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Cycles

I don't want to open up a big bag of cheese or anything, but sometimes you can't help but notice stuff.

On the 24th, on Tuesday, my wife's chorus, NiH (which I do extremely occasional backstage work for) lost one of its members, Marky Pace, after her long fight against a brain tumor. Marky was a completely open and receptive person, someone who feels like you've known her forever even when, in my case, you've probably only ever had about five substantial conversations. Well, and once I spent a Saturday lugging dirt and stuff around her garden. Marky had a great smile and a kind demeanor, but also eyes that said she'd seen her share of the shit, pal.  That when there needed to be, there was steel behind that smile. That she'd managed to experience life like that without being darkened by it is a quality of which I'm profoundly envious. Marky was a bright presence in the world and will be missed sorely by those she leaves behind.

The next day (because you see where I'm going with this), on the 25th, one of the other members of NiH had her baby. Kate Pritchard and Mark Doyle welcomed Rose Elizabeth Doyle to the party here with the rest of us, and since many of my blog readers do not know Kate and Mark, let me explain something to you.  Yes, yes - Rose is a gorgeous baby small person - her little nose alone in the pictures'll just kill you - but the important thing here is that Kate and Mark are awesome open-minded good smart people, and I have every confidence that they will be shaping Rose into one of those people we need more of here on Earth.  So congrats to the Pritchard/Doyles!

Now: go have your Friday.

Springnoises

You can tell that Spring has arrived on the campus where I go to school; as if the official date were like a starter's pistol forcing everyone into a Springtime race, the boys' hair got shorter (and apparently we're going back to patterns and shapes shaved in; I would get a big CMB 'cause we all we got), Winter beards went away, and bowties came out.  I even heard part of a conversation about bowties the other day.  The girls have whipped out the cute shoes and the doubletake short shorts.  Fake tans are in evidence. Everyone's just outside for the hell of it instead of the outside simply being the obstacle between your current inside engagement and the next one.

True to form for Tennessee, as soon as it went from being 50-60 degrees out with people bitching about the cold, and hit the 70-80 degree range, people started bitching about the heat.  I'm not even sure this is a conscious bitching decision for many of these people.

So as I'm walking to class on Friday, I see a guy with a massive boombox cradled on his shoulder, cranking the tunes old school, and it hits me; I won't be late for class, because apparently it's 1985.  My wife keeps telling me that the 80s are back, but come on.  Civil War re-enactors don't actually saw one another's legs off, and there's no reason to carry a fucking boombox.  Especially if you're a white kid, and especially if your music is for shit.  And it's always for shit.  Never in my whole life have I heard a tune on a boombox and thought, "I'm glad I heard that."  It's like those boomcar guys who seek to turn the whole world into the inside of a taicho drum and play music by bands who have a guy who plays "lead distortion."  Actually, I think that's a staff position in GOP races.

The biggest thing I realized about this person though, is that he has to be young, much younger than yours truly.  He'd have to be lacking in historical perspective to make this decision, would have to have missed out on times when people didn't have a choice but to lug big fucking stereos loaded with tapes and D batteries around in order to enjoy their jam, which is what we didn't call them then.  He wasn't around to fully appreciate the technological global moment of muted sound that happened when Walkmans really took off and headphones proliferated and we no longer had to put up with the garbage music only listened to by people who are still developing taste.

Or maybe his iPod broke.  I just hope this doesn't become a thing I hear all the time, or I might have to start taking a hammer around with me wherever I go.

Fourteen Hundred (plus)

Last night I had this dream where Wallis Simpson (pictured here) was giving me a hot towel shave with a straight razor.  She did not shave off my actual chin whiskers, so no Delilah imagery, unless someone more educated than I am on the subject would like to argue the point.  I was in an old school green metal and black leather barber's chair, and she sharpened her razor on the leather strap affixed on the right hand side.  She leaned in close to do the part of my left jaw where I broke it once (there's kind of a lump in the bone), and she smelled like vodka, fruit juice and expensive perfume.

The chair was in the middle of a giant oaken stage, right in front of a pipe organ.  In a huge balcony about thirty feet off of the stage surface, a full orchesta played "Seven Nation Army," PJ Harvey's "To Bring You My Love," and a couple of other things I recognized but could not place.  Thanks, brain.  Off to one side, presumably waiting for shaves from Mrs. Simpson, was a bench full of people including Eddie Izzard, Volstagg from Marvel Comics, Willie Nelson, Vini Demon, Chuck Norris and the man from this poem by Edward Lear.  You might be wondering how I recognized him, but then you are illiterate, which means you are also not offended by what I'm saying or indeed, reading this.

There was a spirited conversation going (folks had to speak up over the orchestra) about why some Christians build very modest meeting houses (not wasting money that could be better spent elsewise, modesty, works over appearances, the relationship between utilitarianism and Calvinism, etc.) and others build grandiose compounds and spires (glorifying God, making a place that the destitute will want to come to, not hiding one's light under a bushel, arrogance, egotism, etc.) that segued into a history of the Vatican and then into stockings and high heels, which I don't know much about.

When she finished, I tipped Mrs.Simpson a golden coin about the size of the palm of my hand (In truth, it looked a bit like the Nobel medals) and sat down on the bench to smoke a cigar and read an issue of Poor Richard's Almanack with all of the pages sealed individually in plastic.  The smoke and discussion and overblown music whirled around me, and I woke up.

Oh, and this makes 1402 entries in this thing.

An Unwanted Xmas

Every year, there are albums and specials and stuff that I can't even begin to imagine the creative process behind, like that new TV one where Judd Nelson is Santa Claus.  What?!?  Here are some of the shittiest theoretical ideas for this kind of thing I could come up with; some ill-conceived special ideas for the "enrichment" of your holiday season:

1. The Next 14 Fucking Christmases: Rod Blagojevich sings the holiday classics from Illinois prison.

2. Herman Cain's Sausage Stocking Stuffer Special: On Lifetime, a 1 hour special where Herman Cain tries to run for Santa, but is caught by his wife making "special deliveries" to the sexier elves and is forced to discover the true meaning of arrogance.

3. A DaVinci Christmas: The "History" Channel - International art critic and DaVinci scholar Hans Doun will examine the Mona Lisa's history as a Christmas gift passed down between generations, and will finale with evidence that an image of Santa shaking hands with Jesus can be found in Leonardo's enigmatic and most famous painting.

4. Christmas On the Dark Side: Darth Vader breathes over your favorite holiday standards.  James Earl Jones.

5. The Palin Alaska Caribou Jesus Holiday Spectacular!  From the glassy shores of Lake Lucille, where Sarah Palin can see the North Pole from her backyard, comes a three-hour long return to the family values the Palins hold dear: Jesus, racism, speaking in tongues, stealing money from others, useless platitudes, lying, killing stuff in the woods and not seeing the sun go down until 1am!  Sarah will whine her way through the songs she can remember, and someone will probably give birth.

6. Merry Chimpmas: Three hours of chimpanzees ripping into elaborately wrapped presents.  Well, I'd watch it.

7. Occupy The Winter Holidays: The Occupy movement, represented in various major cities, will be filmed breaking into and occupying the homes of the richest 1% on Christmas Eve - Revolution abounds as the snow is dotted with red blood and green money.  Fat Asshole Cop will pepper spray people while dressed as Santa.

8. A Very Dawkins Holiday.  Richard Dawkins, along with special guests Ira Glass, Ricky Gervais, Natalie Portman, George Clooney and LIVE by remote Dr. Stephen Hawking will get sloshed on spiked eggnog and explain why it's just a very lovely holiday season and nothing more, so try not to get twisted up about it.  Ani DiFranco and Harvey Fierstein do "Baby, It's Cold Outside."

9. Naked Lindsay Lohan SINGS! (Holiday)  Another jailhouse recording, LiLo sings holiday songs from jail while naked.  True, you can't see naked on a CD, but like that's going to fucking matter in this day and age. To be released the same day as her Playboy debut, and free copies of the disc given away as incentives with the new issue.

10. Governor Rick Perry's Indeterminate Number of Days of Christmas: "On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...gave to me...one, two...oops."

11. Pack the Holiday Season: The members of the Green Bay Packers have a 12-0 days of Christmas Extravaganza when Santa's sleigh breaks down over Green Bay, Wisconsin.  As the Pack's Defensive LIne pulls Santa's sleigh across the night sky, QB Aaron Rodgers throws passes for all the world's children, hitting chimneys for holiday TDs!  Belief in Donald Driver spawns a new winter holiday - Drivermas.

12. A Secret Touchy Christmas: Proceeds to benefit the Jerry Sandusky Defense Fund.  Becomes the most unpopular album of all time, and is used as fuel to burn that piece of shit in a public Yule fire.

Because I like to end on a cheerful "up" note.

Whip My _______ Back & Forth

Like a lot of people, I am unhappy with the latest product from the Smith Entertainment Group, Willow Smith, and her "song," Whip My Hair.  (Having procured the Wikilink for her, I see that we just got another new song from her last Friday.  Woo.)  Willow (dressed here in her Mobutu Sese Seko halloween costume) has excreted an anthem that's inescapable if you are in public places where children are expected to make noise, but I remember Tiffany, Debbie Gibson, Britney Spears, NKOTB, and many others used to be the same way.  Age has taught me to breathe, focus, wait, and turn up better music.

For the most part, the "song" is indistinguishable from any other pop crap except for its wailing repetitive chorus. (Think how many current songs you can say that about.)  My son hates it; it's like Kryptonite to him.  My daughter seems to take it either way - she will sing along if she hears it.  You figure to her, though, Willow is a seasoned performer twice her age.

This morning in the car on the way to school, we attempted to come up with some anodyne for this musical wound in our collective minds, and so we started in on the classic "variations on a theme" joke.  I will give you what we had, and then you add some.  (You should know this by now - I'm not explaining it next time.)

• Medusa: "I Whip My Snakes Back & Forth"
• Modok: "I Whip Myself Back & Forth"
• Sol Rosenberg: "I Whip My Shoes (and Glasses) Back & Forth (So I Have Them)"
• Godzilla: "I Whip My Tail Back & Forth (and Destroy Tokyo)"
• Santa Claus: "I Whip My Reindeer Back & Forth"
• Captain America & Thor: "I Whip My Wings Back and Forth"
• Professor X: "I Whip My...Head Back & Forth"
• angels: "I Whip My Halo Back & Forth"
• demons: "I Whip My Horns Back & Forth"
• Batman: "I Whip My Cowl Back & Forth"
• Packers Fans: "I Whip My Cheese Back & Forth"
• MItt Romney: "I Whip My Positions Back & Forth"
• Rachael Ray: "I Whip This Cream Back & Forth"
• Spock: "I Whip My Ears Back & Forth (Logically)"
• Ben Bernanke: "I Whip Interest Rates Back & Forth"
• Spider-Man: "I Thwip My Webs Back & Forth"
• Wonder Woman: "I Whip My Lasso Back & Forth"
• Robbie the Robot: "I Whip My Arms Back & Forth"
• Indiana Jones: I Whip My Whip Back & Forth"
• a zombie: "I Whip My BRAIINNSS Back & Forth"
• a Jedi Master: "I Whip My Saber Back & Force"
• the Headless Horseman: "I Whip this Pumpkin Back & Forth"
• Hank Williams, Jr.: "I Whip Hitler Back & Forth"
• Brett Favre: "I Flap My Gums (and other body parts) Back & Forth"
• a shark: "I Whip My Fins Back & Forth (and then Eat You)"
• OddJob: "I Whip My Hat Back & Forth"
• the Squidbag: "I Whip This Joke Back & Forth"

Christopher Walken's Poker Face

I don't know why the schtick of Mr. Walken reading text aloud is still funny, but it is. I'm reasonably certain that it's just because he's funny, and that gets plugged into whatever it is he's doing.  I laughed out loud at this, but you kind of have to wait for it a little bit.  As always, though - it's worth it.  Not as good as an all-Walken stage re-enactment of Twin Peaks would be, but solid nonetheless.

June Days

It's been a challenging series of highs and lows the last few days, and the rain falling like a hysteric's tears over the lightning outside would comfort me if I thought the intention to wash it all away might possibly be behind it.  C's asleep on the couch with the remotes and a giant bottle of soda, wrapped in a blue comforter while Max half-snoozes at 43 minutes past midnight watching the first couple of Harry Potter films in reverse order.  Abby's crashed in the general chaos of play that is Max's room, and I'm taking a short break from finishing The Hunger Games, a book I'm enjoying a lot more than I thought I would.  The escape is necessary.

We went from the heady time-burning and pleasantries of an out-of-town visit straight into C's final NiH performance of the year, and one at which she spoke emotionally and elegantly on rights and reasons.  I once again worked stage left, and it was harder than it has been in times past, but also more enjoyable.  The next day, our guests moved on, and we helped a friend move out of his current situation and into a better one.  Much sweat and joy was experienced.  Last night we also had our 16th anniversary dinner, which was a welcome respite from the rest of the world, and much needed time together.  Also, it made me miss a Stanley Cup game it sounds like I'm glad I missed.  The good feelings continued into this morning, and then the day went to shit.

Beginning with failure errands (mostly) and ending with family tumult, the back three-quarters of today uniformly sucked, and I'm glad they're now in the past.  I'm tired of outpouring and am thinking of simply retreating to my rooms with a stack of books and large glasses of water.  Until Monday, which is the newest source of household friction; the WBC is coming here on Monday, and we can't seem to agree on an approach to our counter-protesting.

I've had "an incident" with them before, so I know what NOT to do, but...

Lazy Day With Leonard

This pretty much captures my Memorial Day. The sentiment, anyway. Leonard Nimoy is my new hero.

Mos Def: Umi Says

From the Mighty Mos Def, because I need a chill morning & thought I would share.

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms who can be proud: my mom, my grandmother, my MIL, Peggy, Christie, Jo, Colleen, Amy, Liv, Sandy, Erin, Mihoko, Kat, Susan, Laura D., Laura R., Jennifer HP, Christy & Kristin, Marky, Brecca, Jamie S., Brandi, Carrie, Daph, Beth, Holly, Karen, Lauren, Karla, Melissa, Megs, the Earth & Frank Zappa's band. 

A Lady Gaga Miracle

The Nashville Tenneseean, in an amazingly irresponsible use of headlines, is reporting today that a woman died, and was then "brought back to life" at last night's Lady Gaga show at the Bridgestone Arena, the home of the Nashville Predators.  Wow.  Anything to pimp the paper in the age of Internet, I guess, but what a fucking headline.

And what press for the obviously press hungry Lady in question, yeah?  A resurrection at the Easter fucking weekend show?  What the hell?  A little Lady Gaga miracle?  "Apparently, Jesus is in favor of gay rights, that's why he brought that woman back from the dead at the Lady Gaga show.  There's no other even remotely plausible explanation.  From my read of the facts."

And what are the facts?  Well, apparently Crystal Thorton, 33, suffered a heart stopping seizure that left her without a pulse for five minutes, the definition of death used by medical personnel, and quoted in this article.  The guys on scene whipped out the defibrillator and kept her going until she could be shipped over to Vanderbilt and cooled against the possibility of brain damage.

Which, unfortunately, she experienced anyway, having had her sense of fucking perspective obliterated by her brush with the Great Beyond.  This is demonstrated by her statement, "I am so mad that I missed the concert."  Really, Crystal?  No one's mad at you for missing it because you had the best excuse for missing something going: "I was dead.  I was dead, so I missed the Lady Gaga show."  Most resurrected people wouldn't be mad, either.  Most people would be cheerful and happy in the realization that they were five minutes dead but now, thanks to the intervention of total strangers, they aren't.  I mean, I can be hard-boiled, but I'm pretty sure I could find the joy in that, if only long enough to talk to the newspaper guy about it.  But not Crystal.  Pissed that she missed the show.  I bet Gaga will comp you, Crystal.  You're going to be great for future sales: "Lady Gaga KILLS in latest performance."  "Gaga will knock you DEAD."  "If you have a weak heart or are in any way medically unsound we recommend you skip the next Lady Gaga concert."  Ticket sales are gonna be through the roof, and Gaga'll be able to buy more meat-and-broken-glass bustiers.

Maybe she'll even spring for a perspective transplant for Crystal.  If it works, we start forcing them on most of the American public.  "It's either the transplanting or a Bockwursting, your choice."