Well, I thought that there was a chance that last post would be my final for the year. Not so. If you haven't read my year-end post yet, and are the sort of person who would want to, or think you might be, then by all means.
I'm not quite sure how much I made it a matter of public record (some of you know; at least of that I am certain) that I was getting an MRI. I did so last night, at Boston Children's hospital. But I'll get to that later.
Before the hospital visit I met up with some friends to see the Producers at the Lowes Cinema near Boston Commons. Now, having seen the original 1968 film (but regrettably not the Broadway show) I came into this with high expectations. Those expectations were easily exceeded. A familiar face (Matthiew Broderick), and a not-so-familiar face with a familiar voice (Nathan Lane, who was Timon in The Lion King), provided in my opinion superior performances, a shade over-the-top and meant for the stage though they may have been. Will Farrell, who was the one performer I was concerned about, pulled off the part of the German playwright and then some.
The coup de grace in this though was Uma Thurman as Ulla (The role was of course expanded to accomadate her). She walked in and got right on with her musical number, "If you've got it, flaunt it."
Uma has it.
She flaunted it
And I'm here to tell you, that's what I call hot.
The added musical numbers were all excellent, and I'm probably going to be getting the soundtrack. Of particular note were the old ladies who did a tap routine with their walkers, and Will Farrell, who believe it or not could really sell it as Franz musically as well. Matthiew Broderick and Nathan Lanes performances are ommitted here because I already knew that they could sing, though now that I mention it Lane's "Betrayed" was fantastic, as was Broderick's "I want to be a producer." So I lied about ommitting them. 'tever.
All in all, the performances are fantastic, the writing and musical numbers are hilarious, the pacing is spot-on, and Uma Thurman is hot. A must see if you like things that are awesome.
On to the less enjoyable experience of the evening.
Being 19, I normally would not be going to Children's hospital. However, I have a bit of a record there, including but not necessarily limited to (there are of course limits to the memory of one's ailments) stitches, a broken wrist, and two seperate week-long stays wherein I was struggling to breathe for much of the time (asthma and all that). Predictably, it was the latter that etched me into their logs. Suffice to say, I know the place. It had a CVS now, as well as an (ick) Au Bon Pain and some flatscreen tvs on the walls, but the feel was the same. The smell and taste of the air was as expected of a hospital, but this one was always different in that the smell of vomit that had been cleaned from the floor but whose presence was not quite eliminated, or a number of other smells indicative of children, are always probable. This time it was the vomit mixing with the various disinfectants and sanitizers that told me I was in a familiar place.
Check-in was smoother than I remembered, though to be fair nothing is smooth when you're gasping for breath, so it may well have been no different. Either way, it wasn't long before I was in the room with that beast of a machine. I was soon told that my feet were the biggest ever to be scanned by it. The prize? to have them each in turn shoved into a comparitavely small plastic bootlike thing that was constricting to say the least. I was there for three hours; given a pair of headphones with alternative rock playing over them. A lot of the time was spent in a quasi-dreamlike state where I heard the machine and the headphones, but could also see and hear a lot of things I knew weren't happening. It was pretty weird and kind of fun.
Oh, and some brief notes.
David Lee Roth is taking over Howard Stern's time slot. The word for that is awesome.
Not awesome is the fact that China is witholding samples of the Asian Bird Flu.
Ok. This time I make no predictions as to when I might be blogging. Suffice to say, if you want to hear what I have to say about New Year's, look below. I'm not repeating it. =P
Later.
12.29.2005
12.28.2005
*represses the urge to do a "best of" list*
A lot of people whose works I frequent on this here interweb have already written "end of the year" musings. I had planned to leave mine up until, well, as close to the end of the year as I can manage, but as this may be the last time I can garuntee bloggage until the new year I'm doing it now.
2005 started out to a fantastic start for me. I finally settled in to a school that I thought had no place for me. I turned a corner with my acting and my writing. I developed close and important friendships with people in Chicago.
People started to read this blog, and I found therein a fantastic way to hone my skills as a storyteller. In the process I met some really awesome people. You all know who you are.
I joined a community theater troupe in the summer to keep in the game. As a result I put in my best performance ever, and established myself with a theater company that I'll be able to pitch my own play to for next summer (I really need to get on that) I also met even more cool people.
Of course the downside of the year, even the good parts, was that it saw new levels of sexual frustration that a keen analytical mind might have noticed in my writing. Though now that I think about it it's entirely possible that it would take an analytical mind three times as keen as mine. It's easy to find something if you know it's there.
Then around comes September and I'm eager to get back to school, when that entire business gets shot to hell. And it's not to say that the past few months have been entirely bad, its just that the few bright points were white spots on a field of black, as just about all of my friends were at school, some of whom at a school where I should have been. It sounds cliché I know, but having this space has helped with this a lot. So thank you all.
Of course in the world outside me some worse stuff happened in 2005, but we all know that.
So, as for 2006? My situation isn't going to be improving very quickly. Hopefully I'll make it back to Chicago in September, but I'm pretty much stuck here until then.
There are some things to look forward to in '06 though; at least in the way of pop culture. There will be new studio albums by Tool, Radiohead, Mogwai, and The Mars Volta. Also, Clerks 2 is coming out along with, and Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest, Carmen Sandiego, Cthulhu, and Get Smart (with Steve Carrell as Agent 86) And those were just the ones I bothered to look up.
So, lately I've been eschewing the idea of a New Year's Resolution. This year I vow to just cold kick ass at life. To, in the words of my good friend Bernie, who still has yet to reply to his Absurdity Jam invite, "Exist Harder." So on that note, I leave you with a Twain quote
Let us endeavor so to live that when we die, even the undertaker shall be sorry
Happy New Year, everyone.
2005 started out to a fantastic start for me. I finally settled in to a school that I thought had no place for me. I turned a corner with my acting and my writing. I developed close and important friendships with people in Chicago.
People started to read this blog, and I found therein a fantastic way to hone my skills as a storyteller. In the process I met some really awesome people. You all know who you are.
I joined a community theater troupe in the summer to keep in the game. As a result I put in my best performance ever, and established myself with a theater company that I'll be able to pitch my own play to for next summer (I really need to get on that) I also met even more cool people.
Of course the downside of the year, even the good parts, was that it saw new levels of sexual frustration that a keen analytical mind might have noticed in my writing. Though now that I think about it it's entirely possible that it would take an analytical mind three times as keen as mine. It's easy to find something if you know it's there.
Then around comes September and I'm eager to get back to school, when that entire business gets shot to hell. And it's not to say that the past few months have been entirely bad, its just that the few bright points were white spots on a field of black, as just about all of my friends were at school, some of whom at a school where I should have been. It sounds cliché I know, but having this space has helped with this a lot. So thank you all.
Of course in the world outside me some worse stuff happened in 2005, but we all know that.
So, as for 2006? My situation isn't going to be improving very quickly. Hopefully I'll make it back to Chicago in September, but I'm pretty much stuck here until then.
There are some things to look forward to in '06 though; at least in the way of pop culture. There will be new studio albums by Tool, Radiohead, Mogwai, and The Mars Volta. Also, Clerks 2 is coming out along with, and Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest, Carmen Sandiego, Cthulhu, and Get Smart (with Steve Carrell as Agent 86) And those were just the ones I bothered to look up.
So, lately I've been eschewing the idea of a New Year's Resolution. This year I vow to just cold kick ass at life. To, in the words of my good friend Bernie, who still has yet to reply to his Absurdity Jam invite, "Exist Harder." So on that note, I leave you with a Twain quote
Let us endeavor so to live that when we die, even the undertaker shall be sorry
Happy New Year, everyone.
12.24.2005
Obligatory Yuletide Well-Wishing
Because I can never let someone have fun without joining in, thought I'd throw in a Christmas audio post. Not my best work though.
The song is Back Door Santa, as sung by John Popper and BB King. I highly suggest downloading it, as they sung it a hell of a lot better than I did.
I'm about to sit down to dinner, so I'm done for now, but I may be back with pics tommorrow.
Merry Christmas to those that celebrate it, and hell, those that don't as well. You don't really need to celebrate Christmas to enjoy yourself on December 25th. Hell, I ditched religion years ago and I still love this time of year when I'm not being accosted by, in the words of the lovely Vesper, "Christmas Bitches"
The song is Back Door Santa, as sung by John Popper and BB King. I highly suggest downloading it, as they sung it a hell of a lot better than I did.
I'm about to sit down to dinner, so I'm done for now, but I may be back with pics tommorrow.
Merry Christmas to those that celebrate it, and hell, those that don't as well. You don't really need to celebrate Christmas to enjoy yourself on December 25th. Hell, I ditched religion years ago and I still love this time of year when I'm not being accosted by, in the words of the lovely Vesper, "Christmas Bitches"
12.23.2005
Stop me if you've heard this one... Actually, don't.
In an effort to break my recent string of blogger's block, I employed an old tactic that I introduced a while back as a challenge to other bloggers. If anyone's interested I'd be glad to set you up, but in this case I just needed to write something. Alice was kind enough to provide the opening and closing lines this time.
Also, for those who give anything resembling a flying fuck about my progress on guitar, I've been doing some blues rythm licks with some success. Anyways, without any further ado, tonight's installment.
"Suffering, a morally undeserved problem is considered a form of Evil in some cultures and although not necessarily considered the same thing in this country where a large percentage of the population is Christian and to believe suffering is evil would then in some way mean their God was evil..."
The airplane continued to cruise at 30,000 feet and I could barely stay awake, much less pay attention. The previous day had been a waking nightmare, and while the caffiene that had facilitated its sustenance had yet to completely loose its grip upon me, all it was doing at the moment was keeping my consciousness in a sort of limbo. So while I desperately wanted to comprehend the discourse of the stunning woman sitting to my right, no amount of willpower would make it so.
Ok. So I can't hack it. That doesn't mean this has to turn into the type of travesty I always do. All I need to do is find a way to nod out of this gracefully. But how the fuck do I explain myself in a way that doesn't seem like an over-elaborate lie?
Yeah, so right now you're probably wondering what the fuck I'm talking about. It's like this. Two days ago I was cornered in an alley by a scraggly man peddling crack and copies of Dianetics. Because I'm a bit of a debate addict I pointed out the inherent contradiction, and the man, by now used to people just telling him to piss off, laid into me with some bullshit rant that I took specific care to forget all about as it was mind poison. As he spoke a crowd of his ilk formed around him. His choir, as it were. Singing the praises of Scientology and crack cocaine in a harmony that could only be described as the result of their severely altered state of being. I knew I had to act quickly.
"It's coming..." I said with a quiver in my voice as I stared off in the distance. Confusion followed as the surrounding mass searched for an antecedent. That was all the time I needed. I did a backflip, kicking the preacher in the face and springing off the wall. I got about five steps ahead of the congregation before they started to follow. I'd be cutting it close.
I ducked down another alley and removed my trusted ally from my belt. It's forty inches long and sharp; a gift from a man in Okinawa made specially for me.
As soon as I saw the first head clear the brick wall I swung and struck flesh and bone. The next three froze in shock, and they soon joined their fellow parishoner on the pavement.
I broke into a run as the rest of the fuckheads made after me. There was a fire escape thirty yards away. I could make it. climbed the wobbling metal stair in record time and waited on the rooftop. The thought of breaking it off from the top dwelled in my mind for a moment, but I didn't see the need. I had these fuckers where I wanted them. There were a dozen left, making their way up incognizant of the doom that awaited them at the top. And one by one, they fell.
And then came the sirens. I'd been tipped off. I knew what I had to do.
Beneath a manhole cover at the outskirts of town I hid, listening to the police scanner I had stashed there for that purpose.
Suspect is a male over six feet tall and is to be considered armed and dangerous
In most towns, the cops always witheld details from the airwaves, so that the fugitive never knew all that they knew. At some point the chief in this town decided to end this policy to get the crooks to assume that they knew more than they did. And for the most part no one caught on because the fugitives, even the ones just trying to skip out on a jaywalking rap, tended to wind up dead. I survived. I knew.
All I needed to do to beat this was hop a plane and avoid getting arrested during their standard round-up of males over six feet tall. I'd done this before. And each time it was a kill-or be killed situation.
You know, the fact that I have to do this so much just to keep my hide intact must mean that if there is a God guiding earthly events he must be either cool with me killing people or holding some kind of grudge that's beyond my understanding. Wait a sec, that sounds familiar...
Oh shit, I forgot about her! She's been talking this whole time and I haven't listened to a word. I've got to find a way back into this conversation. Maybe If I focus I can piece it together. I really don't want her to get the wrong idea about me
My focus returned as she finished her piece:
"So I conclude that in certain circumstances it is ok to do somebody on the first date."
Also, for those who give anything resembling a flying fuck about my progress on guitar, I've been doing some blues rythm licks with some success. Anyways, without any further ado, tonight's installment.
"Suffering, a morally undeserved problem is considered a form of Evil in some cultures and although not necessarily considered the same thing in this country where a large percentage of the population is Christian and to believe suffering is evil would then in some way mean their God was evil..."
The airplane continued to cruise at 30,000 feet and I could barely stay awake, much less pay attention. The previous day had been a waking nightmare, and while the caffiene that had facilitated its sustenance had yet to completely loose its grip upon me, all it was doing at the moment was keeping my consciousness in a sort of limbo. So while I desperately wanted to comprehend the discourse of the stunning woman sitting to my right, no amount of willpower would make it so.
Ok. So I can't hack it. That doesn't mean this has to turn into the type of travesty I always do. All I need to do is find a way to nod out of this gracefully. But how the fuck do I explain myself in a way that doesn't seem like an over-elaborate lie?
Yeah, so right now you're probably wondering what the fuck I'm talking about. It's like this. Two days ago I was cornered in an alley by a scraggly man peddling crack and copies of Dianetics. Because I'm a bit of a debate addict I pointed out the inherent contradiction, and the man, by now used to people just telling him to piss off, laid into me with some bullshit rant that I took specific care to forget all about as it was mind poison. As he spoke a crowd of his ilk formed around him. His choir, as it were. Singing the praises of Scientology and crack cocaine in a harmony that could only be described as the result of their severely altered state of being. I knew I had to act quickly.
"It's coming..." I said with a quiver in my voice as I stared off in the distance. Confusion followed as the surrounding mass searched for an antecedent. That was all the time I needed. I did a backflip, kicking the preacher in the face and springing off the wall. I got about five steps ahead of the congregation before they started to follow. I'd be cutting it close.
I ducked down another alley and removed my trusted ally from my belt. It's forty inches long and sharp; a gift from a man in Okinawa made specially for me.
As soon as I saw the first head clear the brick wall I swung and struck flesh and bone. The next three froze in shock, and they soon joined their fellow parishoner on the pavement.
I broke into a run as the rest of the fuckheads made after me. There was a fire escape thirty yards away. I could make it. climbed the wobbling metal stair in record time and waited on the rooftop. The thought of breaking it off from the top dwelled in my mind for a moment, but I didn't see the need. I had these fuckers where I wanted them. There were a dozen left, making their way up incognizant of the doom that awaited them at the top. And one by one, they fell.
And then came the sirens. I'd been tipped off. I knew what I had to do.
Beneath a manhole cover at the outskirts of town I hid, listening to the police scanner I had stashed there for that purpose.
Suspect is a male over six feet tall and is to be considered armed and dangerous
In most towns, the cops always witheld details from the airwaves, so that the fugitive never knew all that they knew. At some point the chief in this town decided to end this policy to get the crooks to assume that they knew more than they did. And for the most part no one caught on because the fugitives, even the ones just trying to skip out on a jaywalking rap, tended to wind up dead. I survived. I knew.
All I needed to do to beat this was hop a plane and avoid getting arrested during their standard round-up of males over six feet tall. I'd done this before. And each time it was a kill-or be killed situation.
You know, the fact that I have to do this so much just to keep my hide intact must mean that if there is a God guiding earthly events he must be either cool with me killing people or holding some kind of grudge that's beyond my understanding. Wait a sec, that sounds familiar...
Oh shit, I forgot about her! She's been talking this whole time and I haven't listened to a word. I've got to find a way back into this conversation. Maybe If I focus I can piece it together. I really don't want her to get the wrong idea about me
My focus returned as she finished her piece:
"So I conclude that in certain circumstances it is ok to do somebody on the first date."
12.20.2005
One tiny mystery solved before bed
There is a reason why bad shows keep finding airwaves to carry them.
Ratings do not necessarily correlate to advertizing revenue. Effectiveness is also a concern
Who is a more profitable audience to advertize to than the stupid people who watch bad television?
Song I'm trying to play of the moment: Stairway to Heaven, by Led Zepplin
E-------5-7-----7-|-8-----8-2-----2-|-0---------0-----|-----------------| B-----5-----5-----|---5-------3-----|---1---1-----1---|-0-1-1-----------| G---5---------5---|-----5-------2---|-----2---------2-|-0-2-2-----------| D-7-------6-------|-5-------4-------|-3---------------|-----------------| A-----------------|-----------------|-----------------|-2-0-0---0--/8-7-| E-----------------|-----------------|-----------------|-----------------|
E---------7-----7-|-8-----8-2-----2-|-0---------0-----|-----------------| B-------5---5-----|---5-------3-----|---1---1-----1---|-0-1-1-----------| G-----5-------5---|-----5-------2---|-----2---------2-|-0-2-2-----------| D---7-----6-------|-5-------4-------|-3---------------|-----------------| A-0---------------|-----------------|-----------------|-2-0-0-------0-2-| E-----------------|-----------------|-----------------|-----------------|
E-------0-2-----2-|-0-----0----------|---------3-----3-| B-----------3-----|---1-----0h1------|-1-----1---0-----| G-----0-------2---|-----2-------2----|---0---------0---| D---2-----0-------|-3----------------|-----2-----------| A-3---------------|---------0----0-2-|-3---------------| E-----------------|------------------|---------3-------|
Ratings do not necessarily correlate to advertizing revenue. Effectiveness is also a concern
Who is a more profitable audience to advertize to than the stupid people who watch bad television?
Song I'm trying to play of the moment: Stairway to Heaven, by Led Zepplin
E-------5-7-----7-|-8-----8-2-----2-|-0---------0-----|-----------------| B-----5-----5-----|---5-------3-----|---1---1-----1---|-0-1-1-----------| G---5---------5---|-----5-------2---|-----2---------2-|-0-2-2-----------| D-7-------6-------|-5-------4-------|-3---------------|-----------------| A-----------------|-----------------|-----------------|-2-0-0---0--/8-7-| E-----------------|-----------------|-----------------|-----------------|
E---------7-----7-|-8-----8-2-----2-|-0---------0-----|-----------------| B-------5---5-----|---5-------3-----|---1---1-----1---|-0-1-1-----------| G-----5-------5---|-----5-------2---|-----2---------2-|-0-2-2-----------| D---7-----6-------|-5-------4-------|-3---------------|-----------------| A-0---------------|-----------------|-----------------|-2-0-0-------0-2-| E-----------------|-----------------|-----------------|-----------------|
E-------0-2-----2-|-0-----0----------|---------3-----3-| B-----------3-----|---1-----0h1------|-1-----1---0-----| G-----0-------2---|-----2-------2----|---0---------0---| D---2-----0-------|-3----------------|-----2-----------| A-3---------------|---------0----0-2-|-3---------------| E-----------------|------------------|---------3-------|
12.18.2005
In Brief
Huh... my photo disappeared.
Well, I'll have to replace it then. (UPDATE: I Just did in case you didn't realize it by now.) I was getting tired of that one anyways.
Apologies to everyone who commented on the thread about GotB's departure. The reason I haven't responded to your comments is I'm done talking about the guy.
While I'm here, I saw Serenity the other night. Excellent fucking movie. Comes out on Tuesday. Reccomended if you are the sort of person who likes things.
Also, there is a bottomless well of jokes to be made out of the metaphor of guitars as being female.
That is all
Well, I'll have to replace it then. (UPDATE: I Just did in case you didn't realize it by now.) I was getting tired of that one anyways.
Apologies to everyone who commented on the thread about GotB's departure. The reason I haven't responded to your comments is I'm done talking about the guy.
While I'm here, I saw Serenity the other night. Excellent fucking movie. Comes out on Tuesday. Reccomended if you are the sort of person who likes things.
Also, there is a bottomless well of jokes to be made out of the metaphor of guitars as being female.
That is all
12.17.2005
If you can't recall the singer, you can at least recall the tune
The last thing I posted here was rather venomous. And I stand by it. All of it.
But all the same, I see it now as a bit of clutter, that perhaps caused people not to see this post. And furthermore, I'm done with it. I'm not going to delete it. I don't do that here. It's here if you want it
I am going to bury it, though.
Alice's weekend wrap-up (not that it has any official title but it's becoming a bit of a habit of hers; a good one at that) can be seen to be the sort of thing that would inspire laughter if you are so inclined, which is to say, if you have a pulse.
A couple of things she mentioned.
The Patriot Act was blocked- Victory
Pia's post on Christmas- I agree with it in spirit, but here's the thing. Christmas sort of is a secular holiday. It's a little-discussed fact that the reason it falls on the 25th of December was to disguise the celebration so that it coincided with the pagan Solistice, from which the Christmas tree (and the five-pointed star at the top) are originated. I'm not quite certain how much I've made it clear here, but I'm an atheist. That having been said, I celebrate Christmas even after having renounced my religion because to me, Jesus was a guy who got nailed to a tree for saying that it would be great if people could love one another. As far as i'm concerned, that in itself is worthy cause to honor his birth (which didn't happen in December, but what the hey). When I hear Christians complaining about the secularization of Christmas I wonder if they realize that they didn't have it first.
On that note, I'm rather enjoying the story that's being told at Gossamer Commons. I advise that you check it out
So, that twelve day streak is over. I'm enjoying a rare day off before another six days. Luckily I have Christmas Eve off. All told there will be something to the tune of 45 hours there.
Song I'm trying to play of the moment- Tribute, by Tenacious D
But all the same, I see it now as a bit of clutter, that perhaps caused people not to see this post. And furthermore, I'm done with it. I'm not going to delete it. I don't do that here. It's here if you want it
I am going to bury it, though.
Alice's weekend wrap-up (not that it has any official title but it's becoming a bit of a habit of hers; a good one at that) can be seen to be the sort of thing that would inspire laughter if you are so inclined, which is to say, if you have a pulse.
A couple of things she mentioned.
The Patriot Act was blocked- Victory
Pia's post on Christmas- I agree with it in spirit, but here's the thing. Christmas sort of is a secular holiday. It's a little-discussed fact that the reason it falls on the 25th of December was to disguise the celebration so that it coincided with the pagan Solistice, from which the Christmas tree (and the five-pointed star at the top) are originated. I'm not quite certain how much I've made it clear here, but I'm an atheist. That having been said, I celebrate Christmas even after having renounced my religion because to me, Jesus was a guy who got nailed to a tree for saying that it would be great if people could love one another. As far as i'm concerned, that in itself is worthy cause to honor his birth (which didn't happen in December, but what the hey). When I hear Christians complaining about the secularization of Christmas I wonder if they realize that they didn't have it first.
On that note, I'm rather enjoying the story that's being told at Gossamer Commons. I advise that you check it out
So, that twelve day streak is over. I'm enjoying a rare day off before another six days. Luckily I have Christmas Eve off. All told there will be something to the tune of 45 hours there.
Song I'm trying to play of the moment- Tribute, by Tenacious D
|------------------0--0--0--0--0----|---0---------------0--0--0--0--0---|Later, all.
|------------------1--1--1--1--1----|---1h3p1p0h1-------1--1--1--1--1---|
|--------0h2-------2--2--2--2--2----|---2---------------2--2--2--2--2---|
|----0h2--------2--2--2--2--2--2----|---2------------2--2--2--2--2--2---|
|-------------0----0--0--0--0--0----|--------------0----0--0--0--0--0---|
|-----------------------------------|-----------------------------------|
12.16.2005
It didn't take any guessing on my part to know who you are
Before I get to the reason why I'm posting, I want to make it clear that the lyrics below were by The Band, not me. I guess I just assume others have heard a lot of the songs I have.
Ok, so one of our number has been forced to hang up her spikes, as it were. Caused to do so by a fellow blogger. I feel a need to respond. And in a much less polite way than GotB is used to doing.
Fucker, I knew who you were as soon as I read the post. If you ever wondered why I didn't link you its because I knew you had a fucking screw loose.
Remember what I said in my last post about the internet as a forum? People like you ruin it for the rest of us.
We all open up a window to our own lives (at varying degrees) here, sharing our experiences with one another under the condition that there exists a line. Of course, everyone draws their line at a different place, but it's not too fucking hard to figure it out. And in case that's too nuanced for you, ERR ON THE SIDE OF NOT BEING A FUCKING STALKER, ASSHOLE. This isn't complicated.
A note: Yes, I've given my last name. Don't think that means I want you to come searching for me.
Ok, so one of our number has been forced to hang up her spikes, as it were. Caused to do so by a fellow blogger. I feel a need to respond. And in a much less polite way than GotB is used to doing.
Fucker, I knew who you were as soon as I read the post. If you ever wondered why I didn't link you its because I knew you had a fucking screw loose.
Remember what I said in my last post about the internet as a forum? People like you ruin it for the rest of us.
We all open up a window to our own lives (at varying degrees) here, sharing our experiences with one another under the condition that there exists a line. Of course, everyone draws their line at a different place, but it's not too fucking hard to figure it out. And in case that's too nuanced for you, ERR ON THE SIDE OF NOT BEING A FUCKING STALKER, ASSHOLE. This isn't complicated.
A note: Yes, I've given my last name. Don't think that means I want you to come searching for me.
Introductions
I'm proud of the thread below. The lead-in was (I think) well-written, and the dialogue that followed was fruitful. We discussed an important issue the other day. One on which people are fiercely divided, and one that we as a group did not share one mind in. It was, in two cases, a personal issue. And everyone involved elevated the discussion. So good job, everyone. In an internet full of trolls, flamewars, and general ignorance, it's a breath of fresh air to have a dialogue like that one
That having been said, it was a bit heavy, so I'd like to clear the pallate a bit.
Friends, meet Ophelia
Ophelia is an Epiphone Les Paul Special 2, in ebony. She's friendly.
Mama, I know we broke the rules
Was somebody up against the law?
Honey, you know I'd die for you
I haven't heard her through the amp yet (late hours and all), but she sings unplugged.
Ashes of laughter
The ghost is clear
Why do the best things always disappear
Like Ophelia
Please darken my door
Of course all I know at this point is the lead-ins to a few songs, but there are limitations to what you can learn on a beat-up acoustic with two missing strings. I'm working on remedying this.
Was it somethin' that somebody said?
Honey, you know we broke the rules
Was somebody up against the law?
Honey, you know I'd die for you
It's been about time. Being the type of person I am, I'm almost genetically encoded to play guitar. (Well, it would be genetically if Lamarck was right, but thats just semantics)
They got your number
Scared and runnin'
But I'm still waitin' for the second comin'
Of Ophelia
Come back home.
Lyrics (by The Band) dedicated to Girl on the Blog. More on that later.
I'd also like to introduce Vesper, who is the newest feature to my illustrious sidebar.
So, I actually enjoyed work today. It was nigh 12 hours of destruction for fun and profit.
Ok, so it wasn't 12 hours of destruction, there was some lifting and moving involved, but whatever. Basically we broke down the store (which is tiny compared to its predessecor) and moved to a bigger, better location within the mall. I got to destroy metal shelving units with my bare hands. Crazy fun. Tommorrow should be interesting.
I'm going to gather my thoughts and see if I can comment on this with something somewhat resembling a level head.
That having been said, it was a bit heavy, so I'd like to clear the pallate a bit.
Friends, meet Ophelia
Ophelia is an Epiphone Les Paul Special 2, in ebony. She's friendly.
Mama, I know we broke the rules
Was somebody up against the law?
Honey, you know I'd die for you
I haven't heard her through the amp yet (late hours and all), but she sings unplugged.
Ashes of laughter
The ghost is clear
Why do the best things always disappear
Like Ophelia
Please darken my door
Of course all I know at this point is the lead-ins to a few songs, but there are limitations to what you can learn on a beat-up acoustic with two missing strings. I'm working on remedying this.
Was it somethin' that somebody said?
Honey, you know we broke the rules
Was somebody up against the law?
Honey, you know I'd die for you
It's been about time. Being the type of person I am, I'm almost genetically encoded to play guitar. (Well, it would be genetically if Lamarck was right, but thats just semantics)
They got your number
Scared and runnin'
But I'm still waitin' for the second comin'
Of Ophelia
Come back home.
Lyrics (by The Band) dedicated to Girl on the Blog. More on that later.
I'd also like to introduce Vesper, who is the newest feature to my illustrious sidebar.
So, I actually enjoyed work today. It was nigh 12 hours of destruction for fun and profit.
Ok, so it wasn't 12 hours of destruction, there was some lifting and moving involved, but whatever. Basically we broke down the store (which is tiny compared to its predessecor) and moved to a bigger, better location within the mall. I got to destroy metal shelving units with my bare hands. Crazy fun. Tommorrow should be interesting.
I'm going to gather my thoughts and see if I can comment on this with something somewhat resembling a level head.
12.13.2005
Capital Punishment is a Farce and other thoughts
Allright, so a while back, I saw an item in the news, and suppressed an urge to post about it. That item was the execution of the thousandth death row inmate since the moratiorium on capital punishment was lifted in 1976. I was pretty sure that I was going to post about it eventually, but wasn't entirely certain that my arguement was fully formed and didn't wish to set an artificial deadline for myself based on a construct devoid of any real signifigance. That it is ultimately a high-profile case that brought this out of me is not lost, but for my part, the reason I'm writing this now is because of what I read at Girl on the Blog
To take a life is to operate outside of one's rights as a human being, and infringing upon the rights of another. I hope against hope that we can all agree on that unequivocally.
That having been said, we constantly and often for good reason operate outside our rights, and when the rights of one conflict with the rights of another, a decision has to be made.
Simply put, there needs to be a reason.
When a hostage is held at gunpoint, there is a reason.
And in the case of the death penalty as it stands, there isn't one. At all.
There are, depending on how you looking at it, two or three potential reasons for the death penalty. They are deterrence, punishment, and vengeance. The latter two can be lumped together, and in the case of mainstream politics, vengeance is never on the table, though is sometimes referred to dressed in punishment's borrowed robes.
I submit that punishment is only an issue if you are dealing with someone who may be reintroduced to society. Thus, it is irrelevent to anyone for whom the death penalty is a consideration.
Let's look at vengeance. I am not at this point in time absolutely clear how I feel about it personally. There is a strong part of me that feels that it is a legitimate motive, and another that suspects that part of me to be somewhat antiquated, or even primative. That debate is an age old one which I doubt will be put to rest in our lifetimes. For the purposes of this writing I shall assume it to be a worthy concern. The short way to deal with it in this context is that it doesn't apply. Vengeance is personal. The legal system is not. But let me take it further.
The death penalty is not an effective vessel for revenge. It takes years in a process that is about the perpatrator rather than the victim, and ends flatly. This is not to be taken as a criticism. It is necessary for the state to act in a humane way; vengeance is not its concern. The question I'm raising in this matter is, "what is its concern in the instance of the death penalty?"
Logically, the only thing remaining is deterrance. In fact, every politician in favor of the death penalty does so using this arguement. The problem with it is that the numbers have utterly failed to show it. There is of course the chicken and egg debate that supporters raise to attempt to set aside the fact that the crime rate is higher in states with capital punishment, but I would say that the concept, at least in its current incarnation, is not supported by logic either. Deterrance is, to paraphrase Doctor Strangelove, the art of producing in the mind of the criminal the fear to kill. For the very reasons mentioned above, the death penalty does not evoke fear unless one is already facing it. Thus, it does not deter.
Moreover, it has been proven that the death penalty has claimed innocent life. Once an execution has taken place, there can be no expunging of sentances. At least in the case of life in prison there is some oppertunity to right a wrong. I agree with John Adams in that I would sooner see a thousand guilty men live than one innocent man die.
All told, there are some who will say that some people simply deserve to die. Those who have read Tolkein have an easy response to this in the words of Gandalf:
Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends.
However, I've gotten to the point where I don't end my arguements with that, because upon further reflection there's yet another layer.
All told, the subset of murderers who would without a doubt be better off dead are the ones who can get away with it.
Am I saying that violent vigilantism makes more sense than the death penalty? In a word, yes. It fufills the Punishment and Vengeance reasons in ways that are fairly obvious. The thought that someone could come out of nowhere and put lead between your eyes is terrifying. Not that I'm saying that I know for a fact that it would be a deterrent (obviously there are no numbers to support my claim), I'm just saying it makes more sense.
The other thing is a matter of trust. I don't trust the judicial system to decide who lives and who dies. I don't know that I trust anyone, but I'm sure as shit that I don't trust the courts. If I saw a murder, I'd certainly trust myself more.
Of course, it isn't feasible. There's the whole matter of who watches the watchers, so I'm obviously not advocating vigilantism per se. But I certainly think it makes more sense than capital punishment.
I'm eager to hear what you people have to say about this.
To take a life is to operate outside of one's rights as a human being, and infringing upon the rights of another. I hope against hope that we can all agree on that unequivocally.
That having been said, we constantly and often for good reason operate outside our rights, and when the rights of one conflict with the rights of another, a decision has to be made.
Simply put, there needs to be a reason.
When a hostage is held at gunpoint, there is a reason.
And in the case of the death penalty as it stands, there isn't one. At all.
There are, depending on how you looking at it, two or three potential reasons for the death penalty. They are deterrence, punishment, and vengeance. The latter two can be lumped together, and in the case of mainstream politics, vengeance is never on the table, though is sometimes referred to dressed in punishment's borrowed robes.
I submit that punishment is only an issue if you are dealing with someone who may be reintroduced to society. Thus, it is irrelevent to anyone for whom the death penalty is a consideration.
Let's look at vengeance. I am not at this point in time absolutely clear how I feel about it personally. There is a strong part of me that feels that it is a legitimate motive, and another that suspects that part of me to be somewhat antiquated, or even primative. That debate is an age old one which I doubt will be put to rest in our lifetimes. For the purposes of this writing I shall assume it to be a worthy concern. The short way to deal with it in this context is that it doesn't apply. Vengeance is personal. The legal system is not. But let me take it further.
The death penalty is not an effective vessel for revenge. It takes years in a process that is about the perpatrator rather than the victim, and ends flatly. This is not to be taken as a criticism. It is necessary for the state to act in a humane way; vengeance is not its concern. The question I'm raising in this matter is, "what is its concern in the instance of the death penalty?"
Logically, the only thing remaining is deterrance. In fact, every politician in favor of the death penalty does so using this arguement. The problem with it is that the numbers have utterly failed to show it. There is of course the chicken and egg debate that supporters raise to attempt to set aside the fact that the crime rate is higher in states with capital punishment, but I would say that the concept, at least in its current incarnation, is not supported by logic either. Deterrance is, to paraphrase Doctor Strangelove, the art of producing in the mind of the criminal the fear to kill. For the very reasons mentioned above, the death penalty does not evoke fear unless one is already facing it. Thus, it does not deter.
Moreover, it has been proven that the death penalty has claimed innocent life. Once an execution has taken place, there can be no expunging of sentances. At least in the case of life in prison there is some oppertunity to right a wrong. I agree with John Adams in that I would sooner see a thousand guilty men live than one innocent man die.
All told, there are some who will say that some people simply deserve to die. Those who have read Tolkein have an easy response to this in the words of Gandalf:
Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends.
However, I've gotten to the point where I don't end my arguements with that, because upon further reflection there's yet another layer.
All told, the subset of murderers who would without a doubt be better off dead are the ones who can get away with it.
Am I saying that violent vigilantism makes more sense than the death penalty? In a word, yes. It fufills the Punishment and Vengeance reasons in ways that are fairly obvious. The thought that someone could come out of nowhere and put lead between your eyes is terrifying. Not that I'm saying that I know for a fact that it would be a deterrent (obviously there are no numbers to support my claim), I'm just saying it makes more sense.
The other thing is a matter of trust. I don't trust the judicial system to decide who lives and who dies. I don't know that I trust anyone, but I'm sure as shit that I don't trust the courts. If I saw a murder, I'd certainly trust myself more.
Of course, it isn't feasible. There's the whole matter of who watches the watchers, so I'm obviously not advocating vigilantism per se. But I certainly think it makes more sense than capital punishment.
I'm eager to hear what you people have to say about this.
12.12.2005
a tale told by an insomniac, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing
My time lately has been pretty much spent either at work or at my computer. It's getting kind of pathetic, but there really isn't anything else for an automotively challenged college dropout (which, lets face it, is what I am until I get the hell back on that shit) to do in the middle of suburbia. So here in the middle of what will be when all is told a streak of 12 consecutive workdays, my outlook is less than sunny. Also my paycheck is two days late. Fucking snow (when I was little I promised myself that those words would never escape me but here we are)
I mean, yeah, as far as problems go my shit is trivial. I mean, I have a job, even though I'm not getting paid enough, and nothing is killing me, but all the same that doesn't cast any light on where I am, it just gives me darker places to contemplate.
Oh, just a note. If at any point on this blog I start to sound like an emo kid, please tell me. I'm trying to maintain at least some sense of dignity here and, you know how it goes, the eye sees not itself and all that shit.
Richard Pryor is dead.
I only hope that his memory isn't smeared by a tribute show laden with shitty comics who've built their careers riding on his coattails. I mean seriously, what is that? All it takes for a black comedian to get laughs is jokes about white people, no matter how poorly crafted or delivered. All it takes is a nasal "white guy voice," and laughter ensues. Pryor was one of maybe two guys who could do it and be genuinely funny.
Don't get me wrong, I know which end of the stick I was handed when it comes to race relations, but I find it abhorrent for stupid people to profit from racism. And they do. All colors, too.
But shit, all that is secondary. What matters is that planet Earth has lost a comic genius. As one who understands how important laughter is, I can't really convey how much that sucks
I mean, yeah, as far as problems go my shit is trivial. I mean, I have a job, even though I'm not getting paid enough, and nothing is killing me, but all the same that doesn't cast any light on where I am, it just gives me darker places to contemplate.
Oh, just a note. If at any point on this blog I start to sound like an emo kid, please tell me. I'm trying to maintain at least some sense of dignity here and, you know how it goes, the eye sees not itself and all that shit.
Richard Pryor is dead.
I only hope that his memory isn't smeared by a tribute show laden with shitty comics who've built their careers riding on his coattails. I mean seriously, what is that? All it takes for a black comedian to get laughs is jokes about white people, no matter how poorly crafted or delivered. All it takes is a nasal "white guy voice," and laughter ensues. Pryor was one of maybe two guys who could do it and be genuinely funny.
Don't get me wrong, I know which end of the stick I was handed when it comes to race relations, but I find it abhorrent for stupid people to profit from racism. And they do. All colors, too.
But shit, all that is secondary. What matters is that planet Earth has lost a comic genius. As one who understands how important laughter is, I can't really convey how much that sucks
12.10.2005
*Insert title evocative of frustration related to working retail during the holiday season here*
Fucking work.
I'm on six days starting Sunday, so I might not have much time to post here during that time. So many cash-weilding automotons whoring themselves out to commerce.
What has made the past few days particularly annoying has been the Eminem cd constantly playing in an effort to bump up sales of his new greatest hits cd. Holy shit does that guy's stuff get old fast. Every time someone asked me to find his cd today I stopped myself from saying, "are you fucking kidding?
The worst songs are the ones where he sings in the hook. Fucker cannot carry a tune to save his life, and believe me, if he was singing near me that would be an issue.
Anyways.
Not having anything else to blog about at the moment, allow me to impart a story that gets passed around amongst actors who think as I do that a great deal of method acting is bullshit. Dustin Hoffman and Lawrence Olivier were co-stars in "Marathon Man." One sequence took place after Hoffman's character had spent a night running around in New York City. To get into character, Hoffman spent the night before shooting running about the streets. When he arrived on the set he naturally looked like hell. Olivier sat, sipping his tea, and inquired as to his condition, to which Hoffman explained that he was getting into character.
To which Olivier replied, "Dear boy, why don't you try acting?"
I used a similar line on a friend of mine who prepared for his role as the Bloody Man in Macbeth by donating blood and then exercising. Good times
I'm on six days starting Sunday, so I might not have much time to post here during that time. So many cash-weilding automotons whoring themselves out to commerce.
What has made the past few days particularly annoying has been the Eminem cd constantly playing in an effort to bump up sales of his new greatest hits cd. Holy shit does that guy's stuff get old fast. Every time someone asked me to find his cd today I stopped myself from saying, "are you fucking kidding?
The worst songs are the ones where he sings in the hook. Fucker cannot carry a tune to save his life, and believe me, if he was singing near me that would be an issue.
Anyways.
Not having anything else to blog about at the moment, allow me to impart a story that gets passed around amongst actors who think as I do that a great deal of method acting is bullshit. Dustin Hoffman and Lawrence Olivier were co-stars in "Marathon Man." One sequence took place after Hoffman's character had spent a night running around in New York City. To get into character, Hoffman spent the night before shooting running about the streets. When he arrived on the set he naturally looked like hell. Olivier sat, sipping his tea, and inquired as to his condition, to which Hoffman explained that he was getting into character.
To which Olivier replied, "Dear boy, why don't you try acting?"
I used a similar line on a friend of mine who prepared for his role as the Bloody Man in Macbeth by donating blood and then exercising. Good times
12.07.2005
Yeah, this one is kind of all over the place.
So I picked up Hypnotize the other day. It was pretty awesome.
I'm not going to get in depth about it though. I rambled on way overmuch last time I talked about an album. Suffice to say, it rocked.
It rocked so hard
Anyways, the trailer for X3 is out, and I can't run it. Thanks a fucking lot, apple. In retaliation, I'm going to put something really morbid about you out in the open.
You know the Apple logo? Apple with a bite out of it? Remember how it used to be rainbow-colored? This was homage to Alan Turing, widely seen as the father of modern computer science. He worked for the US military during the Cold War until they found out he was gay. In shame, he committed suicide by biting into an apple that he'd laced with cyanide.
Who'd think a colorful, bitten apple could be morbid?
Anyways, there has been an addition to the X-Men cast. Me? I'm a fan of Kelsey Grammar as The Beast. Others disagree, but whatever. It's like just because a guy did a TV show that means he doesn't get to take on any other roles. He's got the voice, the sophistication, and the build. At least they didn't cast The Rock (not intended as an insult to The Rock who is a hell of an action hero and by all accounts a cool guy. The point is he should not be The Beast).
on to other things.
The Saddam Hussein trial is a farce. It doesn't matter if he ever sets foot in that courtroom again (he's bitching about cigarette breaks). No matter what, two things are true. One, he is guilty. Two, there is no ruttin' way to prove it. Really, they should have just fragged that hole and been done with it. This is coming from a guy who vehemently opposes the death penalty (More on that some other time).
Also, Mel Gibson is doing a movie about the Holocaust. I wonder how he's going to answer the inevitable questions about his father's Holocaust denial. Personally I think they're both batshit insane.
That's all for now. I'm out.
I'm not going to get in depth about it though. I rambled on way overmuch last time I talked about an album. Suffice to say, it rocked.
It rocked so hard
Anyways, the trailer for X3 is out, and I can't run it. Thanks a fucking lot, apple. In retaliation, I'm going to put something really morbid about you out in the open.
You know the Apple logo? Apple with a bite out of it? Remember how it used to be rainbow-colored? This was homage to Alan Turing, widely seen as the father of modern computer science. He worked for the US military during the Cold War until they found out he was gay. In shame, he committed suicide by biting into an apple that he'd laced with cyanide.
Who'd think a colorful, bitten apple could be morbid?
Anyways, there has been an addition to the X-Men cast. Me? I'm a fan of Kelsey Grammar as The Beast. Others disagree, but whatever. It's like just because a guy did a TV show that means he doesn't get to take on any other roles. He's got the voice, the sophistication, and the build. At least they didn't cast The Rock (not intended as an insult to The Rock who is a hell of an action hero and by all accounts a cool guy. The point is he should not be The Beast).
on to other things.
The Saddam Hussein trial is a farce. It doesn't matter if he ever sets foot in that courtroom again (he's bitching about cigarette breaks). No matter what, two things are true. One, he is guilty. Two, there is no ruttin' way to prove it. Really, they should have just fragged that hole and been done with it. This is coming from a guy who vehemently opposes the death penalty (More on that some other time).
Also, Mel Gibson is doing a movie about the Holocaust. I wonder how he's going to answer the inevitable questions about his father's Holocaust denial. Personally I think they're both batshit insane.
That's all for now. I'm out.
12.05.2005
Metablogging and Tears of Rage
A testament to my multitasking skills, I am at this moment (well, at the moment that I'm writing this. Depending on when exactly you read this, "this moment" may seem a misrepresentation of the facts from your perspective. But we all knew that. I am using a comedic concept that derives humor from the belabored explaination of the obvious, which may or may not have been taken too far by explaining it. I'll let you decide) eating a sammich, listening to The Basement Tapes, and, of course, typing this blogpost (which is, if no one else had noticed, an anagram for blogspot). The last item on that list can be excluded from discussion at the moment as it would create a feedback loop and while I'm sure there's a way to make that into some metaphysical artistic statement I'm not going to go there. Not now at least. The sammich? Its delicious, but I'm not talking about that at the moment either because that's rather complicated (trust me, when I discuss the proper construction of a sammich, it becomes complicated) and beyond the scope of this post. I shall go into it at some point though.
By process of elimination, it follows that this post is about The Basement Tapes.
Actually that's not quite true, now that I think of it. I never did say that I was going to limit myself to writing about things present in my current stream of consciousness, and even if I did, there are more things thus present than I have mentioned up there. Given, none of them are very notable, but you didn't really know that, did you? I mean, Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, and Jim Morrison, and Ray Charles, all back from the dead, could have been rocking out together in the room with me, and I could have just been neglecting the fact. For the record? They're not, as awesome as that would be.
Also for the record, this post is about The Basement Tapes. But any process of elimination involved is an artificial one. (The irony here is that through no original intent of my own this post has thus far been more about itself than anything else, but I don't much feel like contemplating that)
ahem.
The Basement Tapes.
I'm not going to provide the full history leading up to the Basement Tapes. Instead, I'm going to pick up where Martin Scorcese's No Direction Home left off. On July 29, 1966, Bob Dylan suffered a mild concussion and a cracked vertebrae as a result of a motorcycle crash near Woodstock, NY. Before the crash, many had accused him of having lost his folk roots, calling him a traitor for picking up an electric guitar and playing rock and roll. Those people were full of horseshit, but Dylan was still in more than a bit of a bad place, even before the crash. He was already considering taking a break. Sitting under a full moon one night, Dylan looked into the bleak woods and said, "something's gotta change."
As soon as he recovered (some time around February of 1967), Bob Dylan began hanging out with The Band (I am hoping you understand who I am talking about as an explaination is beyond the scope of this writing. If you're confused, this should cure what ails you, and trust me, not knowing about these guys is an ailment), who had accompanied him during his transformation into a rocker, at their house in Woodstock, called Big Pink, where just about every day for months they engaged in informal recording sessions, resulting in over thirty original compositions, some by Dylan and some co-written by members of The Band, as well as a number of covers of older folk songs. The inclusion of the folk songs served to solidify The Band's background in traditional music, as they had been somewhat ill at ease with Dylan's folk background from the start, and also re-inject the folk influence back into Dylan's work. For him, it was a re-calibration of sorts. He was still a rocker, but he was making sure he hadn't forgotten himself.
All in all, these recordings are what many hold to be the most signifigant and masterful body of work to result from the longstanding collaboration of Dylan and The Band.
That having been said, The Basement Tapes, the double vynil release by Columbia records in 1975, is not the best album produced by them. That honor goes to Before The Flood.
And no, that's not a contradiction. Let me explain.
Of the twenty-four songs released on the album, eight did not feature Dylan. Half of those weren't even part of the sessions. All of them were remixed. And there were some startling omissions, such as "I Shall Be Released," "The Mighty Quinn," "Sign on the Cross," and "I'm Not There (1956)," argueably the best songs from the sessions.
All that having been said, my listening experience has been up to this point and I expect shall continue to be quite enjoyable. However, I still feel as if I've been cheated. I could, of course, acquire the bootleg five-volume cd set The Genuine Basement Tapes, but last I checked it costs one hundred thirty fucking dollars. Which would be just ducky if I was made of money. Let me check... nope, still meat.
On a side note, some of the websites I encountered employed the dreaded blink tag. Scholars of net ettiquite and quantum physics know that there is only one viable use of it:
Schrödinger's cat is dead.
Anyways.
Somewhere these recordings are just sitting there, not being released. Ironically, not even the Big Pink version of I Shall Be Released is within my grasp.
Some studio is just sitting on this stuff. I think a raid is in order.
By process of elimination, it follows that this post is about The Basement Tapes.
Actually that's not quite true, now that I think of it. I never did say that I was going to limit myself to writing about things present in my current stream of consciousness, and even if I did, there are more things thus present than I have mentioned up there. Given, none of them are very notable, but you didn't really know that, did you? I mean, Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, and Jim Morrison, and Ray Charles, all back from the dead, could have been rocking out together in the room with me, and I could have just been neglecting the fact. For the record? They're not, as awesome as that would be.
Also for the record, this post is about The Basement Tapes. But any process of elimination involved is an artificial one. (The irony here is that through no original intent of my own this post has thus far been more about itself than anything else, but I don't much feel like contemplating that)
ahem.
The Basement Tapes.
I'm not going to provide the full history leading up to the Basement Tapes. Instead, I'm going to pick up where Martin Scorcese's No Direction Home left off. On July 29, 1966, Bob Dylan suffered a mild concussion and a cracked vertebrae as a result of a motorcycle crash near Woodstock, NY. Before the crash, many had accused him of having lost his folk roots, calling him a traitor for picking up an electric guitar and playing rock and roll. Those people were full of horseshit, but Dylan was still in more than a bit of a bad place, even before the crash. He was already considering taking a break. Sitting under a full moon one night, Dylan looked into the bleak woods and said, "something's gotta change."
As soon as he recovered (some time around February of 1967), Bob Dylan began hanging out with The Band (I am hoping you understand who I am talking about as an explaination is beyond the scope of this writing. If you're confused, this should cure what ails you, and trust me, not knowing about these guys is an ailment), who had accompanied him during his transformation into a rocker, at their house in Woodstock, called Big Pink, where just about every day for months they engaged in informal recording sessions, resulting in over thirty original compositions, some by Dylan and some co-written by members of The Band, as well as a number of covers of older folk songs. The inclusion of the folk songs served to solidify The Band's background in traditional music, as they had been somewhat ill at ease with Dylan's folk background from the start, and also re-inject the folk influence back into Dylan's work. For him, it was a re-calibration of sorts. He was still a rocker, but he was making sure he hadn't forgotten himself.
All in all, these recordings are what many hold to be the most signifigant and masterful body of work to result from the longstanding collaboration of Dylan and The Band.
That having been said, The Basement Tapes, the double vynil release by Columbia records in 1975, is not the best album produced by them. That honor goes to Before The Flood.
And no, that's not a contradiction. Let me explain.
Of the twenty-four songs released on the album, eight did not feature Dylan. Half of those weren't even part of the sessions. All of them were remixed. And there were some startling omissions, such as "I Shall Be Released," "The Mighty Quinn," "Sign on the Cross," and "I'm Not There (1956)," argueably the best songs from the sessions.
All that having been said, my listening experience has been up to this point and I expect shall continue to be quite enjoyable. However, I still feel as if I've been cheated. I could, of course, acquire the bootleg five-volume cd set The Genuine Basement Tapes, but last I checked it costs one hundred thirty fucking dollars. Which would be just ducky if I was made of money. Let me check... nope, still meat.
On a side note, some of the websites I encountered employed the dreaded blink tag. Scholars of net ettiquite and quantum physics know that there is only one viable use of it:
Schrödinger's cat is dead.
Anyways.
Somewhere these recordings are just sitting there, not being released. Ironically, not even the Big Pink version of I Shall Be Released is within my grasp.
Some studio is just sitting on this stuff. I think a raid is in order.
12.03.2005
This, as Opposed to That
So the other night a girl who got it in her head once that I was her boyfriend (I will say no further to that matter save to say that I did nothing personally to foster that belief) showed up at my store. She didn't recognize me, which was good because I didn't remember her name until after she left. She's a goth now.
Wasn't me. I swear.
I had a post on a serious topic planned, but I realized two things. One, it would make my fourth in a row, and two, this is the gorram weekend. Also, the reason I had for addressing it now is really an artificial one; a construct of a base 10 numerical system. So yeah. Maybe later.
What's the matter with me,
I don't have much to say,
Daylight sneakin' through the window
And I'm still in this all-night cafe.
Walkin' to and fro beneath the moon
Out to where the trucks are rollin' slow,
To sit down on this bank of sand
And watch the river flow.
I've been listening to a lot of blues lately. Eric Clapton, some early Hendrix (In his early years the dude was way blues. He was actually a protege of Buddy Guy), some of Dylan's blues songs (like the one whose lyrics are infixed much after a certain someone's style) , B.B. King before he turned 70, etc. I was thinking that if the blues made a comeback, maybe it would put a stake in the heart of emo. Of course, it would have to be properly injected into the culture. My plan is to start a group of militant musicians acting in pairs in coffee shops. One with an aucoustic guitar, another with an electric, play some of the more accessible blues songs out there while shying away from the ones that make people say "blues is all the same." College kids start buying blues albums; record companies take notice.
Wish I was back in the city
Instead of this old bank of sand,
With the sun beating down over the chimney tops
And the one I love so close at hand.
If I had wings and I could fly,
I know where I would go.
But right now I'll just sit here so contentedly
And watch the river flow
Right now I am envisioning myself playing that song at Gourmand.
People disagreeing on all just about everything, yeah,
Makes you stop and all wonder why.
Why only yesterday I saw somebody on the street
Who just couldn't help but cry.
Oh, this ol' river keeps on rollin', though,
No matter what gets in the way and which way the wind does blow,
And as long as it does I'll just sit here
And watch the river flow.
Oh right. In the next few days I should be getting a guitar. An ebony Epiphone Les Paul Special 2 if anyone reading knows guitars. I think of the sort of stuff I'd be able to play now if I'd done this five years ago as I'd originally intended and I kick myself. But this time, I'm doing this.
*wicked guitar solo*
People disagreeing everywhere you look,
Makes you wanna stop and read a book.
Why only yesterday I saw somebody on the street
That was really shook.
But this ol' river keeps on rollin', though,
No matter what gets in the way and which way the wind does blow,
And as long as it does I'll just sit here
And watch the river flow.
I'll catch you all later. And sorry I co-opted your style, Alice.
Wasn't me. I swear.
I had a post on a serious topic planned, but I realized two things. One, it would make my fourth in a row, and two, this is the gorram weekend. Also, the reason I had for addressing it now is really an artificial one; a construct of a base 10 numerical system. So yeah. Maybe later.
What's the matter with me,
I don't have much to say,
Daylight sneakin' through the window
And I'm still in this all-night cafe.
Walkin' to and fro beneath the moon
Out to where the trucks are rollin' slow,
To sit down on this bank of sand
And watch the river flow.
I've been listening to a lot of blues lately. Eric Clapton, some early Hendrix (In his early years the dude was way blues. He was actually a protege of Buddy Guy), some of Dylan's blues songs (like the one whose lyrics are infixed much after a certain someone's style) , B.B. King before he turned 70, etc. I was thinking that if the blues made a comeback, maybe it would put a stake in the heart of emo. Of course, it would have to be properly injected into the culture. My plan is to start a group of militant musicians acting in pairs in coffee shops. One with an aucoustic guitar, another with an electric, play some of the more accessible blues songs out there while shying away from the ones that make people say "blues is all the same." College kids start buying blues albums; record companies take notice.
Wish I was back in the city
Instead of this old bank of sand,
With the sun beating down over the chimney tops
And the one I love so close at hand.
If I had wings and I could fly,
I know where I would go.
But right now I'll just sit here so contentedly
And watch the river flow
Right now I am envisioning myself playing that song at Gourmand.
People disagreeing on all just about everything, yeah,
Makes you stop and all wonder why.
Why only yesterday I saw somebody on the street
Who just couldn't help but cry.
Oh, this ol' river keeps on rollin', though,
No matter what gets in the way and which way the wind does blow,
And as long as it does I'll just sit here
And watch the river flow.
Oh right. In the next few days I should be getting a guitar. An ebony Epiphone Les Paul Special 2 if anyone reading knows guitars. I think of the sort of stuff I'd be able to play now if I'd done this five years ago as I'd originally intended and I kick myself. But this time, I'm doing this.
*wicked guitar solo*
People disagreeing everywhere you look,
Makes you wanna stop and read a book.
Why only yesterday I saw somebody on the street
That was really shook.
But this ol' river keeps on rollin', though,
No matter what gets in the way and which way the wind does blow,
And as long as it does I'll just sit here
And watch the river flow.
I'll catch you all later. And sorry I co-opted your style, Alice.
12.01.2005
I've got a problem. Luckily, its not AIDS
Apparently, it's hard for people to know when I'm making a joke in text. And because of the kind of sense of humor I have, I tend to seem like a complete dick when my intent is misread. Its something I've been struggling with for a while. And I swear, if it was in person you'd know. Whether or not you'd laugh is a different matter. The reason I'm saying this is I guess I was misread in Alice's latest comment thread.
Anydangways, I have provided the answer to a question that will boggle many for (I predict) years to come regarding the war in Iraq. It can be found over at Absurdity Jam.
I guess I kind of got caught up in Blog Against Racism (see below if you haven't already) , and I forgot that today is also AIDS awareness day. Since both AIDS and racism share a common thread in that they are causing unwarrantedly large death tolls in Africa, I thought I'd make a note of this: Catholic missionaries in Africa are telling people that condoms don't provide any protection from the transmission of HIV. Obviously, they are pushing abstinince. The result? People are just leaving their condoms behind when they engage in sex.
I'll take "Too bogged down in their fucking agenda to look at its cost in human life" for 1000, Alex.
Some other facts about AIDS:
It was originally dubbed GRID, or Gay-Related Immune Deficiency, until health authorities realized that nearly half of the people identified with the syndrome were not gay.
Ronald Reagan's absolute refusal to address the issue, or even talk to any openly gay man during his tenure as president exacerbated the AIDS crisis at its genesis. This led to the "Silence is Death" campaign amongst the gay community and its supporters. It's also why I can't stand it when people put Reagan up on a pedestal. I think its a motto that should persist in our culture. I know it will never leave me.
"AIDS" was the name of a diet candy in 1980, marketed as a healthy alternative candy.
A tagline for it: "in the future, AIDS will be synonymous with healthful, active lifestyles."
whoops.
So yeah, basically where I'm going with this is
Why did someone have to screw a monkey?
Why oh why did someone have to screw a monkey?
Anydangways, I have provided the answer to a question that will boggle many for (I predict) years to come regarding the war in Iraq. It can be found over at Absurdity Jam.
I guess I kind of got caught up in Blog Against Racism (see below if you haven't already) , and I forgot that today is also AIDS awareness day. Since both AIDS and racism share a common thread in that they are causing unwarrantedly large death tolls in Africa, I thought I'd make a note of this: Catholic missionaries in Africa are telling people that condoms don't provide any protection from the transmission of HIV. Obviously, they are pushing abstinince. The result? People are just leaving their condoms behind when they engage in sex.
I'll take "Too bogged down in their fucking agenda to look at its cost in human life" for 1000, Alex.
Some other facts about AIDS:
It was originally dubbed GRID, or Gay-Related Immune Deficiency, until health authorities realized that nearly half of the people identified with the syndrome were not gay.
Ronald Reagan's absolute refusal to address the issue, or even talk to any openly gay man during his tenure as president exacerbated the AIDS crisis at its genesis. This led to the "Silence is Death" campaign amongst the gay community and its supporters. It's also why I can't stand it when people put Reagan up on a pedestal. I think its a motto that should persist in our culture. I know it will never leave me.
"AIDS" was the name of a diet candy in 1980, marketed as a healthy alternative candy.
A tagline for it: "in the future, AIDS will be synonymous with healthful, active lifestyles."
whoops.
So yeah, basically where I'm going with this is
Why did someone have to screw a monkey?
Why oh why did someone have to screw a monkey?
Fuck you, Racism
I've been informed by my usual source for such matters that today is Blog Against Racism Day.
Alice mentions in her post that the fact that there has been absolutely no coverage of the genocide in Africa is proof positive that racism is still a problem. I'm inclined to agree.
I'm also inclined to agree with Kanye West about Bush.
The fucked up thing is, none of us can wash our hands of it. Hell, even today at work I was given specific instructions as to which dvds I needed to put in a security tray before putting them on the shelf. Two guesses as to what the instructions were.
There are times where addressing racism is almost as much of a social faux pas as racism itself.
As such, the extent to which blatant racism is swept under the rug in this country is staggering.
Sean Hannity defended the man who said that on national fucking televison.
The reason the topic is avoided is because there is latent racism in just about everyone. And yes, I said everyone. it's not a one-way street, even though the problem is weighed heavily to one side. Its nigh impossible to be exposed to our culture and avoid it.
The solution? Can't say I have one at the ready. But there will never be a solution if we hide from the issue.
Alice mentions in her post that the fact that there has been absolutely no coverage of the genocide in Africa is proof positive that racism is still a problem. I'm inclined to agree.
I'm also inclined to agree with Kanye West about Bush.
The fucked up thing is, none of us can wash our hands of it. Hell, even today at work I was given specific instructions as to which dvds I needed to put in a security tray before putting them on the shelf. Two guesses as to what the instructions were.
There are times where addressing racism is almost as much of a social faux pas as racism itself.
As such, the extent to which blatant racism is swept under the rug in this country is staggering.
Sean Hannity defended the man who said that on national fucking televison.
The reason the topic is avoided is because there is latent racism in just about everyone. And yes, I said everyone. it's not a one-way street, even though the problem is weighed heavily to one side. Its nigh impossible to be exposed to our culture and avoid it.
The solution? Can't say I have one at the ready. But there will never be a solution if we hide from the issue.
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