The Arch Angel HYMNAL The Arch Angel COOKBOOK

Sing a Song of Sydney

Mon, 19 Mar 2007 01:03:22 +0100

When we came to town in 1992, Sydney was searching for an official song for its 150th birthday, and was offering $3000 to anyone who could come up with a satisfactory one.
Never wishing to miss out on a quick buck, the PBI assigned its staff composers to come up with an entry, an effort which resulted in the lyric shown below. The rules specified that the song should have “commercial appeal,” so a melody was chosen which had previously demonstrated a great amount of popularity, a little song which our vocalist had written entitled “Play Me.”
Since the music for this song had admittedly already been published, the PBI lyricist reluctantly agreed to split the prize money, if there was to be any, evenly with the composer, who we’re sure would have agreed had he known about the deal.
Well, we obviously didn't do a good enough sales job because our song wasn't picked, so we tried again in 1999, figuring they might want to kick off the Olympics with it.
We didn't hear it during the games—did you? We didn't think so. We reprinted it once again 2005 and we’re posting it again now, just because we can, and with the hope that eventually someone down there will discover it and realize that it would be a perfect theme for the opening of a supermarket in Bondi Junction or something equally fabulous. Here are our lyrics. The melody is, of course, copyrighted so you’ll have to provide it from memory:
She was Kings Cross and I was Manly,
I one day woke up to find her standing in Neutral Bay.
Her circular Quay intrigued me.

For I’ve seen Crows Nest and needed Bondi,
I’ve seen The Spit and I’ve been to Dee Why,
Wooloomooloo, Taronga Zoo, and, yes…Glebe.

You are a sheep, I am emu,
You’re wallaby, I’m kangaroo…
Sydney

Swag she brang to me, Roo she kang to me,
Waltz she sang to Matilda, shrimp on the Barbie Too.
Crocodile and Kylie who?

You are a sheep, I am emu,
You’re wallaby, I’m kangaroo…
Sydney

New Zealand RUGBY vs. DIAMONDVILLE

Fri, 6 May 2005 02:20:23 +0200

We’ve found that many of our friends have difficulty distinguishing between similar environments, such as the ones included here. It’s easy to understand how Diamondville could be confused with New Zealand rugby, but Los Angeles is also frequently mistaken for Australia. So the PBI has sought to clarify the situation by listing the fundamental differences between these seemingly identical but actually quite different locations. We hope this clears up any confusion on your part—except, of course, for the systemic confusion which is part of life in the 21st century.

We’ve Been Down, We’ve Been Under

Sat, 1 May 2004 23:00:22 +0200

One of our favorite places to tour is a little island we like to call Australia—a place where behind every John lurks an Olivia Newton, where every Dundee just might be a Croc, where any Helen has a chance to be ready, where every Gee is a potential Bee, where Oil flows at Midnight, where AC meets DC, and the only place on earth where a crowd will gather to look at Kylie Minogue’s clothing, even when she’s not in it.
Australia, as you might be aware already, is one of the top ten continents on our local planet, as confirmed by recent polling.
It is also considered about as far south as our band is ever likely to go, unless there’s a serious outbreak of concert attendance by penguins. And yet... in fairness we must point out that a Neil Diamond fan base actually does exist in Antarctica. “You gotta be kidding,” you might reasonably respond. But we have evidence to support our assertion.
Take a look at the photograph below. It was received in an email dispatched to Diamondville from Kelly & Jake, who live WAY down under. In case you can’t make it out (and missed the enlarged portion above), the sign reads “The South Pole Loves Diamondville (and Neil).” We’re pretty sure this is for real.

Ho-ho, Faux Hotel Note

Tue, 11 Mar 2003 04:30:14 +0100

In an unnamed hotel in an unmentioned town in an undisclosed state, it was noted that each guest room contained a transparent plastic sheath hanging on the inside of the bathroom door, custom-sized to accommodate a printed notice of hotel regulations which mostly served to get the hotel off the hook in case a guest is burgled during his stay, or to protect the hotel should the guest turn out to be a deadbeat.
One feature of this notice was its unfeasibly small type, which guaranteed that the document itself would hardly ever be read, and also the fact that it was a single sheet of paper slid into the aforementioned plastic holder.
This inevitably caused certain twisted minds to wonder what would happen if a very similar but subtly different sheet of text was placed in the plastic sheath. Would subsequent guests ever notice the difference? Would the hotel staff realize that the message being presented was not the one intended? Would it make any difference to anyone besides the perpetrators of such a hoax?
Naturally, the PBI couldn't endorse such behavior. Thus, although such a sign was in fact created and formatted to the exact size to fit into the plastic sheath, and was duly included with each copy of that night's PBI issue, a stern warning also appeared:
The sign on this page is provided for the amusement of Touroids only. The PBI does not encourage or condone the replacing of the sign on your bathroom door with the one printed here. Doing so may result in unpredictable reactions from future occupants of your room and may cause guests to be unaware of their rights, such as they are, when dealing with the hotel management. Do NOT, repeat DO NOT put this sign in the plastic frame on the inside of your bathroom door, and DO NOT dispose of the previous sign in order to hide any evidence of the switch. Such behavior is practiced by hooligans and malcreants and is not worthy of the proud tradition of our fine tour. We do not wish to be thought of as practical jokers, do we?
A word to the wise is sufficient.
Well, we're sorry to have to admit that a few of our readers, in flagrant disregard of the printed warning, did replace their bona fide legal warning with the PBI's version. As far as we know, their hoax was thankfully unnoticed after our departure. But on any given day, there is a reasonable chance that a visitor to an unnamed hotel in an unmentioned town in an undisclosed state will innocently sit down on the toilet for his or her divine daily denutrification and notice the fine-print document on the bathroom door. And within that already small statistical sampling of individuals there is a reasonable chance that, for lack of something handy to read, the hotel guest will begin to scan through the document on his or her bathroom door. Should that, heaven forbid, happen, he or she will read the text which reads very much like THIS.

And should YOU, dear reader, happen to find such a sign behind the bathroom door in your room in an unnamed hotel in an unmentioned town in an undisclosed state, we'd prefer you tell us about it rather than the hotel management.

FOUR mistakes on the “Welcome to Diamondville” DVD

Tue, 14 Jan 2003 22:09:35 +0100

Wolf Gang Bangs Billings

Tue, 17 Dec 2002 20:46:19 +0100

The Wolf Gang Revue blew into Billings last night like the wind beneath its seat, and Montana’s cultural consciousness took a giant step sideways as a result.
By the time the troupe had finished its evening’s work at Walker’s Grill, Mozart had been battled to a draw, Brüch was babbling, and the blues had turned a pale shade of green.
Catherine Matovich wore her viola down to the nub while extracting maximum mileage from every movement, Don Markese brought his A clarinet (in every sense of the term) and Tom Hensley did not fall off the piano bench even once during the evening.
Designated hipster Larry Klimas not only jammed a broad range of frequencies, he also served as ring announcer for the bout between Mozart and his namesakes.
Klimas opened the evening with a stirring S’not Sinatra Singing of “My Kind of Town” with special lyrics toasting Billings and its environs.
After a moody opening which combined free jazz and cajun fiddle and somehow ended up as a piece by Brüch.
Unexpectedly, Matovich popped up with a poetry and jazz number which gave the literary crowd a chance to stretch its ears, while Hensley’s ensuing “Riverboat Shuffle” gave the moldy fig contingent something to chew on.
The bebop section of the program then got off to a bit of a slow start when neither Klimas nor Hensley could think of a tune they both knew, eventually deciding to compromise by playing one that both “sort of knew,” and followed with a ballad rendering of “My One and Only Love” which contained almost every note one could reasonably expect to hear during a perfomance of that particular song.
A new addition to the revue was Dapper Dan Fornero, who played the part of the group’s roadie/cameraman. From the pre-show whoop to the closing rest room walk-off, Fornero helped keep the MMMM train on its tracks and on tape, video wise-speaking.
The group’s final number was played while marching through the club, with the musicians eventually disappearing behind the door from which they had originally emerged—the bathroom.
Or so it seemed. Using a circuitous route, the Gangstas had actually snaked around the outside of the building (startling a Billings wino, who nearly broke his bottle of Night Train beverage) and back in through the front door, much to the surprise of patrons who were still applauding the rest room.
A crowd made up of Diamondville diners, Billings bipeds, curiosity-seekers, loudmouths, layabouts and even an occasional lummox kept the Gang on their toes, even when they were seated. One table of festive local ladies proved capable of keeping up with any decibel level emanating from the stage, and when their energy flagged, the bar’s blender stepped in to pick up the auditory slack.

Your Name in Cheese

Fri, 8 Mar 2002 03:28:27 +0100

Charleston, S.C. is the only city in our memory where the snack spread in the band dressing room actually included a plate with the Principal’s initials constructed out of various cheeses.
Let this serve as an inspiration to all who strive—the knowledge that it truly is possible, with perserverance, perspicacity, and a plentitude of talent, to struggle for years, step by step, inch by inch, until you finally achieve the dream of seeing your name in cheese.
On top of that, a new book entitled "Brands That Rock," actually describes our vocalist's metaphorical marketing as akin to that of the cheese-like substance called Velveeta.
Now lest you think that this is merely some slipshod reviewer showing his ignorance by calling our efforts cheesy, this seems to be a serious work and the Velveeta reference is actually meant in a quite complimentary fashion.
But all this cheese consciousness in the ether makes us here at the PBI think that perhaps it’s time to have a ceremonial listening to one of our most beloved recordings: Jonathan Livingston Cheeseball, a classic album by the deliciously talented vocalist known as Meal Dining which features such timeless hits as:
•Prologouda
•Brie
•Dear Feta
• Skycurd
•Flight of the Gorgonzola
• Provolonely Looking Sky
...and a couple more.
Critics were wowed by this album: "It’s A stilton recording, full of lyrics with jolly rinds, featuring extremely havarti performances with a lot of Kraft, a muenster hit which is available at record stores and boulangeries everywhere. They’ll be happy to slice you a copy," wrote Moe Romano in Roquefort Stone.

Hartford Newspaper Continues to Offend

Thu, 7 Mar 2002 04:56:39 +0100

The review of our show which appeared in the Hartford Courant after we appeared there in 2002 referred to “a four-piece string section that doubled as a go-go dance section (on songs that did not require strings).”
Note that the use of the “g-g word” was confined to the Catgut Grrls. The Horndogz admittedly have many snappy steps, but did the Hartford critic talk about “go-go boys”? Also, one keyboardist has been known to occasionally move about in a jerky fashion resembling what some people might call dancing, but did the Courant care? No, reviewer Roger Catlin only saw go-go Grrls, not a prancing peacock butt!
Sexism isn’t the Courant’s only stock in trade—ageism is alive and healthy in Hartford. Catlin’s review portrays a “61-year-old sex symbol who lies on his back and fends off middle-aged women.”
Ageism is, in fact, a long term obsession at the Courant, dating back as far as 1993 when a similar review made use of the term “old” rather than the more politically correct “chronologically challenged.”
Ageism is not usually challenged, because its targets are usually too doggoned tired to worry about it, but in 1993 one such target had had enough. The “piano-player (sic) who looked much older than Diamond,” T. “Dorian” Hensley, aggravated by the attack on his so-called maturity subsequently issued a statement which read as follows:
“I am outraged by the ageist remarks in today’s Hartford Courant review, which I read while trying to have a good bowel movement this morning. If I interpret Dana Tofig’s article correctly (my bifocals were a bit smudged, and I can’t remember where I left the cleansing cloth), it is an insult to everyone over the age of this young whippersnapper reviewer barely out of his or her diapers. These kids today! I’m so steamed that I should go down there and picket at that newspaper’s offices. But, to tell ya the truth, my back is bothering me today because of the weather and anyway I’m running short of Depends. Now what was that question again?”
This time around, there was no such statement and no acts of protest. Our troupe of go-go dancers simply got up the next day and went-went to Charleston.

The Arch Angel Dress Code

Wed, 7 Nov 2001 03:10:11 +0100

BREAKFAST IN HOSTY:
The number of allowable stains on your underwear or bathrobe has been increased to five, of which no more than three may be of the same color.
IN THE LOBBY:
Gentlemen are asked to refrain from dropping trou between the elevator and the front door, although it is permitted in the bar. Ladies may pick their seats in the bar or lobby.
SOUND CHECK:
Gentlemen may wear any garment, as long as it has not been worn on more than four (4) successive previous days. Loud-colored clothing is always appropriate, since it helps us keep up with the decibel count at showtime.
AFTER-SHOW:
Gentlemen are requested to stain their clothing with at least one item from the pre-show meal, so that visitors will be reminded that we got something they didn’t. Visitors to the dressing room must remember that the price for pilfering items from the band spread is potential exposure to dropped trou and hidden features which should never be visible.
HOSTY AND GENERAL:
Ladies are urged not to expose any body parts which they are unwilling to have discussed. Clown suits are still acceptable, but gorilla suits are not recommended, due to the heat and Krispy Kreme flatulence. Go-Go boots are permitted, as long as no actual going has been done in them.

Museum Quality ?

Tue, 16 Oct 2001 01:04:58 +0200

Here are some of the treasures to be donated to one Hall or another toward the end of some year when a tax writeoff sounds appealing:

•A pizza crust hurriedly discarded by H. Hockensmith one night in 1992 when “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” moved along a bit quicker than usual.
•A signed fender panel mutilated by R. Press in his driveway. Also, a written estimate for the repairs.
•A bottle of unidentified fluid, retreived from understage after a show in Australia, 1996.
•A Commodore 64 computer used to generate show opening, 1983.
•846 pairs of K. Errisson’s broken drumsticks.
•Rare unexploded rocket from Bad Segeburg, 1984.
•R. Tutt room service tray, never picked up by the May Fair Hotel, 1992.
•Rare dinner check picked up by Sal Bonafede, 1977.
•Thermal underwear worn at Dublin concert, 1996.
•An assortment of cigar butts of various sizes and shapes, 1996.
•A signed, cracked glass tabletop, accompanied by a photo of D. Rhone swinging his golf club. Signed, “Fore! Australia ’92.”
•Extremely rare Heineken can once actually used by V. Charles.
•Unused meal ticket from Pittsburgh, 1996.
•An extremely large Christmas tree used onstage during our 1993 tour. R. Bray and D. Hart, mulling after a previous visit, felt out it would look FABulous in the lobby of the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall at holiday time, particularly if it was well hung. Of course, the same could be said of many of us.
•T. Hensley's entire wardrobe. ANYTHING to keep it away from him.

Diamondville’s Secret Shame: It’s the Life They Chose!

Tue, 9 Oct 2001 22:34:41 +0200

Although they are housed in fancy hotel rooms such as the posh Peninsula in Chicago, some Diamondvillains refuse to allow service personnel inside, preferring to live in their own filth until they move to another city. And many of these individuals are highly trained professionals! Some of them use fancy laminated signs warning hotel personnel to stay away—in multiple languages!
“It just breaks our hearts,” said an anonymous housekeeper at an undisclosed hotel. “They put these fancy signs on their doors telling us to keep out and they just THROW stuff on the floor. By the time they move on, some of the rooms are completely unfit for human habitation. It’s sad—all we want to do is go in there and rifle through their suitcases and throw away their important documents, but they refuse to let us.”
A PBI roving reporter witnessed dirty clothing on the floor, dishes from room service (some with remnants of food still stuck to them), empty containers of beverages, aspirin and hairspray and all manner of trash and waste paper strewn haphazardly all over one Touroid’s room. “At least it would have been better if it had been strewn less haphazarly,” said a visitor. “It’s just plain disgusting,” said the eyewitness who could not be identified because he did not know who he was, “but it’s the life they chose.”
Not all Touroids, of course, choose to live in squalor. Some—such as GeRF personnel—have all their garments and other possessions neatly stored away (a few even archive their baggage in alphabetical order) and have their rooms serviced daily. But they are considered “oddballs” by the tenement-living crowd because they eschew debris.
Others are considered peculiar because they travel with their own personal shower head, pillow or humifier. But in terms of sheer weirdness, no one can top those Touroids who wallow in antique french fries (“I have a collection of onion rings from every fast food chain in America,” claimed an unidentified Muzoid), tissue paper (“I never use a Kleenex twice. Who knows where they’ve been?”) and charge card receipts (“The IRS might want to look at these someday so I keep them all in a giant trash bag”).
Hotel officials have considered breaking into some rooms and forcibly cleaning them if a long stay results in conditions hazardous to the entire community.
“Some of those people are growing giant spores and penicillin molds in their luggage,” said a worried public health official. “If one of those things got loose, it could eat an entire city and possibly cut into Upjohn’s profits.”
Diamondville personnel pooh-poohed the charges. “Pooh-pooh on that,” said H. Hockensmith. “If they try to take me out, I’ll die with my Aquanet can a-blazing.”
R. Press, said to be a “bass player,” brazenly announced that “If they clean my room, I’ll stay up all night until I have everything back to the way I want it.”
What can be done about this grime wave? Authorities advise the public not to confront offenders, lest they become aroused. “Just wait around a few days,” a hygeine analyst told the PBI. “They’ll leave town and then their messes will be somebody else’s problem.”

Vince’s final PBI column

Sat, 29 Sep 2001 01:57:34 +0200

Sorry I can’t make it with you all on this tour, but my new gig is heavenly. My robe is fine, almost as nice as the ones at the Four Seasons, and the food here is great—although I have to spice it up a bit. One great thing about heaven: every room has a balcony with a view.
I do like to spend an occasional weekend in Hell, though, just for variety. Besides, the I hear the women are hotter down there.
I have to admit I get a little tired of playing with harp ensembles. That’s another reason I like to visit Hell. The last time I was there I got to sit in with Buddy Rich. Oh, I spoke to Satan—he said he’d be happy to reserve a spot for my ex-wife.
You all know that despite my small size I was known for my really big…feet. So I’m impressed but not surprised to hear that you’ve been forced to hire so many people to fill my shoes. I see you got my Horndogs to compensate for the loss of my hipness, a four-pack of string players to maintain my level of beverage consumption, and an additional backup singer to respect my Afro-tude.
I’ve checked out your rehearsals with my good ear. I’m glad to see King has finally found a worthwhile use for that didgeridoo besides what I saw him do with it late one night.
And hey, Alan—your steel drum sound is pretty good, but I could probably tune it up a little for you... “if I had a hammer.”
Here’s a special message for the promotion people at that hotel you’re in: I live in heaven. I KNOW heaven. You’ve got a nice hotel— but heaven it ain’t.
I hope you elect a new mayor soon, if you want to. My seat is definitely up for grabs..but what’s new about that?
Well, got to run. I’m having a Heinekin with Danny Lee tonight. If you feel the need to see me, just come on down to the lobby bar and after about five drinks, I’ll be there with you.

PBI Moves into Online Market; Worries Grow

Thu, 27 Sep 2001 18:51:53 +0200

After a lengthy and somewhat heated meeting of the PBI editorial board, it was decided to begin publication of an online edition of the venerable "great showday organ."
The PBI, which first appeared in Diamondville in 1986, is known for its deep and meaningful coverage of shallow and meaningless events, and some observers wondered whether the world at large would be ready, willing or able to comprehend the paper's distinctively distinctive style.
"We're not going to worry about that," said a nameless, blameless, shameless Touroid on the board, "Most people use the PBI for housebreaking their pets and it will be interesting to see what happens when computers are subjected to this kind of treatment."
Most of the items in the online edition, it was learned, will consist of reprints of articles from the print edition. Care will be taken that no articles will appear which refer to events which were upcoming at the time of their original publication, but which are now downgoing.
The Arch Angel Hymnal will definitely be a regular feature, the board revealed, mainly because "no other use could be found for that kind of drivel."
The first online edition is slated to appear October first, and -- wait a minute! That's now! And this is it! Holy Toledo, we're in for it now!
Some PBI readers speculated that the addition of the online edition was a way for the editorial board to have something to do when there was no touring going on. The board denied this, and then went out for a pizza.