Mykel Asks the anti-Fascists to Look in the Mirror (MRR 340)

You're Wrong

An Irregular Column

by Mykel Board

"Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it whether it exists or not, diagnosing it incorrectly, and applying the wrong remedy.” --Ernest Benn

It's 1977: The Sex Pistols have stolen punkrock from New York and shipped it to London. They're changing the fashion a bit. Making it more Carnaby Street... and at the same time, more offensive. That's the idea of punkrock, ya know?

“Piss on your ancestors,” said proto-punker Patti Smith. 

Only the Brits can make piss into a fashion. And what could be more piss-making than THE NAZIS? Something rude for every occasion. Sid Vicious walks down the stairs, at a very polite concert... in a Swastika shirt.

 

Flash ahead to 1986: ARTLESS is on tour in The South. We're just leaving West Virginia. I wear a SKREWDRIVER t-shirt given to me by one of our hosts.

“Mykel,” asks Gavin, “can't you find us some more fascists to stay with? Those guys fed us well, gave us clean beds, and didn't keep us up all night playing Crass records. Those other guys, those anarchists we usually stay with... they're filthy. The food is awful... and they won't let us sleep.”

 

Flash ahead to 1995: The anarchist festival in Toronto. I stay at the house of MRR columnist Steve Beaumont. (A decade later he'll be a world-famous beer writer.) Also at the house are a bunch of guys I don't know from some band I don't know. They're funny and friendly. I've never seen them before.

“What's the story on those guys?” I ask Steve. 

“Oh Mykel,” he says, “you're in for a surprise. That's VEGAN REICH.”

The big guy in the band wears an even bigger t-shirt with MEAT IS MURDER stenciled on the front. He's fiddling around in his backpack.

“Got it!” he says, taking out a box of something. 

“What's that?” I ask. 

“It's tofuburger mix,” he says.

“Yuck!” I answer. “I wouldn't eat that shit in a million years.”

“That's what you think,” he says. “Steve, get the camera.”

And he reaches for me. 

I'm out the door... sprinting across the front yard... into the next yard. I can easily outrun this big guy, I think. I think wrong.

Blam! I'm on the ground. Tackled like some football player. Another guy from the band kneels over me. I can't see him clearly. Things are a blur. I'm face up. The guy clamps my head between his knees. He reaches over my face and squeezes my jaw, forcing my mouth open. He does not open his fly and lower his turgid tumor into my mouth. Instead, the big guy, who's faster than he looks, has that box of Tofu Burger Mix open in his hand. He pours it into my mouth. 

It's like he's force-feeding me sand. Awful. Grains of tasteless nothing... filling my mouth... spilling over my cheeks... clustering first around then into my ears. I'm gonna suffocate. I can't talk... breathe... nothing. I try to shake my head... turn away from the granular invasion. The other guy's knees keep my head just where it is.

Then it's over. 

They let go of me. And they help me stand up. 

I spit out the crap. Stick my fingers into my mouth to scrape the insides of my cheek. Steve is laughing behind the camera. The Vegan Reich guys are laughing. My piss-offedness turns to laughter. It really is funny.

 

Flash ahead to 2003: Two years after Al Qaeda (or SOMEBODY) drove a couple planes into the World Trade Center... and one into the Pentagon.

Suddenly, all Muslims have become terrorists in the eyes of America. More than that... everyone who wears a turban... Muslim or Sikh... Christians in Ethiopia wear turbans for Allah's sake... all have become THE ENEMY.

The enemy? Hey: it could be like Sid Vicious in his swastika shirt... singing My Way. What could be punker in the 21^st Century than becoming a Muslim? In my April Fool's column of 2002, I explained my conversion to that religion.

This year, Vegan Reich says: 

 

Perhaps the outward form varied, due to time and place variations. But essentially, every message has been that of "Tawhid," or "divine Unity." Islam includes Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism, Christianity and accepts their Prophets as being Prophets of Islam. So that is why I came into the din or faith of Islam. To me it seemed to have the most inclusive attitude and complete understanding of spirituality that I had found in many years of searching. And on the outward level, I think it is one of the only traditions that really is inclusive of all racial backgrounds, and absolutely revolutionary in it's demand for social justice.

Are they serious?... or is this just an extension of the elaborate put-on that included me being force-fed tofu in Canada? I don't know. Good satire/parody should skirt the border of reality... touching the possible and the funny at the same time.... like THE ONION. If it's a satire, it's a great one. If it's sincere... it's still funny as hell.

 

Flash ahead to 2011: The Saudi Arabian punk band Sound of Ruby covers GG Allin's Bite It You Scum. You can see it on YouTube live in a Bahraini disco, complete with the mirror ball and Saudi punks in white robes. Real Muslims assuredly pissing off their world. I love it.

Meanwhile, in England, there's THE SLIMELLIGHT, a venue for Industrial and Goth bands... maybe neo-folk, I haven't been able to figure it out yet. Actually, I don't even know what neo-folk is. Billy Bragg? Not so neo, I'd say.

The Slimelight has been the subject of much protest, including boycott calls... and calls to shut them down. 

Of course, music clubs throughout history-- from Negro Jazz through Rock'n'Roll through Punkrock to Hip Hop-- have ALWAYS been the subject of shutdown attempts. Good music is threatening. Those who feel threatened want to shut it down. 

But this shutdown call is new. It's organized by Islington Alarm a buncha lefty Brits who don't like the “fascist” aspects of this music. Some Celtic Crosses, and band members in right-wing organizations... or having friends with memberships in right-wing organizations... or being EX-members of right-wing organizations. Without really defining fascism, they brand bands or members as fascist and try to ban them from playing.  

In a related blog, Vegan Reich are called fascist because “they're Muslim.” WHAT???

I'll explain. In England, fascist is a common left-wing bully word, similar to the American hate-group. (The U.S. Southern Poverty Law Center brands more than 1000 American organizations as Hate Groups. This includes a number of bands like Tightrope, Fetch the Rope, and Poker Face.)

What is a fascist? For the average British crusty anarchist, it's anyone with a totalitarian attitude. Anyone who thinks “My way is the only way.” Of course, a certain fashion sense, as well as a certain degree of cleanliness, helps.

But what does  fascist REALLY mean? Why not ask a fascist? This is the internet age. You can do anything.

So I go to  americanfascistmovement.com to see what they say. I don't have space for the whole list, but here are some key points:

*****

Fascism is NOT Racism or Nazism. Races, though unique, are equal. Individuals, however, are not.

Fascism is NOT Materialism: Fascism does not see history as class struggle, and denies that there is nothing to life, and power politics, except what one can put in one's mouth or pocket.

Fascism is NOT Globalism: The integrity of all cultures must be preserved. 

Fascism is NOT Capitalism or Communism: Those are materialist systems that promote degeneracy and crush the human spirit.... Man cannot live on peace, land and bread alone

Fascism IS Meritocracy: The degree of which men and women manifest honor and merit in the service of their country is determinant of their place in civil society. 

Fascism IS Nationalism: Everything in the state, nothing outside the state, nothing against the state.

Fascism IS Virtue: Above all: a Fascist believes in virtue and will thus tell you the truth and not just what you want to hear. Truth, courage, integrity!

*******

Hmmm, I like that NOT Racism or Nazism. I like that NOT Materialism or Globalism and NOT Capitalism or Communism. I could do without the Nationalism and Meritocracy, but I like the truth-telling part, at least when it comes to things political.

 

I score 5 out of 7 on the fascisto-meter. Does that make me a fascist? A 5/7 fascist? Does it matter?

No it does not. We can sit and debate the fascist or not of any person or band from here to Laibach. It's likely, just as some great literature has been written by real fascists (Ezra Pound, Celine), great music has been and is probably being made by other real fascists... whatever that means. 

If you don't like the politics, protest the politics. Present alternatives. Counter-demonstrate. If you don't like the music, don't listen to it.  

But trying to shut down what you don't like... especially if you shut down music because you don't like the politics. Why that's... that's fascist! Just ask any British crusty street punk.

ENDNOTES: [email subscribers (god@mykelboard.com) or website viewers (www.mykelboard.com) will get live links and a chance to post comments on the column]

-->Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Ass dept: US Congressional representatives Robert Aderhold and Nick Rahall co-sponsored a resolution which proclaims the "influence the King James Version of the bible has had on countless families, individuals and institutions." The resolution also "expresses gratitude for the influence The Bible has bestown (sic) upon the United States."

      A Michigan-based group called "the Bible Nation Society" lobbied for the bill during the giant budget debate. That society was founded by Pastor Douglas Levesque. In 2010, at a society conference, Levesque asserted that President Obama "might be the antichrist."

      It's good to know who's making the laws in THIS country!

-->Right in there, not even an amendment dept: Article VI of the U.S. Constitution says "No religious test shall ever be required as a qualification of any office or public trust under the United States." Clearly, that's why we've had so many atheists and Muslims in public office. Right?

-->Get that handbill design... free dept: I got a jail letter from Ryan Homsley aka Waldo. He's in the clink for bank robbery and he's an artist. (Pretty damn good too... I use his portrait of me for my Facebook pic.) He said he'd be happy to exchange handbill or poster designs for a letter. It gets lonely in jail.

So write to him: Ryan Hombsley,. #74767, MCDC, 1120 SW 3rd Ave., Portland OR 97204 Tell him what you want for a record sleeve, poster, or handbill... tell him about your life... tell him I sent ya!

-->Cursing the dark dept: California became the first state to outlaw the incandescent lightbulb. Typical of the mommyism of that state (they've also outlawed the sale of violent video games to youngsters), they've decided that despite the extra cost-- and extra mercury-- of fluorescent bulbs, they're better than the old hot-wire ones. Like the Brits they say, “If you don't like it... ban it.

    You used to have a choice: 25¢ for a bulb or $10 for one. Guess what happened to that choice.

-->Talk about Mommyism dept: A new Tennessee law makes it a crime to "transmit or display an image" online that is likely to "frighten, intimidate or cause emotional distress" to someone who sees it. Violations can get you almost a year in jail time or up to $2500 in fines.

     The ban on “distressing images” is an update to existing laws which already make it a crime to make phone calls, send emails, or otherwise communicate directly with someone in a manner the sender "reasonably should know" would "cause emotional distress" to the recipient. 

     For image postings, the "emotionally distressed" individual need not be the intended recipient. Anyone who sees the image is a potential victim. If a court decides you "should have known" that an image you posted would be upsetting to someone who sees it, you could face months in prison and thousands of dollars in fines.

    Now, if I lived in Tennessee, I'd protest my discomfort and “emotional distress” at every picture of Sarah Palin or Newt Gingrich. 

     Details at:  http://tinyurl.com/comfortoverfreedom

-->The end of scalping dept: The San Francisco 49ers football team joined with Ticketmaster to adopt paperless-only tickets. They became the first NFL team to officially restrict the rights of their fans.

    Now, fans have no control over what they can do with their own tickets. Instead, Ticketmaster dictates who they can give their tickets to, and how much that transfer will cost. Details at: http://tinyurl.com/endoftix

-->The beginning of the end dept: Remember how we railed against Google for caving into Chinese calls for them to censor their search engine in China? We've got a bigger problem now.

The "Combating Online Infringements and Counterfeits Act" (COICA) is an Internet censorship bill which is rapidly progressing through the Senate. Although it's supposed to focus on copyright infringement, a huge amount of other stuff, including political and other speech, could disappear off the Web if it passes.

     The main mechanism of the bill is to interfere with the Internet's Domain Name System, which translates names like "www.eff.org" or "www.nytimes.com" into the numerical IP addresses that computers use to communicate with each other. The bill creates a blacklist of censored domains. The Attorney General can ask a court to place any website on the blacklist if infringement is "central" to the purpose of the site.

There are already laws in place for taking down sites that violate the law. This act would allow the Attorney General to censor sites even when no court has found they have infringed copyright or any other law.

    Strange how that  Wikileaks site just happens to infringe on something, isn't it? You doubt it? Why just ask the Attorney General. He'll tell ya.

   Details at:  http://www.eff.org/coica

-->Whoa yeah! dept: From a so-to-be interfered with website: “Jesus Diaz—Lulzsec and Anonymous declare war on all governments, banks and big corporations in the world.”

And it just gets better from there. A network of information stealers... not for money, but for MORAL GOOD. Are they fascist? I don't care. I love 'em!

http://tinyurl.com/antisec for details.

-end-

Hail Chavez.... Not: Mykel's Column for MRR 308 January 2009

You're Wrong
An Irregular Column
for MRR 308
by Mykel Board

"If all Americans want is security, they can go to prison.” --Dwight D. Eisenhower

Recap: I'm on the plane leaving Port of Spain, Trinidad for Caracas, Venezuela. My week has been a paradise of spicy food, Stag beer, great new friends, Trini-punk, girls with asses you want to call home, and a kind of English that oozes Jamaican, Indian and African.

It's been my best first week ever in a country I didn't get laid in. Trinidad is a free place. You can drink outside, smoke inside, say hello to street-walking trannie hookers, and never show your ID for anything.

The locals, however, warned me. It's dangerous. There's a high crime rate. I shouldn't show my camera or wallet. Basking in the Caribbean sun, I begin to wonder if the price of freedom (Trinidad is one of the freest countries I've ever visited) is danger.

I don't sleep on my last night in the country. You wouldn't either if half the country were buying you drinks. So, half dead, I board this plane to Caracas. I want to see if Hugo Chavez is as cool as I think he is. He's got the balls to stand up to Bush. He gives money to poor people in New England who can't afford heating oil. The U.S. Press hates him. What's not to like? Right? Yeah, right.

No one's gonna meet me at the airport in Caracas. Johnny, my MySpace punk pal, has to work late. I won't see him until tonight.

Like in Trinidad, I'll do one night in a hotel in Venezuela. That way, I have a touristy address for the immigration man. Then I'll switch to punk rock.

The plane arrives in Caracas about 8:30AM. The flight was 20 minutes-- not enough to fall asleep. I'm so tired I feel like I'm sleep walking.

I pass through immigration and customs.

“Passport... What's your Venezuelan address?... You're a tourist?...” Stamp.... “Next!”

It's suspiciously easy, if commonly unfriendly.

On the way out, I walk through a large sliding glass panel. On the other side of the panel are two uniformed men.

One points to me. The other takes my back pack.

Uh oh, here it comes. The customs guards on the other side of the door. Just waiting for you to let your breath out. To go to the bathroom to pry the cocaine-filled condom from your asshole. To twist the heel on your shoe and spill the heroin into a plastic bag.

“You speak English?” asks the guard who took my bag.

I nod.

“Where are you going?” he says.

“I'm going to my hotel,” I tell him. “Hotel La Floreta.”

He leads the way, away from the sliding panel, carrying my bag. Tight grip.

“I want to get money from the bank. From a machine,” I tell him. In case he's a federal agent, trying to catch me playing the black market.

“The machines only give you 1.95 Bolivars for each dollar,” he says. “I give you three por un dollar.”

“I'd rather go to a machine,” I tell him.

He shrugs and grabs my bag tighter.

“Follow me,” he says.

We walk. We walk to the right. To the left. Around in circles. To an isolated machine. He gestures. I go to the machine and insert my card. It spits it back at me.

“It no work,” he says. “We try more.”

We walk. We go downstairs. Across a huge lobby, to a gaggle of machines. He gestures. I walk up to a machine and insert my card. The machine spits it back at me. Another in the same gaggle. Same result. A third. This one works... as all third tries work in stories. It's Writing 101. Look it up!

I withdraw about $100 in Bolivars. Then, I go back to the guy with my bag.

“Ok,” he says. “Now we go to taxi to hotel.”

“I want to take the bus,” I tell him. “I don't want to take a taxi.”

“No buses,” he says. “You go by taxi. 150 Bolivars (about $75).”

“I can't pay 150 Bolivars,” I tell him.

“You change money with me,” he tells me. “I make cheaper. Look,” he pinches his uniform and holds it out from his body. “I am officièl. From the airport. All is okay. Okay?”

Yeah right.

Exhausted, bleary minded, I fish $50 out of my wallet. I give it to him. He counts it and then reaches into his pocket. He gives me 150 Bolivars, counting them carefully into my hand.

“I give you discount taxi,” he says. “For you, 120 Bolivars. I ask my friend.”

For you, 120 Bolivars? Where am I? 47th Street Photo? Oy vey!

You can read about the rest of my adventures with this official. They're posted on the diary blog.

That's the potatoes. The meat of this column is my actual stay in Caracas. I meet Johnny that night. We go to a bar in “El Barrio.” It's supposed to be a dangerous neighborhood, but looks friendly enough to me.

“Is my car okay?” asks Johnny, looking out the bar window to where the car is parked... across the street. “I just want to make sure no one is breaking into the car.”

Johnny tells me that he's going to Columbia. The people are nice there. I can stay at his place if I want to, his brother is there. But I have to leave early, when his brother goes to work. And I can't come back until his brother is home. There is only one key.

You can't use keys as a sign of real danger. They're only perceived danger. Frightened people buy more locks. People may be scared because bad guys lurk on every corner. OR, people may be scared because they think bad guys lurk on every corner. They read it in the papers. See Fox 5 News... America's Most Wanted. It's hard to tell the reality. But it's easy to tell the reality that people are afraid. The more keys, the more fear.

In any case, I decide I'd rather stay in town. With a couch-surfer, actually the family of a couch-surfer ,I met in Trinidad. He said I could stay with his mom and sister in Caracas... in the room he grew up in. The family'll put me up for a week.

Flash forward: I write this in the apartment of my Venezuelan hosts. A middle class place in the center of Caracas. Mom and her daughter. Both bigger than the World Trade Center (used to be). They don't go out. Never get any exorcise except walking from one room to the kitchen. It's dangerous outside. The city is full of criminals. They just stay in and eat. Crime is everywhere, they tell me. Keep a few Bolivars in your pocket and leave your wallet at home. Don't show your camera. Don't show your computer. Don't walk past that street you can see from the window. It's dangerous!

Right now I'm trapped. My host family has gone to I donno where. Because of security here, you need a key to get in and out. A key... what am I talking about? Five keys. Ten keys. Dozens of keys.

To leave the apartment building and complex you need:

  1.   Key#1 to the apartment door (key necessary from both sides-- enter and leave)

  2.  Key#2 to the metal gate just outside the door. (key necessary from both sides-- enter and leave)

  3.  Key#3 to the gate protecting the alcove of 2 apartments on the left side of the elevator. (key necessary from both sides-- enter and leave)

  4.  An electronic key to call the elevator to your floor. Inside the elevator, you need the same key to push the buttons to move to your chosen floor.

  5.  The electronic key to leave the building through the main entrance. (key necessary from both sides-- enter and leave)

  6.  The electronic key to leave the building courtyard... It opens the gate. (key necessary from both sides-- enter and leave)

  7.  The electronic key to leave the entire apartment complex-- about half a dozen buildings and a small park. (key necessary from both sides-- enter and leave through the main gate)

And if there's a fire? It's all electronic! So much can go wrong with electronics. It's not a simple key in a simple lock. I don't want to think about it.

So my hosts are gone. Not home. I'm trapped. Can't leave. I can't get out the front door, let alone the two gates before the elevator. Okay, I'll just sit here and write. Wait for them to return.

Flashback#1: I walk into a discount luggage shop. I need to buy a bag to carry the punk stuff I pick up from my friends. And a beach towel. Somehow, I lost mine during my one-night stay at the hotel.

Gabriella, the woman, I'm staying with, told me there was a 30% inflation rate in Venezuela.

“You'd better buy today,” she said. “If you buy tomorrow, it'll be a dollar more.”

Only gas is cheap. Cheaper than water. Caracas has five million people and four million cars. You'd drive too if gas were 45 cents a gallon. Whoops, I bet you drive anyway.

Back to the shop. I pick out my towel and bag and head to the cashier. A young salesgirl, who's been following me since I entered the store, follows me to the front.

“That'll be thirty-eight Bolivars,” says the man at the register (in Spanish).

I fish out my money.

“I also need your...” I don't understand the word, but it sounds like secaro.

“I don't understand.” I tell the guy, in Spanish. “My Spanish is not that great.”

“SECARO! SECARO!” shouts the salesgirl, as if by shouting, she could make me understand better.

“MY SPANISH IS NOT THAT GOOD!” I shout back, in English.

They both look at me like I'm dangerous. But I open my wallet, fish out my driver's license, and show it to the cashier. That's the ticket.

So Venezuela becomes the first country I've ever been in that makes you show I.D. to pay cash. And I was in Poland during Commie times!

Back to the present: Still stuck here. What else can I write about? Well, there are posters of Chavez everywhere. Wall posters, most in that cut-out Communist style that Castro used to like.

There are also photos. Every politician wants his photo next to a photo of Chavez. And there's Che. Not quite as many Che posters as Chavez, but it's close.

Chavez tried to change the constitution. He wanted to give himself more power. Take decision-making away from the legislature and put it in his own hands. He rewrote the constitution and put it to the vote. He lost.

Then, like Mayor Bloomberg here in New York, Chavez decided to ignore popular opinion and put in the laws himself. There were immediate protests. They continue to this day. The protester's motto? NO ES NO!

There were petitions. Thousands of people signed, opposing Chavez ignoring the popular vote. Gabriella, my hostess, was one of them.

Soon after signing the petition, she lost her job. She is a petroleum geologist in a country where the government owns the petroleum industry. Because she signed the petition, she can no longer get a government job. She can no longer work at all.

I wonder where she and her mother went. Maybe they went to buy food, a ton of it... since it'll cost a lot more tomorrow.

So I'm thinking. Maybe my idea about Trinidad was only half right. Maybe danger is a necessary by-product of freedom. But not only that. It can also accompany vengeful totalitarianism. Control doesn't mean lack of danger-- or fear. These feelings can co-exists, or maybe MUST co-exist with control.

Maybe I'll talk to Gabriella about it. She's coming now. I can hear the key in the lock.

ENDNOTES: [email subscribers (god@mykelboard.com), blog subscribers (mykelsblog.blogspot.com) or website viewers (www.mykelboard.com) will get live links, a few more endnotes and a chance to comment on the column]

-->I went to the right school dept: The National Coalition Against Censorship reports that in 2005, the U.S. Secret Service visited "Axis of Evil: The Secret History of Sin." It was an international exhibition of stamp art at Columbia College in Chicago. (One of my almae matres) Two federal agents took photos of Al Bradtner's "Patriot Act." The art project showed fake 37-cent stamps with a revolver pointed at GWB's head.
     Turns out Columbia was the brave school. When the same exhibit was shown at U.W. Green Bay, the chancellor removed Bardtner's work before displaying the exhibition.

-->It only took 'em 600 years dept: In an extreme example of good news-bad news, England has finally removed a law against blasphemy. It is now legal to say "God is an asshole," but it may be illegal to say “Satan is a homo.”
      See, the same law that allows blasphemy, makes “free” speech illegal if it "incites hatred against gays." It also makes “free” press illegal if it includes "violent pornography." The law punishes possession, as well as creation of such material. Ouch!

-->Keith Dobson from York PA sent me a bunch of clippings from the local paper. My favorite is about the arrest of Janet Brannon in Delhi Illinois. What was she doing? Tending bar... in the nude. The charge was "public indecency."
  Seems, however, that nobody actually complained about her bartending. The cops just discovered it on a "routine check."
     Yeah right.
     I say some cop missed getting a blowjob THAT week.

-->Maybe the bartender shudda been dancing dept: The Iowa state attorney general's office asked the Iowa Supreme Court to review a judge's ruling that nude dancing is a legal "art form."
  Seems like the lower court judge ruled that a strip club was protected under a law allowing nudity in relation to art.
    Yippie!
    I say some judge GOT a blowjob that week.

-->Funny if true dept: I got a postcard from a save-Tibet group. I don't know if its true, but it's so close to THE ONION that I believe it.
     According to this postcard, on September 1, 2007, China passed a law that says, "all Tibetan Buddhist teachers, including the Dalai Lama, cannot be reincarnated without the permission of the Chinese government."
     Talk about totalitarian! Yowsah!

--> AMNewYork reports that Serita Armstrong, a former Brooklyn traffic agent, has sued the NYPD. Why? Undercover narcotics cops, cuffed, frisked and arrested her because she "blocked their access to crullers and chocolate glazed.”
     When she told them she was a traffic cop, they arrested her for “impersonating an officer.” The Brooklyn DA latter dropped all charges against Armstrong. Who knows what happened to the charges against the cops?

-->Not all cops are donut thugs dept: Cook County Sheriff, Tom Dart, ordered his deputies to stop evicting people from foreclosed property.
  "Many people we've helped throw out on the street are just renters," he said. "We will no longer be a party to something that's so unjust."
  Yeah Tom! This donut's for you!

-->Thanks dept: My pal and Howard Stern look-alike, Stewart Brodian is a DJ on WDIY, an NPR station in Pennsylvania. He loves playing indie music on the air-- especially if you're from PA! So send him CDs, rip one if you don't have one handy. He's at POB 1253, Easton PA 18044.
S tew invited me and my pal Sid Yiddish (the famous shofar-blowing-throat-singer) to his show in October. After what we did, I hope he still has a show in November.

-end-

You can go to Mykel's homepage for lots of other interesting, weird stuff.