Archive for October, 2003


“three prov, with”

the band has returned from its first out-of-town performance, in philadelphia. thanks to the fine work of our pals tom, randy and the crew as well as john the gallery owner, our debut was just blocks away from benjamin franklin’s tomb. another first: we brought movies.

it so happens that the music of the san andreas fault goes down very well with the 1960s-era children’s animation work produced by soyuzmultfilm, the official state animation studio of soviet russia. we had a chat with the images, if you get me. they’re going to keep us around. courtesy of randy, a gnarly trobmone accompaniment on “you only live twice” rocked the house.

personal highlights for me included james and i watching the cubs blow the NLCS game 7 in a philly irish bar. we explained to the phillies fans present what a “goat curse” is and why it was to blame for the loss. we were issued sympathy bourbon in great quantities, which led to some odd behavior later.

i read the newspaper to ben franklin (deceased) at his tomb. when i got to the the story about the pentagon sending fraudulent form letters from soldiers in iraq to the us newspapers, i could hear a faint whining sound coming from beneath the headstone. this sound confused me until i realized that it was the sound a buried corpse makes when it spins at 7200 rpm.

after adorning 2nd street’s sidewalk with my bourbon-numbed, bulky frame (photo coming, regrettably) it was time for cheesesteaks. lots of questions here. where? which place? what sandwich? wait, did the cubs just choke? it was up to me to bring back the goods to tom’s place. after a briefing by john, i float confidently up to the window. below, a symphony in grease drones from a vast, beef-laden griddle. an italian guy in a t-shirt looks at me expectantly.

“whaddayou want, cuz?”

casually, like i’ve done this hundreds of times, i reply;

“lemme get three prov, with.”

i even threw in that disinterested, yeah-i-seen-you-around tick of the shoulder favored by urban white guys everywhere who are trying to look cool. or maybe it was the up-nod of the head, i forget exactly. the fumes were overpowering.

when i got back, i was heralded as a hero by the guys until it became apparent that i ate the sandwiches while driving back to tom’s place. further, i actually had ordered the wrong thing. “prov, with” means “a steak sandwich, provolone cheese with onions”. what i should have done was ordered “three whiz, with.” incredibly, i was instructed that provolone=bad. cheese whiz=good.

ever the diplomat, i lashed out. “nobody eats cheese whiz, not even in wisconsin, you savages,” before collapsing in a heap, serenaded to sleep by the whirring of ben franklin’s distant, rotating remains.

return trip was uneventful except for almost running out of gas on the ohio turnpike. in the rain and the fog. my only regret was not seeing more the set from the other guys playing. it was the 7th inning, i apologize.



retaliatory haiku

the television won’t shut itself off, and so i have been bathing in its blue radiation. it’s horrible aura darkens the circles under my eyes and keeps me reeling. a glass teat squirting its high-calorie low-protein mush into my living room. it’s almost embarrassing, nearly obscene. but you have to give the people who make this stuff credit for having world-class imaginations.

for example, there’s this great show on now about an austrian, a philandering son of a nazi who achieves the governorship of california. exquisite fancy! there’s also this elaborate “fantasy baseball” show that comes on every few evenings where they pose the question “what if the chicago cubs didn’t suck?” delicious! there’s also this amazing documentary series about the band califoneand their travels on the road.

often, there’s lots and lots of smaller screens on the screen where you can see the heads of people inside. you hear the heads yap, a torrent of steady yammering about this and about that. and then some more about this, then that. i think its supposed to be news, but some of these people are so full of their own dump, you cannot fail to be entertained.

the parade of television personalities is a very long one, dominated by jingoist rhetoric and flag-draped distraction. the only sane response to this interminable procession of babble is retaliatory haiku.

ann coulter

thin yellow tresses
unmussed by any helmet
her spittle cries war

rush limbaugh

hear the little maracas?
painkiller bottles

cokie roberts

nostrils akimbo
an insider inside her
and inside him, scotch

sean hannity

wally george’s wit
adolf eichmann’s compassion
little richard’s tact

robert novak

underneath the bridge
lived an obedient troll
who dabbled in treason

bill o’reilly

hippies are okay
maybe kind of lost, sure, but
at least they’re not you



rob [at] warmowski [dot] com

@warmowski on twitter

Rob’s Bands

Rob Warmowski entry at Chicago Punk Database
1984-89: Defoliants
1991-94: Buzzmuscle
2001-05: San Andreas Fault
2008- : Sirs
2008- : Allende

Rob at Huffington Post

October 2003