Category Archives: stewart copeland

Ready or Not, Here Comes a Thought

In lieu of the customary traditional Sunday night wrap up post I’m going to offer up a strange mish mash of unrelated events that took place during this weekend and attempt to string them together without sounding as if I’ve come unglued. 

Footie the sock with real emotions. 

If you own a pair of socks in my house chances are that I’m wearing them right now. I have a terrible habit of grabbing my husbands work socks before he can catch me so I can run into the bathroom undetected to quickly put them on. 

When his run out I go  rummage through the kids clean laundry. 

So imagine my surprise as I pulled on a pair of what appeared to be perfectly normal foot coverings only to see this staring back at me. 


Apparently Footie, as I like to call him, is capable of changing moods depending on the time of day and how long he is worn. For the first couple of hours he appeared to be in absolute agony, but then I took off my boots later on and I think I discerned a bit of a smile. 

He seems to be saying "Ehhh?" but I think I see the corners of his mouth turning upward.

I know you might be asking why someone would keep this sock on their foot instead of  just throwing it out and finding a new one.  I’m really not sure how to answer that question except to say that I found him endearing in a bizarre foot fetish kind of way. Not sure if he is the result of a botched attempt at a hand puppet or a subtle threat from my family members but I love him anyway. 

Stewart Copeland has been on my mind quite a bit lately and I’m not sure why. 

You know this could totally work.

One of these days someone is going to look back at this guys life and declare that he would have made a great world leader. I know that I’d be a fervent advocate of his candidacy as would many like-minded folks. 

If you are not yet convinced of the viability of my plan consider this – Miles Copeland could be the Secretary of State. 

Consider me in. 

My new moisturizer makes my eyes water but my skin glow. 

What's that smell?

This week I took the battle against dry winter skin to a new level when I broke out the thick greasy hemp moisturizer and slathered it all over my body.  The smell coming from me was enough to get the whole family talking about how bizarre the combination of stale musty body odor mixed with motor oil is and how they shouldn’t be subjected to it when giving me a hug. 

When I pointed out how fresh and new my glowing skin looked, they didn’t seem to care much and asked if I could go back to the product that smelled like a creamsicle . For the record that would be the combo of the French Vanilla and mandarin orange creams I usually use. 

Few people are able to appreciate my struggle to get my skin to look like new baby’s ass. 

So again, a series of random thoughts that were so utterly predictable they ended up being a waste of time.  Who here seriously thought I would be able to connect these  weekend happenings in  a rare moment of lucidity? 

Certainly not me. 

**As a late addition to this post I’d like to reveal a bit of information I came across when doing research. Turns out my body cream is in fact heavy-duty FOOT CREAM for problem dry cracked tootsies. I’m an idiot but my skin is still glowing**



Filed under 1, bodyshop cream that smells bad, footie the human sock, stewart copeland, week end ramblings, writing about unrelated things is bad

Rock Star Regret

Not every moment in rock history was a “I’m a golden god!” type of case scenario. Sure there’s lots of hanging from chandeliers, tossing TV’s out of hotel windows and sleeping with willing groupies but for each one of those treasured memories there are probably five they’d like to forget. 

Plaster Caster


 Oh Cynthia Plaster Caster groupie genius with the best made up job in the world. Hundreds of impulsive young musicians jumped at the chance to be immortalized frozen in permanent limbo for all the world to see. Then they sobered up and realized that after that blow job and all those giggles an actual life-size replica of their genitalia was going to be on display. 

You want to put mine up next to Hendrix? Yeah, that sounds great! Wait, NO! 

Do you ever find  yourself wondering what Peter Gabriel might be thinking? 

I know, me too. 

Here he is during his stint with Genesis participating in some sort of flower shenanigans. You know the entire band is praying that he’ll leave so Phil Collins can front a watered down version of this once mildly interesting band. 

I imagine he's great fun at parties.

 Despite the misstep with the outfit you’ve got to love a guy who leaves and writes Solsbury Hill and Shock the Monkey. 

No one puts Stewart in a corner, or behind a drumkit or whatever!

Stewart Copeland- tube socks and gym shorts make the man. 

Everybody loves Stewart Copeland. 

It’s not a subject that’s up for debate so people end up arguing about the magnitude of his greatness instead. 

He’s FUCKING awesome. 

NO! He’s so fucking awesome MY HEAD IS ON FIRE WITH CERTAINTY. 

Do you hear him beating the shit out of that snare drum? That is so awesome it made my life finally worth living. 

And so on. 

I’ve always loved this guy, his sticks and his ability to make the drums sound like the most important instrument in the Police but the stage clothes he was sportin’ in the 80’s had me narrowing my eyes and giving quizzical looks while planning our wedding. 

This outfit  was clearly born out of necessity (that would be two solid sweaty hours of savage ass kicking thundering drums ) and convenience. And as always with Stewart, all is forgiven. 

He rocked the tube socks.

Billy Squier sports a pink tee destroys career in two minutes flat. 

I'm going to dance badly for a few more minutes on these sheets. Then watch me rip this shirt. Like the Hulk does!

 Someone should have stopped him when pink jammies and silk sheets were mentioned for the video shoot for Rock Me Tonight. 

But no.  

 This guy had the Robert Plant on tropical holiday hair, catchy guitar riffs and lots of hit songs. He wrote his own ticket and then sadly had to cash it in because of this unfortunate choice of shirt and a badly choreographed video. Sniff. 

How are we getting away with this?

Simon Le Bon wears curtain tassel from mom’s drapery in new romantic pirate fashion.  

 So what can we learn from people who dress like ethereal woodsprites with severely colored asymmetrical hair?  We know that it’s easier to hire hot girls to wrestle  soft core porn style for our other smash video Girls on Film and to dress like Indiana Jones looking to get lucky on Sri Lanka for Hungry Like the Wolf. 

 Strangely this did not diminish his masculine appeal for me but Andy’s frilly shirt and all that leather left me confused. 

Minus gauze.

Stevie Nicks

When I think of Stevie Nicks I get a warm reassuring flashback from the 70’s. I’m in the large open living room of my childhood home and my dad is putting Rumors on the turn table. This is how I like to remember her. Before she got tangled up in all that gauzy extra clothing that I don’t think she has any remorse about.  But I do. 

Henry. Why all the screaming?


 Y’ know. Maybe I’m biased because some hooligan started a riot and caused the wooden barrier holding back the frenzied audience to collapse  sending me to the hospital with a broken arm during one of his concerts but I wonder if he has any second thoughts about all that ranting and screaming? 

 As the ambulance pulled away with my rain soaked and busted up body I imagined him standing shaking his head in sorrow and handing me a free signed t-shirt. It never happened. Not sure if he’s sorry or not.


Filed under 1, billy squier, duran duran, golden god, Henry Rollins, music, peter gabriel, plaster caster, reasons no famous people will talk to me, rock and roll regrets, stevie nicks, stewart copeland

For Those Who Helped Us Rock, We Salute You

We're with the band. Or at least we like to pretend we are.

It’s been over twenty years since I last ran screaming down an alley after a hastily retreating tour bus hollering for its occupants to validate my existence with a wave or a smile. So tonight in order to honor the girl I was and the bands that played on the soundtrack of my youth, I plan to eat a generous helping of humble pie. I’ve spent so much time demanding my pound of flesh from defunct 80’s supergroups that I forgot to take a moment to say thank you. That’s right, I stand before Stewart, Sting, & Andy and give thanks for all the albums, the rigorous touring schedule and  the peroxide. You were the cherry on the cake of an almost perfect decade. While I wish I hadn’t been outfitted in wool jumpers, knee socks and pig tails so that I could have whored around backstage with the rest of the  groupie skanks that  hung barnacle like in the  concrete hallways leading to the dressing rooms, I still had a great time stalking them under the watchful eye of my befuddled parents. This also gives me the added advantage of NOT being riddled with numerous STD’s , so for that I’m also grateful. The Cure, R.E.M., the Go Go’s, The Smith’s, Squeeze, the B-52’s etc. thank you for all the fun. 

After careful consideration I also realized I would be remiss if I didn’t give a shout out to the brothers Copeland, hell the ENTIRE Copeland family for having a hand in crafting the careers of over half of the bands I listened to as a kid. 

Warning: Uncalled for off topic rant coming….. 

Here I would like to go off on a massive tangent related to the above mentioned family. The Copeland family connection is clearly the vital missing link in the history books between overwhelming  band success or failure. Clearly, being a Copeland carries with it the implication that it is genetically impossible to fail. I think they even tried it once or twice, but it didn’t work. Failure = sticky eggs. Copeland’s= teflon pan. It just falls off of them and onto the floor. Sunday brunch with this clan must be hell. Can you imagine how fraught with boasting and one-upmanship this meal is? Hey, I single-handedly changed the entire middle east! I just wrote two well received books-WHILE I WAS SITTING HERE! Oh yeah, I composed two operas, founded a band that took over the world, wrote a book , produced seven kids, and wrote and directed a movie! I just quietly prevented Armageddon using only the power of my mind (that last one was   Miles, he scares me). 

I hate to think what would have become of me had I not had all this great music to distract me from my school work and what could have been a higher calling. I suspect that I could have amounted to something fairly important (doctor, lawyer, missionary?) or I could have just flailed around blindly and become a classic rock fan with bad hair and too much Covergirl charcoal black eyeliner.  But, it is as it was meant to be. New Wave and I found each other and the rest is history.


Filed under 1, andy summers, appreciation, brain waves, crazy ramblings, fun, groupies, music, new wave music, powerful families, saying thank you, stewart copeland, sting, the police

What’s Up Buttercup?

40: Oh hi 12-year-old self it’s me twenty-eight years in the future, how are you?

12: Holy crap ,are you kidding me?!

40: No, no not kidding .I’m here to let you know that in the future you will type on a computer and be able to communicate with people from all over the world not just play pong on your Atari gaming system or asteroids on the Intellivision system that your mom, whoops I mean Santa, is going to bring you next Christmas!

12: What? Wait, there’s no santa? FUCK, I knew it! But Intellivision, that’s awesome, Cathy Fermaint will shit her pants when she finds out! She thinks she’s so hot with all her Atari games – well screw her and her mastery of space invaders. NO ONE will be going over THERE after school anymore. Has been.

40: Also 12-year-old self ,I have some news about The Police.

12:You mean the biggest band in the universe? You should see the new poster I just got at Sam Goody….so dreamy…..

40: Yes. After the Synchronicity tour they just vanish in a puff of smoke with no real explanation. They go their separate ways and it takes them over twenty years to tour again. And….I have more bad news…

12 : Oh god what? Does one of them die?

40: No, no. But.. you miss the tour.

12:WHAT?! What kind of stupid moron misses something like that? It’s bad enough that you look like this at 40, I mean, don’t they have super ray guns in the future to blast off those wrinkles and destroy that grey? God, what type of horrible fate is this? Can I prevent this from happening?

40: You are getting off track 12-year-old self. Ignore what I look like, it’s been a rough day in 2009 and I had like NO personal time today, otherwise I would have at least colored my hair. I’ve got, well I guess we’ve got, three demanding kids, two dogs and a husband.

12: OH.MY.GOD. Please tell me it’s not Dominik Leonetti!!!

40: Oh lord no. And for what it’s worth I was glad to see you cold cock him after that incident with Jennifer White and the kickball team. No you , well we, marry a wonderful guy. He’s a musician!

12: Oh shit is it Stewart Copeland!?? Please tell me we get married!!!!

40: No 12-year-old self it isn’t Stewart, he’s happily married with like four hundred kids.

12: Four hundred!?

40: Well more like seven, but still as anyone with kids knows that can feel like four hundred. But listen 12-year-old self we digress, I need you to do something for me.

12: What is it?

40: All those albums, cassette tapes, photo books everything you’ve got- keep them.


40: And another thing, make sure you pester your parents to take you to see The Police live instead of that dreadful Duran Duran concert you will be seeing with your friends. Heed my words for this will be your biggest regret.

12:Fine, but can I ask you a question?

40: Sure.

12: What has happened to my ass?

40: Well 12-year-old self, it has fallen. That shit happens after three kids and no amount of propping it up or stair climbing will help. So enjoy that body for all it’s worth for about eighteen more years.

12: Wow, that freaking sucks. Okay then, it’s been great talking to you but Vicky and Julie are waiting for me so we can walk to Stout Steve’s and buy Creem magazine and maybe even Tiger Beat.

40: You know it wasn’t exactly easy getting here to tell you this, maybe we could just sit and chat for a bit. There is so much going on in the future, it’s spectacular.

12: So , they can’t figure out a way to get rid of fat, wrinkles or grey hair?

40: No.

12: Did anyone find a cure for cancer?

40: Well no, but there’s….

12: Ah, ah, ah. I think I’ve heard enough about this “future” you speak of. Be gone scary lady with your bad hair and ill-fitting clothes. I want no more bad news.

40: Okay then. Good luck you plucky little metal mouthed girl. Enjoy the ride!

12: I will!


Filed under 1, 40 year old self talking to 12 year old self, 70's and 80's, appreciation, being prepared, crazy ramblings, music, stewart copeland, sting, Stony Point, the police, time travel

The Boy With The Thorn in His Side

Today as I typed the rear left leg of my old wooden dining room chair fell right off. Usually this would give me great pause and get me thinking about a new diet regime but I fiercely pushed through and kept all my weight balanced on the remaining three legs just to finish this post. It’s that important to me.

Lately, I’ve sounded like a  broken record with the needle stuck in the same endless groove over and over with regards to the all too briefly re formed 80’s band The Police and my being so entirely gutted about missing this delightful surprise reunion.  I know that  I promised to shut up and get on with it but  after they disappeared I suffered through the rest of the 80’s enduring the stylings of hair metal bands with their  power ballads along with a brief but tempestuous fling with Duran Duran. It just didn’t measure up. It was like having dated the most promising, intelligent, gorgeous guy on campus and after he evaporated into thin air with no explanation or note , taking up with his vapid dim-witted ugly little brother. The Police took their greatness and ran really fast in the opposite direction into the darkness.

Good bye Kelly! You'll never see us again- CHA!

Now I’m seeing Sting everywhere with the release of his new album. You’ve got to give the guy props for the media blitz he’s on to promote this thing, but when I stumble upon him it makes me a little sad. It’s like he’s missing two very necessary appendages. I know Sting is fussy, cranky and all too consumed with his success apart from the band, but how can you not realize that your best work came about as a result of the beautiful tension you had with your former mates?
Yes, it’s great to realize your singular vision in a room full of musicians who are there  to follow your lead and  flesh out your songs with no arguments,wrestling matches or fistfights. But where is the conflict and agitation? That’s half the fun.
Magical combinations, good timing and fantastic contacts are hard to come by in today’s music business. Imagine how many bands were propelled into greatness by the fairy dust spewing Copeland brothers (Miles and Ian) along with the Police in a trajectory that landed them all in the front trenches?
Paying homage to  humble beginnings and to the giants on whose shoulders he stood to get to the lofty heights he now finds himself at would be a good start for Sting. I, for one, would like to see him be able to speak of his old band without looking like someone just shoved a teaspoon of Cod Liver Oil in his maw. His very succesful solo career was afforded him by the rolling wave of world domination he rode from  the late 70’s into the early 80’s.
That is not to take anything away from his solo work which I do enjoy (okay the lute album wasn’t my favorite). He takes risks, some work out better than others but it’s clear he has devoted himself to pushing the envelope and doing exactly the opposite of what people would expect of him.  I like Sting, he’s easy on the eyes , he has that dark brooding quality I seem to find attractive and don’t even get me started about the beard. There is nothing better than a face full of dangerous looking mountain man growth paired with a rugged wool sweater.

I told you. Nothing better than the beard/wool sweater combo.

Foolishly rhapsodizing about a time frame when I sported a full mouth of metal and Sasson jeans was fun for a while , but I mostly mourn for the music that could have been. I think The Police had a least a few more good albums in them and could have reunited after they had cooled their jets for a few years in the solo world. Alas, it didn’t materialize. Sting, Stewart and Andy’s cold indifference to my needs hurt but I realized I was going to stay on tenterhooks for the rest of my life if I sat around hoping they would work it out. I just want Sting to get that warm familiar feeling that I always have when I hear a track from one of their albums or a mention of  one of their names in the headlines. Perhaps they didn’t exactly part in the rosy glow of eternal friendship but how long can they remain a thorn in the side of Gordon Sumner?

So, to sum up. I miss the fearsome threesome. I actually have a thing for Stewart but I do hold Sting in high regard. I spent ten minutes asking someone if I had used tenderhooks incorrectly all these years when in fact the correct phrase is tenterhooks. I should have just said waiting anxiously. I just want Sting to be happy, is that so bad?


Filed under 1, andy summers, shutting up, solo careers, stewart copeland, sting, surly mr. sumner, the police