Mixing tapes like it's 1999.

Have you ever wanted a gift that was almost as much for me as it is for you? Well, then you're clearly on the market for a mixtape.
Below is a picture of the peninsula I'm from, and Rt 28 is the major autoroute that runs through her. It becomes 128 once you hit Boston. And as I lived in down on the Cape and up in Boston for a few years each, I thought I'd make a mix to remind the rest of the world that the ladys of Cambridge know who I am...

Like the cover? Download Rt 28 and each track will display it!


Duncan (Colbert intro)..............................................Paul Simon
Even though I harvested the sample myself--want for quality though it does, I still credit my buddy Mike who put this song on the final mix he made me when I graduated university. And for the record, my father was a fishermen....and I may just have been born from the bordom and the chowder.
Roadrunner..............................................................Jonathan Richman & the Modern Lovers
This song was on the opening credits to one of my favorite public access shows, Naked with Bacon. When I moved out to LA a few years after, this was the first song I heard playing inside Amoeba Music, (the only music store fit to rival Newbury Comics back east.) The moment felt cosmically appropriate.
Walcott....................................................................Vampire Weekend
Vampire Weekend is not from neither Cape Cod nor Boston, but this is forgivable because they're basically the only modern band to even notice us.

Getting noticed is surreal.

Check out Fab Ciraolo -- his art gives my optic nerve a lady boner.


Mass Pike (R.Frost/Outsiders intro).........................The Get Up Kids
This Outsiders quote was originally attached to a version of a New Found Glory Song that was forever on my high school mixtapes. I don't know if they couldn't get the rights to the sample or something but I can't find that version anywhere, and it's totally in a box of other mix cds~ Anyway, this mashup is an homage to the fact that those two bands would have totally been on the same tape. Plus, Robert Frost was from New England, nbd.
The Ocean..............................................................Dar Williams
"Let me tell you the song of this town, she said everything closes at 5. After that, well you've just got the bars." I knew a transman from Maine who could relate to the small town seaside feel of this song,so, Cape Cod can't claim it alone. But Dar was a gift from my best friends Lean Milly-a & Ryehanson, aka Rhitard, aka Rye-ann-nom Al-shaminger...this will all be relevant when you get to the song I wrote for her a few tracks down...almost.
Down Easter Alexa................................................Billy Joel
Billy Joel was huge when I was still just a sprat. And like any cool kid, I got all my first CDs from my mom. No, my friends, I didn't start the fire--but it's still just rock and roll to me. Anyway, BJ is a wash-ashore who transposes the keyboard while he's vacationing on Nantucket. For the uninitiated, those are three solid reasons to disapprove of him completely. And frankly forget the swordfish, there ain't no luck in Cod Fishin' here.
Brandy (Toll Booth Willy Intro)..........................Looking Glass
Rumor has it I might just get my whimsy from my mother's side of the tum-tum tree. Anyway, one time when she was dropping me off back at school, this song came on and she told me that apparently, my father had said this song reminded him of her. I've always it a fancied it a romantic scope under which to view the recombinants of my DNA. Naturally I had to spoil the moment by adding samples from the best dirty CD mc ever.
Homecoming King.................................................Guster
I used to be up Guster's shorts and I even met them once before a concert and found out one of them used to life-guard at the pool on Winter-hill. That was cool, but this was really the last album of his I could get into. I check in with them now and then and still find that through the way they chose to play their instruments and due largely to how effortlessly they blow goats, I am just no longer interested in 
hearing them meow. But they say Massachusetts a gang of times on this track.
One 11 Princeton Street.........................................The Stares the Loots and the Lyres
This song is for my best friend, Rhi. When my band mate came to me with the piano part I knew I wanted to write a track for her. If it sounds a bit like the Ben Fold Five cut that ends the album that's pure coincidence...we were trying to make it sound like Penny Lane.
Boston (Mr. Lif Mix)..............................................Vampire Weekend
I think this is both my best track as well as the one I'm least satisfied with. Not many rappers with a name have made it out of Boston so I had to put Mr. Lif on here. Howevski, one hip hop number woulda stood out most grotesquely. But these samples were recorded live at the Middle East and that's all Scyentifik, for putting me on to Lif.
I Hate The Unseen.................................................Dark Buster
Dark Buster should have made it out of Boston. They were my favorite punk band of that era. Even though they shared the Knights of Columbus stage with many amazing Bean-town acts such as: Zippo Raid, Toxic, What and the Unseen. You might have actually heard of the Unseen if you're into punk.
Jonathan.................................................................Nerf Herder
This is amusing pick because it's about the singer of the second track on this mix. Plus those scruffy Nerf Hearderz mob his guitar style and taught me everything I ever bothered to learn about Jonathan 
Richman. Nerf Herder also wrote the first song I could sing and play at the same time.
Don't Change Your Plans (Will Hunting)...........Ben Folds 5

 Ben Folds Five carries a lot of currency in my adolescent and his lyrics and my memories are stamped all over those dolla dolla bills y'all. But I did change my plans once and I did move to LA and even if the leaves are still falling back east the road goes ever on, for Will Hunting as well. I tried to put Mystic Pizza on this track, but the quote I decided on reminds me of every genius I ever grew up around. Just think of a whole town worth of talent living on unemployment half the year. 

I love Cape Cod and I love Boston and I will always have the salt of the first 13 in my viens. But I wasn't captain of the New England Drinking team for nothing: I'm a Masshole first, in a ll things. I'll always scoff at Canadians, New Yorkers, Yankees fans, and anyone in the entire world wearing a hat with an NY on it. Especially if they don't like (or even understad the rules of) baseball. I will warmly extend this disdain to all persons from Rhode Island whose major contribution was Ocean State Job Lot, Maine, a land mass not even worth defending from the British, New Hampshire, who seriously wishes they were Vermont, and Vermont who needs to remember that those are barely mountains. Of couse I would never leave out anyone who pretends Connecticut isn't a suburb of, or perhaps mealy a parking-lot  for New York.

Yep. That last paragraph is the kind that helps you make friends and ensured my tenure as the captain of the New England drinking team--where my principal job was to set the minium standard for alcohol poisoning and survival. Those sick fucks wanted me dead...can't imagine why.
And if it doesn't make you want to download this mix:
THE MIXXXXOXOXOXOX
Nothing will.

Cover art for upcoming mixes:

I won't be 'splaining those, Lucy---but I'll link you their uploads when they're at a satisfactory level of completion.
Places to pick up free mixes:
I speak in tunes (Any genre)
Stay Glued (Any genre)
Birp (electro/disco/pop)
Mashup breakdown (Mashup, Dj cuts)
Datpiff (Hip Hop)
DJbooth.net (Hip Hop/RnB)

Plus, sometimes I just search tumblr for mixtapes. Many of those sites also except submissions so please participate and feel free to send me a link when you do.
I have no problem making mixes and mashups and calling them art. Mixtaping isn't meant to an infringement on privet property. If you dig a track, buy the album, or go to a live show--it's free advertising. Ask Radiohead if they regret giving their comeback album away.   If you've made a mixtape and you want to share it with me I'm sure I can find a mood to match it to. If you know a great site to get more music for free, please leave a comment. And by all means, if you download the mix let me know.

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Leaving New England (Part 1)

"Willow's asleep. She's laying across your mum's bed."
"Wake her."
"She has to drive in like 4 hours, let her sleep."
"I need cigarettes."
"Well then, let's go."
Neither Stevie nor I has a license. In just four hours Willow will be driving us both to my new university in south west Ohio. If we don't get lost it should take us 15 hours.
"Where's her keys?"
"Check her pockets, I think she's wearing her coat and everything."
Stevie slinks in to lift the keys. Willow mews in her sleep.  I look around the darkened apartment her mom has been fixing up for the past 6 or so years.
They rent from their Grandma. I basically lived here all through high school. It was easy to never go home when you wear the same stupid plaid skirt every day.
I trace my finger along the new wood trim. How long till my clothes smell like this place again? 


"Got'em." Stevie dangles a shiny set of keys up to eyes, impishly. Willow just leased the Focus about a week ago. Driving me to Ohio had seemed fun, at the time, and was talked about for the second half of the summer, once she knew which car she wanted.
Stevie and I walk across the creaky porch where our madness and repose held court all throughout those long sophomoric summer nights that always seemed to stretch on into fall,  holding back the cold breath of winter until at last came the first snap of spring, on and on again like a great song on repeat.
"Which key does the lock?"
"Uh, use the button."
"Eureka!"
"s'Castle."
We fumble aboard. Stevie adjusts the driver's seat and mirror. I tap the dash,  breathing in the new car smells of plastics and foam. The stereo still doesn't have presets yet, so I fiddle with it trying to find our station. Once a good song is playing, Stevie lights her last cigarette and makes the tip glow orange so I can see her eyes behind her horn rimmed glasses.
The streets of West Medford are newly paved and vacant, orderly in a way that demands an inner quiet. As we pass,  every third or forth house has a statue of Mary and babe staring out at me from behind a white washed chain linked fence. They they might as well be pink flamingos, what with how tacky they are.

"Who leaves Jesus in a bathtub?"
"What?"
"Nothin. Just nothing."
The song is different now. It's pulling a sadness out of me that doesn't exist in its chords. The trash is on every curb. This is my yesterday.

"What's open?"
"Only Store 24."
The blinker taps out a march as we turn.
"But it's so close," I say as I jerk my head to the right.
"To the police station? Yeah."
We pull right up to the door. There are no other cars in the lot. I get out and check my zipper. Furtively I glace back.  Nestled under the bridge behind us is the Medford City Municipal Precinct.
I press in on my pocket, checking it's contents. The warped rectangle of my passport is still there. It's my only ID: scribbled with lyrics, covered in propaganda stickers, signed by my favorite rock group and been through the wash twice. Guess, I haven't really had the same rights of passage as other kids my age. Stevie either.
Her  only ID is a paper permit that says she can drive if someone over 25 is in the car.  If pressed I could always say I left my licence at home. But I just turned 19 and I usually test younger. She stubbs out her Marlboro and I follow her inside.
The new thing right  now is energy drinks. Supposedly they have cow testicles in them or something.
I don't know which ones are good so I take five different kinds off the shelf. They all have hyper masculine labels and aggressive fonts.
I nod judiciously, bull testicles indeed.
Next, we'll want Slim Jims, jerky--road foods: peanuts, salts and chocolates, packs of gum, two kinds of chips, diet sodas for Willow and just 821 miles between now and my next life. I start to get romantic, but I push the future from my head and waddle up in line behind a brick wall of a cop.  He's got neck fat, the number one indicator that I could outrun him. I smirk at the back of his ugly puckered skull.
"Thirsty?"
"Easy, you'll make me drop these things, sneaking up like that."
"Sore-y, Alistair."
"What kind of m and m's do you like?" I ask, glancing back at her as she shifts through her wallet looking for her permit. Four cops are in line behind her. I look down at my arm load of treats. Two more cops come in. Stevie suddenly notices all the blue suits and her eyes go wide. I look back down at the supplies.
I can hear her thinking, if the cops see me use this permit to buy my butts and then see me driving away....She looks down at everything I'm carrying, appalled.
"It's too much."
"Yes."
"I'll put some back."
"Put it all back."
"Yes."
"Cigarretts can wait?"
"Yes."
We all but run from the store.


"Holy Fuck."
"No, calm down."
"No,  holy fuck,  Launny. Fuck."
"You'll be fine. You can do it. Just get in."
"They fuckin' boxed us in. I won't be able to do it."
I take a hot, dry swallow of air. So close that we can barely open the doors on both sides of us are cop cars.
"We're fucked." Stevie states definitively. "Really, actually fucked."
"Fuck you. Drive." I point across the roof of the car at her. She takes my dare and gets in.
I talk her out of keeping her eyes closed to back up. We arrive at her mom's place without incident. I'm mad at us both for taking Willow's car. I slam the door and stomp up the steps. We're suppost to be on the road in just under three hours now.
"Why'd you slam it?"
"Just cuz. Get some rest."
"I need a cigarette."
"Do as you like."
I squeak open the front door, leaving her on the porch. The four stroke tattoo of dog nails on parquet greet me as Stevie's ancient border collie shoves her damp nose into the palm of a hand accustomed to fending her off. "Go to sleep, Louise," I say as I scrape my own tired feet across the room to the body pillow on the floor. I would prefer the couch, but that would mean waking up someone, or a bed, but that would mean sharing, and I only want a few hours rest before it's time to carry on.  "Go to sleep." I say to no one in particular. If Stevie comes in, she does not rouse me.


The soft padding of feet back from the bathroom into her brother's room is the first thing I hear. My skin is clammy, and my under arms need a rinse.
The light from the front room's window is coming in white. It's still early, but we have overslept.
I step over the dog on my way to the bathroom. Her tail thumps against the ground in greeting. If I stand in the door way, right across from both Stevie's room and her mom's I can see Willows feet hanging off the bed in the same position she fell asleep in. Her shoes are still on. It is time to go, she's known it for hours.
"Willow. Willow, wake up."
"I'm uh-mmm, hmmp."
She rolls on to her back. I go into Stevie's room.
"Time to get up, Steve."
"Fuck off."
"Cigarettes."
"Where?"
"Easy. Get up."
With her eyes still closed, she feels around for her glasses.
I go to put on coffee but there is none. Willows key's are on the table. I pocket them and head back to her bed side.
"C'mon Willow. Up." I kick the bed, once.
"Fuck you."
"Yeah. C'mon."
"I just, I..."
"Stevie said she'd buy you butts."
"We need directions."
"I'll print them. Get up."
Back in the front room I heft my trunk up by it's handle. In my other arm I grab my comforter and pillow and make for the door. The boot on this car is unusually large for a 4 door compact. I am able to stack my trunk, trash can, blow up couch, and wall hangings, no problem. I grab her atlas and toss it up into the front, and put my pillow and blanket in the back.
Stevie is up. She's wearing a Howie Day shirt and pajama pants. Her slippers have rabbit ears. When she sticks her tongue out at me in annoyance I see she has a new light blue bulb on her tongue ring that is a mirror shade to that of her eyes.
"Get Willow up, grumpy. I'll buy breakfast."
I leave her to it and head off to print off the directions. It only takes a few minutes, but the dog makes a fuss by the printer and someone from the living room's couch yells about it.
Suddenly they're being over shouted by Willow and Stevie from her mom's room. Louise rushes past me into intervene.
"Willow, you said you'd take her. Now fucking get your ass in gear and lets move it."
I walk back slowly. Willow hates doing anything, but she agrees to everything. Normally she'll say she'll pick you up at 8 or something and get there around 12.  I could have flown, if I bought the tickets a month ago, or hitched if I didn't pack a trunk, but this was suppost to be my big send off by my best friends and our first road trip, besides.
"I can only put so many miles on it a month, Stevie. That's part of the lease."
"Big fuckin deal, Willow. It has no miles on it."
"I have to do all the driving myself."
"I can do some, that's not true."
"I'm not 25, Stevie!"
"You never gave a shit with the Jimmy."
I make some noise at the door.
"You don't want to come anymore, Willow?" I ask.
"No, it's not that." She flops down on the bed, looking exhausted. "It's just that I have never driven for that long before."
"I'll be right there beside you. I'll read the map the whole way."
I hold up the directions.
"Well, neither of you can really help me."
"I'll be right beside you, Willow. It will work. I need you to do this for me, though and it needs to happen now. Orientation is already over, classes start on monday. I have to go, to-day. ...Is it cuz of gas? Cuz..."
"No, it's not gas. Never mind. I'll take you. Just shut up and get in. Where are my keys?"
"Right here."
"Everything ready?"
"Yeah, just gotta find my hoodie. I thought left it right by my trunk..."
I trail off into the front room to search out my garment, Willow and Stevie bickered more quietly as they both prepared to leave. I was 16 in these rooms. I met Stevie when I was just a freshmen at north Cambridge Catholic. I fell in love with her brother and spent many nights learning how spoons slept, both holding on to our innocence. I was alive in these rooms and in these rooms life was going to go on without me. A deep sigh filled my lungs but my eyes kept searching.
" Louise..." I to put some pretend disapproval in my voice as I pull my dog hair encrusted hoodie from her makeshift bed. Stevie, bored with arguing comes in behind me.
"Oh man, did she take one of your hoodies for her creepy love nest?"
"Bingo."
"That means she thinks of you as one of her sheep."
I pick it up and snap it against my legs, trying to get the hair off.
"I've always fancied myself among those who've fallen out out of favor with the flock."
"How is that any different from what I said?"
Willow tromps into the room. From the drawn way her face is set amidst the cascade of bed tousled blond-brown hair, you can tell she came here to fight.  So while her and Stevie go at it about the last of the cigarettes and who-smoked-who's, I bend down and pet  Louise.
"I'll be back,  Louise. I really will."
One of Stevie's brothers screams at them to shut up. The young man on the couch with his back to us wraps his arms more tightly around himself and pulls in his legs in for warmth. I drop a forgotten sheet across him.
"Come on, guys. Breakfast is on me."
Stevie slams the door loudly as we exit, but runs back in immediately to get her toothbrush and pillow.
I take up shotgun and situate myself, the atlas, and the directions. I pull on my hoodie but think better of it and drape it over my knees.
"So we're really doing it then?"
"Yeah, Willow. We really are. You are, I mean. But I'm here to help."
"The farthest I've ever driven is Maine."
"Northern Maine, or Southern?"
"Kittery."
"Ah. I wanna see the north some time. Hike that 100 miles of wilderness, way up there by Canada, no outposts. You only have what you pack in."
"You've always been the adventurer, Launny. You're the only one who ever leaves."
"It's just a dream. It's nothing, just an idea. Anyway, this is an adventure."
 "What does that make me?"
"I don't know Willow, one does not simply walk into Mordor."
"They do if they run out of gas."
"We'll get some. Honk the horn, we're gunna hit traffic."
"Meh, here she comes."
Stevie half runs, half hobbles out of the house, her hair pulled back in an oily ponytail. She's still wearing her pajamas, but traded the slippers in for chucks. Her pillow is under her arm, and upon the spindle of her pointer finger is a CD. She gets in.
"What's that?"
"A mix, I made it last night."
"Cool, I'll pop it in."
She hands up the disk.
"So where am I driving?"
"Dunkin Donuts, I guess. They have the best breakfasts."
From the back Stevie puts in, "Go to the one on Medford street, it's right by the Cumbies. We can get ciggs and gas."
That settled, we make our way on to Harvard Street and down past McCarthy Storage space. Willow bangs a right onto Mystic Avenue.
"No, Willow, left. We're not heading to the Cape."
"Fuck. fuck, fuck."
Stevie forces her arm up between the seats and points,
"Relax, you can turn down 38 and catch up with 93, but take the parkway first, so we can grab breakfast before I fall back to sleep."
I half turn to face her. I can read a map and follow instructions, but roads of New England run through her veins.
"You sure you don't want shotgun, Stevie?"
"Nah, you can have it. But remember, it's not just a right--it's a responsibility."
"Ha, fuckin' hilarious, ked!  If I ever quote you on that, I'm def gunna describe you as grave and beautiful."
"You better. In my fuckin', dead sexy pajama pants."
"Hey, don't get so fancy back there, the only reason I'm wearing clothes is cuz I slept in this."
"Yeah,  we know, Willow. "
"Jesus Christ, you know what would make this song great, some cigarettes."
"I didn't know you liked Guster, Stevie."
"Don't be a Douche-ku, you know I put this on here for you. Ya sick fuck."
I turn the music up obnoxiously loud, finally channeling all the morning's frustration.
"THEY WANNA KNOW, IF WE CAN GET AWAY, YEAH--"
"Shut up, Launny. Jesus Christ, yer gunna bust the speakers."
"What? I'm singing Stevie and lullaby."
"WHILE THE MESSAGERS, GETS THE MESSAGE, TRY TO CAPTURE US--WE'VE DONE NOTHING WRONG."
"Let's get her some breakfast. She's such a twat when she hasn't eaten."

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We have met the enemy, and they are ours.

So sorry to have to tell you this in writing, my fellow fun-employers, but I've had a little something on the side for awhile now that, if he were feeling pissy about it, R Kelly might call English lessons. Yeah, I know, it's all very sudden. I just wanted you to hear it from me, first.
So that's it, then: I basically get paid 20 euros an hour to have coffee with a stranger and listen to them talk. I think it's a bit like being a therapist or newly in-love. "Tell me again what your favorite song is, Venanzio.." 
So far I have three students that I've been meeting with regularly. 
Student one is an Algerian French teacher who wants to move to Louisiana to help spread French culture. We practice interview questions and I've been schooling him on academic buzz words, *think, differentiated instruction.* He drew me a map and explained that he believes with organizations like the one he is working with leading the charge, it will only be a matter of time before French culture spills out of Louisiana and into the neighboring states. Don't worry people, I didn't even laugh at him. In fact in the nicest way posible I simply told him that will never happen. 
Student two is an Italian documentary film maker. He is working on a script for German and Italian television. He's been here in Paris for 20 years. His English is fine, but he has to read a lot of source materials written neither in Italian or German mais avec that lofty academic language we are so fuckin well known for in America. Ah, discorse. 
Student 3 is a young lady who hates English but has to learn it to pass her blah blab bah. She is the hardest to work with, and the one I need to lean over the table the most at. But she likes music, and can read fairly well in English. So we're talking about the lyrics of her favorite songs. You were born in the wrong era, kid, not to mention the wrong country.
You know, I think I would have always left my country. But I recognize if there had never been a Sebastien to love, this Erin would probably be lost somewhere in the Americas. We may still end up there, if ending up is really what you call another leg of our journey together. Cross that bridge when you get there, first socks, then shoes...water, water everywhere...Please watch for falling platitudes, at these latitudes, gents


We got the most adorable European coats. Sébastien had this leather jacket that he let get absolutely ratty. It was very soft at one time, but he broke the zipper last winter and it never did anything for his butt.  So now he has this really cute tight fitting gig. He's such a mec now. He may dart-off on his vespa at any time for the coast. 
People keep asking me if I'm English. Guys, do I look English? I'm from New England, granted.

Click to see if I'm English

 But we don't have very much respect for our funny talkin' cousins there.... They were too stupid to put on camo or duck when they heard sniper fire. (Read as musket fire) Plus lets be honest, the battle of Put-in-Bay, gave us mad victory points in the war of 1812. ....I didn't even look that up. Ok, I might have...if Sébastien wasn't here to fill in the deets...Don't you wish you had a Sébastien? (also, I found the é key...who's proud of me?)
We've belatedly been discovering our neighborhood. Refrain from hating me if you can, but we've mostly been shopping at super markets.  Mais, dans nous cartier,  we have four butchers, a fish market, six bakeries--that I've notices so far, five or so vegetable stands, and we just found a great place to buy cheese. All this and a coffee roaster. 
But you don't have to take my word for it. ...

Click to see if he's English

Lonely Planet has this to say about our neighborhood....
"Two sorts of foot traffic give the 10th arrondissement its distinctive feel. The banks of the Canal St-Martin draw leisurely strollers while travelers part (and are reunited) on the platforms of the Gare du Nord and Gare de l'Est. Outside, the cafés and brasseries do brisk trade, catering to travelers and locals. Nearby the Blvd Magenta rushes like a swollen river, the noisy, impatient crowd spreading through the adjoining streets and pouring out onto the place de la République.  
The Buzzy working class area around blvd de Strasbourg and rue du Faubourg St Denis, especially south of the blvd Magenta, is home to a large communities of Indians, Bangladeshis, Pakistanis, West Indians, Africans, Turks and Kurds. Indeed, strolling through passage Brady is almost like stepping into a back alley in Mumbai or Dhaka."  I've never been to India or Senegal, but I have been to the passage Brandy... yesterday we even bought Séba a new hat there. Can you imagine writing fluff for guide books? I would punch myself every time I wondered into the semi-romantic...which, were I to write for Lonely Planet would seemily occure with a painful amount of frequency. It's strange, you think they might have at least mentioned the hookers. Boff, all's well that ends well. And sometimes it's better even before that. 
Well, I have to go pick out a love or anti-love song for the Febtober blog swap. It's hard to believe that come the 14th Sébastien and I will have been together 5 years... at the risk of sounding semi-romantic I'll say only, what a long strange trip it has been. 

You have read this article funemployment / Lonely Planet / New England / Paris / Post Modern Talko / R Kelly / Reading Rainbow with the title New England. You can bookmark this page URL https://trendcelebrity2014.blogspot.com/2011/02/we-have-met-enemy-and-they-are-ours.html. Thanks!