Friday, May 29, 2009
Yesterday was swampy and grey and the trees were all saggy in a very Mitch Easter-y 1984 sort of way (today is crisp and clear, thank gawd), so I listened to Murmur in its entirety for the first time in maybe 15 years. I thought for a second "Wait! 'Perfect Circle' is the greatest song of all time!"
See, if I was behind this, he would also be able to hear/see/sense/whatever how people are spelling their thoughts, or how they think the words they are thinking are spelled. Then he would quickly jump off a bridge because he just couldn't take it (who could?) and the whole series, from origin to bridge-leap, would last about 21 minutes.
The suits would frown on all the production expense.
So you can have a feel for how the common man perceives the current economic climate, doncha know.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Aha! Your wife/gf must have gotten wind that Jarvis Cocker is divorced as of last month and, additionally, is doing yoga in Paris or some such.
MAYBE she'll let you keep one cat and the copy of Nine Stories that got wet.
Friday, May 22, 2009
But I also got some commercial chimichurri from Argentina that is insane. So now I can only hope to somehow grill a steak and slather this crap all over it.
Ham the space chimp lived to be 26 AND was in a movie with Evel Knievel!
Prior to his flight he was called Chimp # 63. They didn't name the chimp candidates before for fear that personalization would look bad if they blowed up. As it was, on splashdown he only bruised his nose!
Also his backup Minnie (the only female space chimp) lived to be 41! After her NASA years, she ran a small gift shop in Taos.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
What made me laugh was the list of his other books, which included a tome I must order: 20,000 League Under the Sea, or David Copperfield.
* "So that's how he gets his kicks, reading Lolita at the urologist's office. Tut tut!"
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
It has become one of the staples of modern, hi-tech life: using satellite
navigation tools built into your car or mobile phone to find your way from A to
B. But experts have warned that the system may be close to breakdown.
government officials are concerned that the quality of the Global Positioning
System (GPS) could begin
to deteriorate as early as next year, resulting in regular blackouts and
failures – or even dishing out inaccurate directions to millions of people
worldwide. - Guardian
This blows, because we just used the Garmin (sp?) to get to Wichita at Easter and it was very helpful getting to Jungle Jim's in Hamilton this last Saturday. At least I got to participate in the GPS phenomenon twice or so before The End came.
If so, I recommend this book, which I rescued from the Free Book Guy's Truck (he being a hippie [probably wants to give out burritos] who goes around doling out free books from his pickup truck, all in the name of lit'racy). I should send this book to the kids at Gawker so they can have a summer theme party of some sort...
There's a chapter entitled "The New York Hooker." One on "Staring, Peeping and Spying." At Burg-a-cue (540 Third, in 1966) "everything present, anything can happen, packed Sunday morning with all sexes from E 3os and 40s looking for a meaningful day of rest." [?] Brooklyn Heights is described as "America's first gay suburb." The phone is the best way to invite someone to an orgy. Whether you need a lawyer au fait with sodomy laws or you wish to consume psychedelics and need to get to Cafe Nicholson to enjoy their "fine jungle entrance" before comedown, if you're going to be in 1966 New York, this is the book to get!
Came home to find a package of Party Mix (as left, only Beachside Crunch flavor) in the middle of the living room floor, riven from stem to stern with all snacks therein vamoosed. Not even a crumb, or a stray star-shaped morsel tucked in the corner of the bag. That shit went straight to cat-snack heaven.
I always hate any time celebrities or whomever say "I'm just a big kid!" SO played.
I mean, I'm stupid and more poor than I should be, yet I consider myself finally grown up. So yeah, I feel forty, but not in a bad way at all. I can be forty and still have an opinion about, say, Fleet Foxes (and opinion is [drum roll]: that they're hippie/Americana bullshit). Or Dan Deacon.
All in all, quite happy, and grateful for friends and all that malarkey.
47-MILLION-YEAR-OLD MONKEY: THE LINK IN HUMAN EVOLUTION?
But he neglects to say whether said simian is alive...has it been crouching in the shadows for that long a time, just waiting to pop out and go "Here I am!"?
Oh, wait: "fossilized," it says below.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
My initial and subsiding misgiving was with the vocal style of the main girl, in that she's sort of sharp and brassy in a way that I couldn't pin down; who did she remind me of?
Then after many repeated listenings, it dawned on me:
Also, thoroughly unrelated, but for the feyness, here's the most Marr-tastic track since, I dunno, "Getting Away With It," though the video isn't all that spectacular*:
* they should have gone with my idea of showing faces (filmed in such tight close-up as to be pretty much abstractions) of adult film performers at the moment of, um, Release, for that added Warhol pop-art movie Bl-wjobness. And rain, lots and lots of rain...
Maybe next single they'll listen to me!
Also reading The Night of the Gun, which is sort of like A Million Little Pieces, but with actual reporting. Guy writes for the NYT, so went back and interviewed people he harmed back in the (crack) day and the like...it's not bad. HOWEVER - he used the word acuity three times in the first twenty pages. Acuity is not like the - it needs to used sparingly. As in once in 300 pages.
This is like when I read John Henry Days by Colson Whitehead wherein, instead of mouth, he used the word maw four times. "...sticking a cigarette in the corner of his maw [paraphrase]." See, now, I should read his Whitehead's new book Sag Harbor about preppy black kids in the 80s but have this whole "maw" thing hanging over my head. Suppose he used maw again. Would I chuckle benignly, or would I, in the face of use of said obscure Whitehead favorite and in a tut-tutting sense of 'Well, the 80's weren't like that at all - no one really liked [Echo and the Bunnymen LP] Porcupine that much...' just give up on the book and stop cold? Best not to find out, at least until a copy shows up for a buck at Half-Price (them again!).
Maybe all writers have favored pet words they feel the need to trot out all the time. Some observant followers could even contend that this very outlet you read now relies overly much on too many unnecessary self-consciously Salingerian parentheses and "ironic" italicizations.
But that sort of acuity can only lead to a sock to the maw.
Either way, no trace of said place on the interweb. And the first picture that an image search yielded is the oddness at left.
Does anyone know what I'm talking about? Could I have bought some Jolt cola there?
Much prefer Pnin - sweetly forlorn Russian professor bumbles around Waindell College. Or, as he says (and the accent/vernacular is flawlessly done, of course), "Vandal College."
Rereading this last night, and he receives a visit from his ex-wife Liza Wind (amazing names!) who wants him to send spending money to/keep an eye on her son, who is going to school nearby. After her departure, Pnin sobs in the kitchen of the house where he's a boarder and sweet landlady Jean tries to cheer him up with cartoons from a New Yorker-type magazine (it's 1953)...the cartoon described has a man and a cat on a desert island, seeing a mermaid passing and the man's thought balloon is of a whole woman while the cats imagines a whole fish. Pnin is unmoved, says he doesn't get American humor and keeps sobbing...
(an amendation, from the "Fuck yes!" dept: http://www.amazon.com/Original-Laura-Vladimir-Nabokov/dp/0307271897/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1242330673&sr=8-1)
In my travels, and in my boring summer youthful afternoons reading Allen Eckert novels, I never hear thing one about what the Native Americans thought of tornadoes.
Is it just me?
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
If you haven't read it, go to Half Price Books one day this summer, buy it, then go over to your parents' house, get in the back seat of their car and read this cover to cover.
Also works with The Mist by Stephen King, All My Sons by Arthur Miller and that 1982 Rolling Stone with "Elvis Costello Repents!" cover story (and Haircut 100!).
Looked around for some vinegar to no avail, so was forced to use TABASCO for my vinegar-y liquid.
In a photo provided by Indianapolis police, musician Henry Lee Summer, whose
real name is Henry Lee Swartz, is shown in a photo after his arrest Tuesday, May
5, 2009, in Indianapolis. Summer, who had two top-20 hits in the late 1980s, has
been arrested on methamphetamine possession and other charges. (AP
I don't think I've ever heard this guy's songs, but living in D_____, he used to play a lot around here, even through the mid-90s. At shitholes.
And, a not-really-related reminder, that I've said before, but which bears repeating: if you get a neck tattoo, you WILL go to jail.
So my experiences with them have been met with a sense of obligation, if not innate enthusiasm. I remember having some Asian-y ones once that were good, but, for the most part (and this may be a fault of preparation) they always seem a bit like some sea-flavored crisped phyllo dough.
Until Saturday, when the mighty Rob prepared some in a wee bit of flour with some basil and parsley on them and everything I'd ever known up until then (my name, names of colors, types of clouds) was rendered moot. These pups were actually a bit meaty and all of the sudden I knew that the world had to survive.
I have almost all of their stuff in one form or another...maybe I need to pare down, put all the "best" in one folder and move on. But then, inevitably, some song I hadn't selected for the collegtion will turn up on a "very special One Tree Hill" [strikethrough: Dateline] and I'll have to go "get" that track and add it to some folder somewhere and I don't have the time, with all this laundry piling up.
OK [deep breath] - that said, that "The Rake's Song" is absolutely the sickest/creepiest thing since, I dunno, Tori Amos doing "Bonnie and Clyde '97," maybe.
Plus I owe Colin Meloy big-time for getting that stupid "Road Rage" song all up out my giant, misshapen noggin:
Monday, May 11, 2009
"Let's have two subs shoot nukes at each other, but let's have no aftermath to it!"
Whatever. I don't really even hate Roger Moore, because I like Live and Let Die.
Also, if asked, I would be most likely to describe my lifestyle as "post-Ffolkes." Because most of the stuff that has happened to me has been, indeed, post-Ffolkes.
Also, last good thing Radiohead did: