Friday, January 31, 2014
|The second picture ever posted here, for instance. From|
Still, 88% is not good enough. Perfection or nothing!
The whole Today show "gang" was bopping yesterday to the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack or something, maybe Barry Gibb was going to be on. Not sure. It was okay, though, because Tamron Hall said she had had "How Deep Is Your Love?" as her morning alarm for fifteen years. Whatever she does is fine. However, the current Beegees appreciation (going on, I would, guess, because of a bubbling up in interest in the Fallon/Timberlake Barry Gibb Talk Show, maybe?) is approaching Fleetwood Mac-level uselessness. I mean, what about these Beegees?
After berating my parents for being so old and wacky, I found this wherein they are young(ish) and wacky. Some costume party at Harold Moore's (where I first read a Time-Life book on Duchamp years later, while steaks were grilling outside), ca. 1962, I would guess. Fran's Edie Sedgwick-style white lipstick is GO! May have posted before, but definitely worth reposting.
Set 'em up
set 'em up
set 'em up
for Local Thor
Stick and stones
and codfish bones
steers and queers
and "go volunteers!"
He's Agamemnon, mom!
|This has nothing to do with the mixes mentioned - just|
a reminder to listen to Beauty Stab now if you had been meaning
to, because Technique Month starts tomorrow.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Chuckled wryly while rubbing my chin raw a la Steve in the bonus footage from that one New York Dolls DVD while I read this:
On a flight to Chicago I bump into a Reprise executive who doesn't surprise me in the least by revealing: "You know the label deliberately crippled Southpaw Grammar, don't you? Because you wouldn't re-sign?"*
Now there's a job I could handle: crippling Southpaw Grammar. Here's how I would do it:
1. release it
* also insane in the autobiography as well: all quotations are italicized. What? And no, this IS a lot different from my excessive witty italicization I abuse constantly.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
|"Yeah, just relaxed and|
enjoying by very Beatles '65 lid over here...doobee doobee doo..."
|"I look like a mental patient from a Walker Evans|
|"Grrr...yes, I'll make some coffee...but I|
I am of course obligated to read the Morrissey autobiography, although the first few pages were just a slog that I was tempted to just skip around. But I am persevering (I think the ludicrously long paragraphs are the problem). Anyway, old Steve mentions some show he loved in his youth called "Torchy the Battery Boy," which sounds in turn like a Suede b-side from 1994. Wheels within wheels! Anyway, the internet gods coughed that shit right up, should you dare:
|Two views of the sad winter 1983 view from the Sprint store, where we waited|
|Kyle's new giant HTC-whatever phone. Comes with a wheelbarrow.|
I found myself in Dick's Sporting Goods and finally truly felt like an American for the first time in my life.
|Vulgar shades are in!|
|Drive for show, putt for dough|
|"What was the target doing in the master bedroom?," asked the detective.|
|I'm a fucking tool, right, but I had no idea that there were zillions of snacks|
to set out to get the game to crawl right up and get shot. Ingenuity! Who has time
|Sending these to Levi Johnston on his birthday|