This is from Dave Barry's blog. This is really great. I really don't know if I'll be doing anything else at work today, or this week. Heck, this might keep me occupied until Christmas. In fact, I wonder what impact I might have on the Atlanta economy by sending this out.
What's your high score?
Elliott Smith
I guess Elliott Smith wasn't honest when he denied being unhappy or claimed his songs weren't confessionally revealing. What a shame.
Fred Berry
Rerun's death doesn't seem quite so tragic. He seems to have lived a longer, more comfortable life. I won't forget the way he said, "Shut up, DUH-WAAAAAAYNE!" It's fun to repeat the line, using other people's names, like "Shut up, STUH-EEEEEEEVE!"
I went to see Over the Rhine at the Echo Lounge saturday night. It was a great show, but there's something very hazy and obscure about their songs. It's a beautiful thing, and I will say that they've got some kind of aesthetic wunderkind in Lindford Detweiler. His writing, photography, and general artistic sense is remarkable. Looking at their album covers and reading song titles just makes me feel good. But they can't sing the blues.
There's a funny 'how to' list for the blues here. It's in jest, but there's some truth in the idea that the blues and high-minded beauty don't mix. For example, beige and taupe are not acceptable colors to mention in a blues number. And if you make a film about the blues, you can't have Architectural Digest laying around. So OTR make beautiful music, but it's cerebral, atmospheric, even soulful. But it's not the blues. It's not visceral enough to be the blues.
This was highlighted by one of the openers, Steven DeLopoulos, who was the singer/writer for Burlap to Cashmere. He was okay, but but he did a blistering cover of "Fixin' to Die Blues", which is either a Dylan composition or a blues traditional number. But it was powerful. I've never heard the song before, but the refrain "I don't mind dying but I hate to leave my children crying" stuck in my head. That line's got a lot of weight, and invokes a thousand images of a weathered, poor, black mother in mississippi whose body is wrecked by some undiagnosed illness. The listener is told to "go tell Jesus to make my dying bed." And the idea that someone, years ago, wrote a song just before passing on, only to be sung in urban clubs in 2003 is a bit spooky.
Despite the tendency for tongue-in-cheek self-parody, authentic blues actually tackle some dark subjects like murder, drinking, adultery, and death. There's a different beauty in blues, a worn, angry, earthy beauty that speaks to our broken human condition than the more heavenly sounds of Schubert.
There were some other good acts that night as well. Susan Enan came on first. What a powerful, tragic figure. Thin, and with a world-weary hunch, she sang some beautifully simple songs of sadness and hope. I don't know what they were about, but they made me sad and hopeful at the same time.
While much has been written about "improbability" of Schwarzenegger's victory this week, and I wonder about the wisdom of a complete novice running the state, I have to credit the governator-elect with a couple of really smart moves:
When the racy interview from 1977 was publicized, he said he had "no memory" of the contents, but that he often exagerrated statements for publicity. He could be lying about his recall of the interview. But his explanation is utterly believable. That a young, ambitious, celebrity bodybuilder would exaggerate in an interview with an adult publication just sounds more likely than the escapades he described in the interview. So, Ahnuld comes off as a regular guy who is guilty of something we all are guilty of--white lies--rather than the more damning and salacious sins mentioned.
When the LA Times broke the story of the groping allegations, Ahnuld diffused the controversy better than any career politician could have, I'm convinced. This sort of allegation will usually elicit one of two responses: either a) an unequivocal denial of the allegations as false, or b) a full apology and implicit confession of guilt. "Where there is smoke, there is fire," he admitted, while denying many of the allegations. This taps into a deeply-held belief about US politics: the truth is somewhere in the middle. Ahnuld managed to sound contrite ("I have behaved badly") while painting his actions as relatively harmless compared the suspiciously-timed LA Times story.
Finally, when accused of making statements in admiration of Hitler, he responded like any regular person would when faced with quotes from 29 years ago. Chances are, you don't remember your exact words from so long ago, but you can make a pretty accurate guess as to whether or not it's something you would have said. "I cannot imagine," he said, obviously unable or unwilling to make unequivocal statements about quotes so old. Again, his response is utterly believable. I can't remember what I said 29 days ago, but if someone told me I said something outrageous, I'd probably say the same thing.
There's been quite a stir in Germany and Austria about the "Arnold Effect" and I think they may be onto something. Sometimes people get tired of politics as usual, and a plain-spoken newcomer can look awfully good. Emoting well won't help Ahnuld with the budget, but it did get him elected, I believe.
Back about 9 years ago when I was a wide-eyed freshman at the North Avenue Trade School I lived in Glenn Hall. This place was known to be sort of a dump and full of all sorts of undesirable characters, a little like Catacombs at Covenant. We were all just trying to make it through--to talk to some girls and keep from flunking out at the same time. We learned a lot about life that year.
Anyway, one day I was in that cavernous, smelly bathroom on our floor and I saw a little name-tag sticker next to the mirror with the words "Fat Pak" written on it. Then later I saw another sticker on the way to class. Within a couple weeks, there were stickers all over east campus that said, "Fat Pak". I remember it well, to this day. Some of those stickers are probably still up. I never did find out who did it, though. And I still don't know what it means.
special thanks to theblog of thejoe.
The sad thing is, this is probably the highlight of my career at JP:
> Sent: Tuesday, October 30, 2001 5:40 AM
> To: 渡邊 雄介; Sato; 宮田 貴弘; M*** E******; J***** L********;
> Ishiguro; 太宰 徳七; A** O***; 外口 直美
> Subject: Policrom
>
> Dear Mr. Miyata,
>
> Policrom has a customer ejaculating the TJ90FC-PW2 for the Spinjet
> printer. They would like to place a trial roll order. Can NPI supply a 36" wide
> roll? If not, what is the best they can do? Again, this is only for a
> trial roll order, so quantities and volume predictions are unknown as this
> time.
>
> Best Regards,
>
> R*** L*****
> Specialty Products Division
I've been doing a little freelance writing for Paste Magazine, a music mag for adults. It's a relatively young venture, but apparently it's doing well. Here's an interesting article about the growth of the publication (and the website, and the record label):
http://www.uga.edu/gm/Feat1.html
If you've never read it, I recommend it. Each issue is better than the last, and they cover everybody from the Vines, to Innocence Mission, to Solomon Burke. In the current issue I've got an piece on Randy Newman--the highlight of my short journalistic career.