popinjay [pop-in-jey] n. 1. a person given to vain, pretentious displays and empty chatter; coxcomb; fop 2. British Dialect. a woodpecker, esp. the green woodpecker 3. Archaic. the figure of a parrot usually fixed on a pole and used as a target in archery and gun shooting 4. Archaic. a parrot
Richard Sears (1863), Louis Prima (1910), Eli Wallach (1915), Ted Knight (1923), Noam Chomsky (1928), Ellen Burstyn (1932), Harry Chapin (1942), Johnny Bench (1947), Tom Waits (1949), Priscilla Barnes (1955), Larry Bird (1956), Tim Butler (1958), Rick Rude (1958), Peter Laviolette (1964), C. Thomas Howell (1966), Terrell Owens (1973), Damien Rice (1973)
Today, instead of spouting off about this thing or that, I’m putting the ball in your court.
I’ve been considering a particular scenario. I’ve proposed it to a few of my close friends and they all agree it’s an interesting situation to ponder. So I thought I’d offer it all of you.
Here it is: Due to some kind of crazy set of circumstances, you find yourself in a room with nine strangers. A man (or woman) enters the room and delivers the following set of instructions:
1. Everyone in the room will be granted five picks. Each pick will be a particular music act you can completely remove from the face of the Earth, including any memory of their existence.
2. However, there’s a possibility one of the other nine in the room could choose to obliterate a music act you hold near and dear. So, instead of using all your picks to erase music acts you despise, you’re free to use some, or all, of them to protect music acts you feel you can’t live without.
Here’s what I’m wondering: When confronted with this kind of choice, do you opt to banish or preserve? Would you see to it you never again hear the music you hate the most? Or would you safeguard the music you love the most?
Think about it. I’m still unsure of what I’d do.
I think you should be a child for as long as you can. I have been successful for 74 years being able to do that. Don’t rush into adulthood, it isn’t all that much fun. → Bob Newhart
So this past Saturday night, I’m hanging out with my kind of people, meaning a bunch of people who know a lot about good music. I was playing some stuff off of my iTunes and Pete Townshend‘s “Let My Love Open The Door” comes on. All present agreed it was a solid tune. I agreed but asked everyone how they felt about the slow version – “Let My Love Open The Door (E. Cola Mix)” – off the Grosse Pointe Blank soundtrack. No one had heard it before. Which I thought was weird but not altogether impossible. There’s a shitload of music out there.
→ Dude. When it comes to hockey, I’m all for a guy dropping the gloves and participating in a little hand-to-hand combat to try to motivate his team. But Philadelphia Flyers’ winger, Daniel Carcillo, experienced a severe lack of judgement when he almost knocked out Washington Capitals’ winger, Matt Bradley, late in the first period. It was awfully stupid because (a) Bradley had barely shook off his gloves (if he did at all) before Carcillo popped him, (b) it was the first game for new Flyers’ coach Peter Laviolette (who’s probably half-heartedly celebrating his birthday today), and (c) he gave the Capitals an unheard of nine-minute power play that turned a close game into a 8-2 loss for his team. He’s been suspended for four games and with the Flyers currently in a mid-season freefall, I wouldn’t be surprised if we’d seen the last of “Car-Bomb.”
→ Tonight, at 10pm, I’ll be watching the new TNT “serious comedy” Men of a Certain Age. Ray Romano, Scott Bakula and Andre Braugher. Yep, that’s pretty much all I need to become intrigued. Sad? No, not at all.