I remember I wrote about a case involving a blogger and Freedom of the Press a hell of a while back. Before anyone reading me now ever dropped by, I think. I hope it's not too wince-inducing when I find it... I always get sort of paranoid when I go back to look at stuff I've written after some time has passed. Whatev. Lets dig that fucker up.
Ok, so I sort of went off at a tangent in that one. The point is that the ruling mentioned there got reversed.
Anyways, noise tends to be made when journalists get jailed. Josh Wolf? there's no question in hell that he's a journalist. And he's been held for 185 days (making him the longest serving journalist behind bars) because he hasn't turned in a video that the Feds want to pursue assault charges in regards to the protest he was covering. It was made a federal case because there was also a destruction of property charge involved and the property in question was a police car partially funded by a federal budget. The fact that the change of jurisdiction allowed circumvention of a California shield law that would have kept him out of prison is, I'm sure, just a coincidence.
Wolf offered to screen all of his video to the judge to demonstrate that there was no evidence within it, but he was denied. I think that given that the only conclusion that can be drawn is that they're fishing for more charges, which is in fact the reason Wolf gave for not turning over the tapes.
So the question is, why the hell hasn't there been an uproar from net culture? Or Google, for that matter? This may turn out to be a test case as for how the rights of bloggers are defined. Surely the tech sector should be up in arms. But nope. silence. They got loud enough about net neutrality... not to say that they shouldn't have but this is important.
I guess the disappointing thing is that it seems like it's everyones destiny to either be powerless or become The Man. The computer industry grew out of basements where resourceful techies screamed "Fuck You!" at the apathetic corporate douchebags as they changed the world. Nowadays Steve Jobs is saying shit like "the problem with the education system is that the teachers are allowed to unionize," and that the same "invisible hand" that supposedly guides the free market equitably should be employed to guide our schools as well.
I know if Hunter S Thompson was alive today he'd have something to say about it.
I'm getting sick of that sentence because it's starting to sound cliché coming from me but most of all I'm sick of no one with a big enough voice saying a lot of the things that need to be heard.
Another sentence I'm sick of hearing is "Why on earth do you have to be only twenty" when it comes from a hot mom who is in a band. There's only one person who's ever flattered me with that sort of sentiment; the rest (I swear it happens more often than the limited demographic would suggest) just make me wonder if I should start lying about my age and also whether or not I'm going to be the next lead singer for Van Halen. Hell, the last one came from my home town.
Speaking of which I finally restrung Ophelia and I don't think she's ever sounded better. I'd have played more if not for the headache. Cooper told me that she got one too from all the people watching the Oscars. I'm wondering if mine has anything to do with it being Oscar night.
2.24.2007
Maybe I am lost
Have you tried Hare Krishna?
Go on, tell me where that running gag comes from. I've been told that I'm probably the only 20 year old who is so familiar with the source.
Youtube represents simultaneously my most loved and loathed aspects of the net. Spreading the funny and the poignant virally is a noble endeavor, but the people who comment on vids there are worse than the threads at Fark, and that's a serious goddamned achievement. Illogical, incoherent and idiotic. And fucking loud.
It's amazing how much bitching there is surrounding videos of, of all people, Randy Newman. I mean sure, A Few Words in Defense of Our Country was bound to earn some grumblings, but they've come from a surprisingly large amount of people who have surprisingly sparse comprehension skills. And there were people who came out and said that Political Science promoted racism. Then there's the constant references to this parody of Newman from Family Guy, the creators of which are avowed fans of his, some along the lines of, "Randy Newman? Mo' like Randy Oldlameman LAWLZ amirite?" and others in the "I have no fucking sense of humor" category. Here's an example: " shut the fuck up i hope you die. why would you make fun of one of the best song writers ever."
Because no one who loved him ever made fun of the way Bob Dylan sings, right?
It's been said that infinite monkeys on infinite typewriters would produce the works of Shakespeare. I think it would only take a room full of them an hour to produce all of the comments on Youtube. And then they'd shit in their hands and throw it at each other.
Yeah, I've been Youtubing a lot of Randy Newman. No one ever told me that his stuff was so good.
Speaking of Youtube, my friend Matt asked me to post this here. He does segments for the news show on BC TV, and he's quite skilled at producing them. The voice he uses is the quintessential boring news anchor, but it should be noted that he's captured it pristinely and I'm already writing a sketch that puts it to use.
I'm shocked and appalled that a huge deal has not been made about Josh Wolf. But as I want to put more energy into that particular post I'll hold off until tomorrow.
Huh... I didn't get into being lost either. But I'm tired. Night all
Go on, tell me where that running gag comes from. I've been told that I'm probably the only 20 year old who is so familiar with the source.
Youtube represents simultaneously my most loved and loathed aspects of the net. Spreading the funny and the poignant virally is a noble endeavor, but the people who comment on vids there are worse than the threads at Fark, and that's a serious goddamned achievement. Illogical, incoherent and idiotic. And fucking loud.
It's amazing how much bitching there is surrounding videos of, of all people, Randy Newman. I mean sure, A Few Words in Defense of Our Country was bound to earn some grumblings, but they've come from a surprisingly large amount of people who have surprisingly sparse comprehension skills. And there were people who came out and said that Political Science promoted racism. Then there's the constant references to this parody of Newman from Family Guy, the creators of which are avowed fans of his, some along the lines of, "Randy Newman? Mo' like Randy Oldlameman LAWLZ amirite?" and others in the "I have no fucking sense of humor" category. Here's an example: " shut the fuck up i hope you die. why would you make fun of one of the best song writers ever."
Because no one who loved him ever made fun of the way Bob Dylan sings, right?
It's been said that infinite monkeys on infinite typewriters would produce the works of Shakespeare. I think it would only take a room full of them an hour to produce all of the comments on Youtube. And then they'd shit in their hands and throw it at each other.
Yeah, I've been Youtubing a lot of Randy Newman. No one ever told me that his stuff was so good.
Speaking of Youtube, my friend Matt asked me to post this here. He does segments for the news show on BC TV, and he's quite skilled at producing them. The voice he uses is the quintessential boring news anchor, but it should be noted that he's captured it pristinely and I'm already writing a sketch that puts it to use.
I'm shocked and appalled that a huge deal has not been made about Josh Wolf. But as I want to put more energy into that particular post I'll hold off until tomorrow.
Huh... I didn't get into being lost either. But I'm tired. Night all
2.17.2007
RoaII: Dead Laptop Edition
I'll admit freely that it doesn't take a lot to derail me as a writer. In this case, it was my laptop dying on me. Which isn't to say I haven't had a computer at my disposal, but as much as I despise routine, and as much as I hate everything else about my laptop, words flowed easily from my brain to my fingers to that keyboard. And yes, it makes a difference, whether it be by pencil or pen (thousands of variations there), quill, brush, typewriter, voice recognition, or a keyboard.
Granted, it makes even more of a difference if you're aware that it makes a difference.
This keyboard has a much stiffer action to it. Not quite as aggressive as a typewriter, but firm and definitive.
But I doubt a post entirely about how the keyboard I was using to type said post effected how it turned out would interest many? Also? It would create a recursive feedback loop, as my equipment would not only influence my writing but would define it. Consumption of the resulting product would put one at risk for Mad Blogger Disease.
So you'll all be spared.
What I'm going to attempt to do is meld everything that's happened in my life recently that I've meant to blog about but haven't into one narrative. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to accomplish this, so I'm just going to feel it out.
I may have made note of my extensive experience and expertise in the matter of the awkward moment. One thing I've been working on lately is good ways to ditch the random weirdos. In some cases it's easy enough
"Can I give you a free personality test?"
"Sorry pal, fuck you.
"Where do you think you'll end up when you die?"
"in the ground. Hopefully deep enough that I can't hear you.
It should be noted that in two cases I omitted the first response when the Scientology in question was actually someone I'd gone to high school with. As for the second, he told me that if I didn't accept Jesus Christ as my one true savior I was a liar, a thief, an adulterer, and a murderer at heart. Apparently a follower of Christ doesn't need to be courteous, or honor the fact that you're trying to make a fucking phone call.
Where was I? Oh right. So I was taking in coffee with my friend Rosie, who may in fact be beginning a blog when she goes to spend three months in Australia. We were talking about music, going back and forth naming favorite bands/songs/etc. Occasionally one of us would have to sing a few bars before the other understood what it was. As I made a demonstration, to the best of my abilities, as to just who Howlin' Wolf was (bonus points if you can figure out what song), some guy in his fifties sat down at a nearby table.
"It's been coming from here all along? I thought it was the radio! You've got a great voice."
He turned to my companion
"If you don't marry him, I will."
At which point I extended my finger over her shoulder at an imaginary object out the window and said, "look at that," leaned in closer and asked if she would like to take a walk outside, which we did.
What I've decided is the best method of all requires two people who are of compatible or at least sufficiently malleable sexual orientation. A signal word or sentence is uttered and the two subjects engage in a spontaneous PDA for long enough to get whoever it is to leave.
There've been a couple of times that would have come in handy for me. And at least two where I could have easily rescued a friend with it. Whether they would have found it as such is of course another story. I have an odd habit of being friends with stoic ladies who will say that they are fine and nothing is wrong and everything is great even when a complete idiot and a stranger could tell that that was not the case. And I'm not a complete idiot.
"Go away Pat," she said as I attempted to help her away from a particular weirdo who gave his name as Jose. He had a handle growing out of his neck, I think. I may have been somewhat confused myself at this time.
No sympathy for the devil, keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride.
What I can be sure is that Ophelia didn't have a handle growing out of her neck. She did, sadly, have a hairline fissure growing down the length of it. The strap broke a while back and she fell head-first. Since then that part has been held in place by duct tape as I tried to get an opinion as to what to do. All of my guitar playing friends were stumped and said to consult someone at a shop. The shop dudes said that I should pay them money to fix it, but failed to give me a good reason why I couldn't do it myself. I finally figured that I could give gluing it a shot, and if that failed I could probably buy a replacement neck on ebay for less than the guitar shop dudes were talking about for fixing it.
I have a serious problem with a troubling percentage of guitar shop dudes. some of those fuckers act like you don't know shit. I think one of them even misused the word "resonance" when he was telling me how my fix was going to fail, hoping I didn't know what it meant.
Speaking of which, if you go to an art school and can't use the word "aesthetic," you are a bimbo. Hands down.
Anyways, I managed the task using Gorrilla glue, which I had to sneak into the crevice with a piece of paper, and secure with a bungee cord, as the clamp didn't work. It was a success
But I lost the goddamned strings.
Grr.
And speaking of guitars, I feel obligated to point you all towards an instance of pure awesome as I check out for now. Cedric Bixler-Zavala fell ill just before the second set of a Mars Volta show. And there I doubt there's a dude alive who can sing like him. So instead of doing their normal set, John Fruiscante stepped up on third guitar, and they did 47 minutes of instrumentals, including this clip.
Fucking sweet.
Later
Granted, it makes even more of a difference if you're aware that it makes a difference.
This keyboard has a much stiffer action to it. Not quite as aggressive as a typewriter, but firm and definitive.
But I doubt a post entirely about how the keyboard I was using to type said post effected how it turned out would interest many? Also? It would create a recursive feedback loop, as my equipment would not only influence my writing but would define it. Consumption of the resulting product would put one at risk for Mad Blogger Disease.
So you'll all be spared.
What I'm going to attempt to do is meld everything that's happened in my life recently that I've meant to blog about but haven't into one narrative. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to accomplish this, so I'm just going to feel it out.
I may have made note of my extensive experience and expertise in the matter of the awkward moment. One thing I've been working on lately is good ways to ditch the random weirdos. In some cases it's easy enough
"Can I give you a free personality test?"
"Sorry pal, fuck you.
"Where do you think you'll end up when you die?"
"in the ground. Hopefully deep enough that I can't hear you.
It should be noted that in two cases I omitted the first response when the Scientology in question was actually someone I'd gone to high school with. As for the second, he told me that if I didn't accept Jesus Christ as my one true savior I was a liar, a thief, an adulterer, and a murderer at heart. Apparently a follower of Christ doesn't need to be courteous, or honor the fact that you're trying to make a fucking phone call.
Where was I? Oh right. So I was taking in coffee with my friend Rosie, who may in fact be beginning a blog when she goes to spend three months in Australia. We were talking about music, going back and forth naming favorite bands/songs/etc. Occasionally one of us would have to sing a few bars before the other understood what it was. As I made a demonstration, to the best of my abilities, as to just who Howlin' Wolf was (bonus points if you can figure out what song), some guy in his fifties sat down at a nearby table.
"It's been coming from here all along? I thought it was the radio! You've got a great voice."
He turned to my companion
"If you don't marry him, I will."
At which point I extended my finger over her shoulder at an imaginary object out the window and said, "look at that," leaned in closer and asked if she would like to take a walk outside, which we did.
What I've decided is the best method of all requires two people who are of compatible or at least sufficiently malleable sexual orientation. A signal word or sentence is uttered and the two subjects engage in a spontaneous PDA for long enough to get whoever it is to leave.
There've been a couple of times that would have come in handy for me. And at least two where I could have easily rescued a friend with it. Whether they would have found it as such is of course another story. I have an odd habit of being friends with stoic ladies who will say that they are fine and nothing is wrong and everything is great even when a complete idiot and a stranger could tell that that was not the case. And I'm not a complete idiot.
"Go away Pat," she said as I attempted to help her away from a particular weirdo who gave his name as Jose. He had a handle growing out of his neck, I think. I may have been somewhat confused myself at this time.
No sympathy for the devil, keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride.
What I can be sure is that Ophelia didn't have a handle growing out of her neck. She did, sadly, have a hairline fissure growing down the length of it. The strap broke a while back and she fell head-first. Since then that part has been held in place by duct tape as I tried to get an opinion as to what to do. All of my guitar playing friends were stumped and said to consult someone at a shop. The shop dudes said that I should pay them money to fix it, but failed to give me a good reason why I couldn't do it myself. I finally figured that I could give gluing it a shot, and if that failed I could probably buy a replacement neck on ebay for less than the guitar shop dudes were talking about for fixing it.
I have a serious problem with a troubling percentage of guitar shop dudes. some of those fuckers act like you don't know shit. I think one of them even misused the word "resonance" when he was telling me how my fix was going to fail, hoping I didn't know what it meant.
Speaking of which, if you go to an art school and can't use the word "aesthetic," you are a bimbo. Hands down.
Anyways, I managed the task using Gorrilla glue, which I had to sneak into the crevice with a piece of paper, and secure with a bungee cord, as the clamp didn't work. It was a success
But I lost the goddamned strings.
Grr.
And speaking of guitars, I feel obligated to point you all towards an instance of pure awesome as I check out for now. Cedric Bixler-Zavala fell ill just before the second set of a Mars Volta show. And there I doubt there's a dude alive who can sing like him. So instead of doing their normal set, John Fruiscante stepped up on third guitar, and they did 47 minutes of instrumentals, including this clip.
Fucking sweet.
Later
2.13.2007
Ugh, Part however the hell many times I've used that as a title
The past couple days have been marked by frequent blue screens of death for me. Today they've hit a peak, and I don't know how long this shitbox is going to last this time.
Our resident badass librarian has immortalized the drunken revelation, and come up with a new term. Pretty solid.
I'm inwardly debating whether or not I even want to talk about what's on my mind at the moment, because I'm convinced that the pigfucker involved is feeding off of the attention. Maybe if I put some spin on it.
It's been held that it is never acceptable to joke about rape. This may not be an absolute truth, as Sarah Silverman's example demonstrates, but one thing I was taught as a writer was, "you have to understand the rule to properly break it." Say what you want about her new show. I can't say anything about it as I've yet to see an episode. Silverman knew and understood the rule. She broke it. It was funny. Offensive? Uh, yeah.
I am not one who can castigate someone for offensive material without being a hypocrite of some stripe.
I am, however, in a position to castigate someone for taking a shit all over a page and calling it a great work of satire. Enter John Petroski, who obviously had heard of the rule I mentioned above, but instead of learning and understanding it, he simply said, "Fuck you! I only listen to me!"
Satire is much like a katana, made after the Japanese tradition. Honed in craft over hundreds of years by brilliant and meticulous craftsmen Meditated upon and forged of only the finest tempered steel, over 6 months time, to unforgiving standards. In hands as skilled in its use as those that made it were in craft, it could change history. It did, in the one small corner of the earth where it was once made and used properly.
But in the hands of a novice no good could come of it.
John Petroski is the child holding his father's blade because he thinks it makes him powerful. But in his clumsy hands the weapon is as likely to cut him as anything he intends to swing it at.
Satire: n.
1 : a literary work holding up human vices and follies to ridicule or scorn
2 : trenchant wit, irony, or sarcasm used to expose and discredit vice or folly
This is what Petroski claims he was writing. The chief editor of the Recorder (the school newspaper at the Central Connecticut State University) said he was brilliant at it.
The only human folly here is that somehow a talentless hack was given ink, and that he was able to convince his peers (here used as a pejorative) that pushing the edge and wanking off over it are one in the same. He claims that the fact that it's being sensationalized in the media proves the point he was trying to make with the piece, which he said was a stab at sensationalism in modern media, which in the piece he mentions once at the end.
But if there is one bread and butter reason for why rape should not only be accepted, but even endorsed, it is because our news editors are in dire need of interesting stories for our front page. Bookstore stories? Fossils? One dollar coins? Please. Now, some saucy circle-jerk rape action? Yeah, that’s the ticket.
Which is clearly not a jab mass media sensationalism. It's ridicule of the idea of covering rape on the front page of a college paper in a country where one in five female college students are the victims of sexual assault during their time at school. Oops, John! You were hoping that you could use that last paragraph to condemn the people who are "misrepresenting" you (ostensibly by quoting his entire article, in full), but you seem to have forgotten that people still know how to read!
If he's right about one thing, it's that this shouldn't be given the level of coverage it has been, especially since he's claiming it as a sort of victory. When we glorify the witless assholes, it only goes downhill from here.
Our resident badass librarian has immortalized the drunken revelation, and come up with a new term. Pretty solid.
I'm inwardly debating whether or not I even want to talk about what's on my mind at the moment, because I'm convinced that the pigfucker involved is feeding off of the attention. Maybe if I put some spin on it.
It's been held that it is never acceptable to joke about rape. This may not be an absolute truth, as Sarah Silverman's example demonstrates, but one thing I was taught as a writer was, "you have to understand the rule to properly break it." Say what you want about her new show. I can't say anything about it as I've yet to see an episode. Silverman knew and understood the rule. She broke it. It was funny. Offensive? Uh, yeah.
I am not one who can castigate someone for offensive material without being a hypocrite of some stripe.
I am, however, in a position to castigate someone for taking a shit all over a page and calling it a great work of satire. Enter John Petroski, who obviously had heard of the rule I mentioned above, but instead of learning and understanding it, he simply said, "Fuck you! I only listen to me!"
Satire is much like a katana, made after the Japanese tradition. Honed in craft over hundreds of years by brilliant and meticulous craftsmen Meditated upon and forged of only the finest tempered steel, over 6 months time, to unforgiving standards. In hands as skilled in its use as those that made it were in craft, it could change history. It did, in the one small corner of the earth where it was once made and used properly.
But in the hands of a novice no good could come of it.
John Petroski is the child holding his father's blade because he thinks it makes him powerful. But in his clumsy hands the weapon is as likely to cut him as anything he intends to swing it at.
Satire: n.
1 : a literary work holding up human vices and follies to ridicule or scorn
2 : trenchant wit, irony, or sarcasm used to expose and discredit vice or folly
This is what Petroski claims he was writing. The chief editor of the Recorder (the school newspaper at the Central Connecticut State University) said he was brilliant at it.
The only human folly here is that somehow a talentless hack was given ink, and that he was able to convince his peers (here used as a pejorative) that pushing the edge and wanking off over it are one in the same. He claims that the fact that it's being sensationalized in the media proves the point he was trying to make with the piece, which he said was a stab at sensationalism in modern media, which in the piece he mentions once at the end.
But if there is one bread and butter reason for why rape should not only be accepted, but even endorsed, it is because our news editors are in dire need of interesting stories for our front page. Bookstore stories? Fossils? One dollar coins? Please. Now, some saucy circle-jerk rape action? Yeah, that’s the ticket.
Which is clearly not a jab mass media sensationalism. It's ridicule of the idea of covering rape on the front page of a college paper in a country where one in five female college students are the victims of sexual assault during their time at school. Oops, John! You were hoping that you could use that last paragraph to condemn the people who are "misrepresenting" you (ostensibly by quoting his entire article, in full), but you seem to have forgotten that people still know how to read!
If he's right about one thing, it's that this shouldn't be given the level of coverage it has been, especially since he's claiming it as a sort of victory. When we glorify the witless assholes, it only goes downhill from here.
2.09.2007
Watch this space
There are some things to report, but I don't have much time at the moment
There is also a new post over at Wombat and Savage. enjoy
To that matter, if you happen to be wondering what's up with Courting Destiny, fear not. It's temporary. Pass the word along. I know that I don't have the clout to reach any significant portion of her readers.
There is also a new post over at Wombat and Savage. enjoy
To that matter, if you happen to be wondering what's up with Courting Destiny, fear not. It's temporary. Pass the word along. I know that I don't have the clout to reach any significant portion of her readers.
2.07.2007
I've got a hell of a lot to catch up on here
Though in truth I'm not entirely certain how much of it will remain relevant. In any case, I'm tired as hell now, which is exceedingly odd because it's only 1:30.
Anyways, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't offering up something, so here's a song I came up with on the spot. Warning: There will be blues tropes here, and when I do set it to music I'll be trying to make it not sound like a song written on top of a template but for now here are some lyrics. Also, this can only be seen as final in the sense that anything can be when I'm exhausted.
I rode the train last evening
And the Devil took me for a tear
I rode the train late last evening
and the Devil took me on a tear
He caught me off my guard
Had the little Reaper in the other chair
I heard the Devil cackle
As the engine lit its flame
I heard that fucker cackle
As the engine lit its flame
He said, you're in too deep this time
You shoulda never played this game
I didn't say a word
Because I know him all too well
No I didn't say a word
Because I know him all too well
If I try to plead my case
I'll already be in Hell
A red moon hung in the sky
and a rumble from below
All the stars hid their fires
stifled by its evil glow
The switchman's face was bloody
But no one watching could have known
I broke out through the window
as the train skipped off the rail
Yeah, I made out with my life
as the train kipped off the rail
Still I've gotta hedge my bets
So I can live to tell this tale.
Ahem. Now that we're done with that
Yoko Ono is about to release an album
Word has it that the vinyl release will feature a B side with good music recorded on it.
And with that, I'm off.
Anyways, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't offering up something, so here's a song I came up with on the spot. Warning: There will be blues tropes here, and when I do set it to music I'll be trying to make it not sound like a song written on top of a template but for now here are some lyrics. Also, this can only be seen as final in the sense that anything can be when I'm exhausted.
I rode the train last evening
And the Devil took me for a tear
I rode the train late last evening
and the Devil took me on a tear
He caught me off my guard
Had the little Reaper in the other chair
I heard the Devil cackle
As the engine lit its flame
I heard that fucker cackle
As the engine lit its flame
He said, you're in too deep this time
You shoulda never played this game
I didn't say a word
Because I know him all too well
No I didn't say a word
Because I know him all too well
If I try to plead my case
I'll already be in Hell
A red moon hung in the sky
and a rumble from below
All the stars hid their fires
stifled by its evil glow
The switchman's face was bloody
But no one watching could have known
I broke out through the window
as the train skipped off the rail
Yeah, I made out with my life
as the train kipped off the rail
Still I've gotta hedge my bets
So I can live to tell this tale.
Ahem. Now that we're done with that
Yoko Ono is about to release an album
Word has it that the vinyl release will feature a B side with good music recorded on it.
And with that, I'm off.
2.03.2007
Two things
One, I would like to direct you towards a new side project. This is, in fact, what I was alluding to earlier. Enjoy.
Also, you may have heard about the guerrilla marketing campaign that the governor and mayor here are calling a terrorist hoax. If you read between the lines, you'll see that the real reason they're pushing for felony charges is that they were too stupid to tell the difference between a lite brite and a bomb and they need the hammer to fall on someone else. Those things were put in 10 major cities and only one treated them as a threat to national security.
As a Bostonian I'm embarrassed.
I was talking with my friend Krista and at the spur of the moment we penned a parody of Dirty Water about it
I wanna tell you a story
I'm gonna tell you about my town
I swear to god we're not all fools, baby
aww but my town almost threw down
Down by the river oh down by the tobin bridge so high
(oh that's where it's happenin baby)
that's where you'll find it in all it's fisher price blue and green
(aww but T riders are cool people)
BUT I LOVE THAT DIRTY LIGHT BRIGHT!!!!
AWWW BUT BOSTON YOU'RE BUFFOONS
Frustrated 5-0's I meana frustrated get flipped off and they're in the dark
(ain't that a shame?)
but I'm wishing and a hopin'
that there gonna let me in to Park
(it's already always a bitch to get a good spot)
BUT I LOVE THAT DIRTY LIGHT BRIGHT!!!!
AWWW BUT BOSTON YOU'RE BUFFOONS
lock them in prison, for challenging our shattered minds
(aww that happens daily anyway)
That shit wasn't funny, we'll put them in for two to five
(it was space terrorism baby)
BUT I LOVE THAT DIRTY LIGHT BRIGHT!!!!
AWWW BUT BOSTON YOU'RE BUFFOONS
CAUSE I LOVE THAT DIRTY LIGHT BRIGHT!!!!
AWWW BUT BOSTON YOU'RE BUFFOONS
I love that dirty light bright (I love it, Err)
I love that dirty light bright (Haven't you heard about the mooninites?)
I love that dirty light bright (can you see this boston?)
I love that dirty light bright(I'm doing it as hard as I've ever done)
I love that dirty light bright (I will Rock your FACE!)
You may not get the parenthetical remarks at the end if you're not familiar with Aqua Teen Hunger Force, which it should be mentioned is hilarious.
I tried to record it last night but the software got all wonky. If I can, I will.
Until then, or you know, the next time I post, check out that link back up there. Cool? Cool.
Later
Also, you may have heard about the guerrilla marketing campaign that the governor and mayor here are calling a terrorist hoax. If you read between the lines, you'll see that the real reason they're pushing for felony charges is that they were too stupid to tell the difference between a lite brite and a bomb and they need the hammer to fall on someone else. Those things were put in 10 major cities and only one treated them as a threat to national security.
As a Bostonian I'm embarrassed.
I was talking with my friend Krista and at the spur of the moment we penned a parody of Dirty Water about it
I wanna tell you a story
I'm gonna tell you about my town
I swear to god we're not all fools, baby
aww but my town almost threw down
Down by the river oh down by the tobin bridge so high
(oh that's where it's happenin baby)
that's where you'll find it in all it's fisher price blue and green
(aww but T riders are cool people)
BUT I LOVE THAT DIRTY LIGHT BRIGHT!!!!
AWWW BUT BOSTON YOU'RE BUFFOONS
Frustrated 5-0's I meana frustrated get flipped off and they're in the dark
(ain't that a shame?)
but I'm wishing and a hopin'
that there gonna let me in to Park
(it's already always a bitch to get a good spot)
BUT I LOVE THAT DIRTY LIGHT BRIGHT!!!!
AWWW BUT BOSTON YOU'RE BUFFOONS
lock them in prison, for challenging our shattered minds
(aww that happens daily anyway)
That shit wasn't funny, we'll put them in for two to five
(it was space terrorism baby)
BUT I LOVE THAT DIRTY LIGHT BRIGHT!!!!
AWWW BUT BOSTON YOU'RE BUFFOONS
CAUSE I LOVE THAT DIRTY LIGHT BRIGHT!!!!
AWWW BUT BOSTON YOU'RE BUFFOONS
I love that dirty light bright (I love it, Err)
I love that dirty light bright (Haven't you heard about the mooninites?)
I love that dirty light bright (can you see this boston?)
I love that dirty light bright(I'm doing it as hard as I've ever done)
I love that dirty light bright (I will Rock your FACE!)
You may not get the parenthetical remarks at the end if you're not familiar with Aqua Teen Hunger Force, which it should be mentioned is hilarious.
I tried to record it last night but the software got all wonky. If I can, I will.
Until then, or you know, the next time I post, check out that link back up there. Cool? Cool.
Later
2.01.2007
Ramblings of an Idle Insomniac is now celebrating it's 8,888th visitor. Yes, yes, we're small operation here.
I was waiting outside for the bus this morning on the way into town to pay a visit to the ol alma mater. Because I believe in furthering one's education even after graduation.
Ok, so I was going to the bartending school to pick up some contacts and talk with the instructor. That's beside the point
Anyways, I heard a shout from someone approaching me in the sidewalk
"Hey New Money!"
I turned, and flashed my patented "the fuck you say?" face
the shout had come from a, well, a suburban white kid who only listens to hip hop. Ok I don't know that he doesn't also listen to other things but you know exactly what sort of guy I'm talking about. When I turned, he launched into a freestyle
Yeah, You
Little rich boy standin' there
Unfortunately, he ran out of ideas for what I'm sure would have been a scintillating opus.
I'll give him credit. He did get one thing right. I was, in fact, standing there. I don't know where in his purview he got the idea that I was little, however. Clearly he assumed I was rich because I wasn't dressed like a fucking lame-ass clown.
The funny thing is that I'm positive he paid more to look ridiculous than I did to look like, in his mind, a rich kid. And I'd take odds that his shoes cost more than my trench coat, which is the item that I guess he based his theory on. I got it for a hundred bucks at Burlington Coat Factory.
The thought that runs through my head now is that perhaps he knew I wasn't a rich kid and that I was being chided for putting on airs, hence, "new money." Still, fuck that noise. Sure, if being legit means looking like a total jackass then he had me beat, and the only thing I could do to top him would be to get a blinking fake tooth. In fact, whether he actually thought I was rich or not, it's the same thinking that applies.
Ok, so I'm putting a lot of thought into a few words from a passing moron, but I wonder how common that sort of attitude is.
Boston Legal was fantastic. If a certain recently returned Bohemian (this is my subtle hint for people to go and say hi to her she is back and god damn you had better be glad of it) is watching, no fear. If you haven't seen it yet I'm holding off before talking about it, for reasons that will either be revealed later or fizzle and if asked about them again I'll pretend I have no clue what you're talking about. Cool?
I was able to grab some Robert Johnson recordings the other day. All of them, in fact, including alternate takes. Naturally, I grabbed my guitar afterwards and tried to make it do what he made his do, which was basically take up the function of the bass guitar and the lead guitar and play them at once on the same instrument. Amazing. And no one ever got to study his technique, because when he recorded, he'd face the wall so that no one saw his fingers. Which sucks, because while I have a general idea, the concept of playing like him is off my radar in a way totally unlike Clapton, Page, Hendrix, Santana, Vai, Rodriguez-Lopez, or Slash. Each one of them plays phenomenal guitar, but I understand, on some basic level, how they do it.
And beyond the guitar, well, one can easily tell why Slowhand called it the most powerful cry that the human voice is capable of. I'm not saying he's right, because I've heard Layla, but the idea of confronting him with that is pointless of course.
In particular, Love in Vain is worth a listen, if you can find it. The Stones did a version of it as well, and Youtube has a recording of it from the Gimmie Shelter documentation
and on that note, I'm out.
Ok, so I was going to the bartending school to pick up some contacts and talk with the instructor. That's beside the point
Anyways, I heard a shout from someone approaching me in the sidewalk
"Hey New Money!"
I turned, and flashed my patented "the fuck you say?" face
the shout had come from a, well, a suburban white kid who only listens to hip hop. Ok I don't know that he doesn't also listen to other things but you know exactly what sort of guy I'm talking about. When I turned, he launched into a freestyle
Yeah, You
Little rich boy standin' there
Unfortunately, he ran out of ideas for what I'm sure would have been a scintillating opus.
I'll give him credit. He did get one thing right. I was, in fact, standing there. I don't know where in his purview he got the idea that I was little, however. Clearly he assumed I was rich because I wasn't dressed like a fucking lame-ass clown.
The funny thing is that I'm positive he paid more to look ridiculous than I did to look like, in his mind, a rich kid. And I'd take odds that his shoes cost more than my trench coat, which is the item that I guess he based his theory on. I got it for a hundred bucks at Burlington Coat Factory.
The thought that runs through my head now is that perhaps he knew I wasn't a rich kid and that I was being chided for putting on airs, hence, "new money." Still, fuck that noise. Sure, if being legit means looking like a total jackass then he had me beat, and the only thing I could do to top him would be to get a blinking fake tooth. In fact, whether he actually thought I was rich or not, it's the same thinking that applies.
Ok, so I'm putting a lot of thought into a few words from a passing moron, but I wonder how common that sort of attitude is.
Boston Legal was fantastic. If a certain recently returned Bohemian (this is my subtle hint for people to go and say hi to her she is back and god damn you had better be glad of it) is watching, no fear. If you haven't seen it yet I'm holding off before talking about it, for reasons that will either be revealed later or fizzle and if asked about them again I'll pretend I have no clue what you're talking about. Cool?
I was able to grab some Robert Johnson recordings the other day. All of them, in fact, including alternate takes. Naturally, I grabbed my guitar afterwards and tried to make it do what he made his do, which was basically take up the function of the bass guitar and the lead guitar and play them at once on the same instrument. Amazing. And no one ever got to study his technique, because when he recorded, he'd face the wall so that no one saw his fingers. Which sucks, because while I have a general idea, the concept of playing like him is off my radar in a way totally unlike Clapton, Page, Hendrix, Santana, Vai, Rodriguez-Lopez, or Slash. Each one of them plays phenomenal guitar, but I understand, on some basic level, how they do it.
And beyond the guitar, well, one can easily tell why Slowhand called it the most powerful cry that the human voice is capable of. I'm not saying he's right, because I've heard Layla, but the idea of confronting him with that is pointless of course.
In particular, Love in Vain is worth a listen, if you can find it. The Stones did a version of it as well, and Youtube has a recording of it from the Gimmie Shelter documentation
and on that note, I'm out.
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