despite its DIY ethic is as far removed from political hardcore punk rock as can be imagined. There are lots of hippies and crusties present, and nary a punk in sight. In truth I saw very few band shirts or merchandise of any description, regardless of genre, so this Dead Kennedys t-shirt was something of an anomaly in this situation. Really, if someone was spotted wearing a Belle & Sebastian t-shirt it would have likely been deemed edgy.
What does this all mean? Why did all this Jello stuff arise in one week? Does Jello perhaps have some part to play in my future, his presence and the inadvertent Cover Me heads-up presenting the first clues...? Is he aware of this? Or do I have some part to play in Jello's future, and everything that happened last week was the universe's way of informing me? Of all people and all musicians, why Jello Biafra? Because Susan is the service advisor at an automotive repair garage, does the DK's song "Trust Your Mechanic" suddenly have some significance for us?
Yeah, what a weird week! Coincidence has played quite a part in my life at times, and in weeks like June 17-22, 2013, such occurrences can really mess with your head. Because coincidence is obviously all this is, but coincidence(s) so extraordinary that it is easy to think there is something more 'designed' at play! Ah, whatever... but in the middle of it all I did get to wish Jello Biafra a belated happy birthday, which is presumably not something I'll get that many more opportunities in life to do!
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