04.18.11 – a monday

word

threnody [threnuh-dee] n. a poem, speech or song of lamentation, especially for the dead; dirge; funeral song

birthday

Clarence Darrow (1857), Hayley Mills (1946), James Woods (1947), Rick Moranis (1953), Eric McCormack (1963), Conan O’Brien (1963), Eli Roth (1972)

standpoint

Here are some items that are bugging me today.

→ I DVRed Vermeer: Light, Love, Silence, a documentary about my favorite artist Johannes Vermeer and I was all excited to sit down and watch it last night. And it sucked. Too analytical.

“The 10 Best Shins Songs (So Far)” by Wyndham Wyeth was just inaccurate. He included duds like “Saint Simon,” and “When I Goosestep,” while omitting “Australia,” “Girl On the Wing” and “Turn On Me.”

→ In 60 days, Federal wildlife officials are set to take 1,300 grey wolves off the endangered species list. Apparently, the wolves were pretty happy about it. At least they were until they got wind that Idaho and Montana all ready have wolf hunts planned for the fall.

→ On Saturday evening, the Philadelphia Flyers beat the Buffalo Sabres in Game 2 and I think maybe Claude Giroux is reading my blog because he was shooting early on and scored the game’s first goal. Now if we could just convince Jeff Carter to stop coasting aimlessly around the ice and put Scott Hartnell‘s bad decision making in check, Game 3 could be another Flyers’ win. Also, it’s time to go and stick with Brian Boucher in net. Sergei Bobrovsky seems a bit overwhelmed and we might be asking too much from him.

quotation

It’s a strange world of language in which skating on thin ice can get you into hot water. ↔ Franklin P. Jones

tune

In the past few years, I’ve been accused more than once of shunning female singers. Recently, I’ve started to wonder why and I’ve come up with no good reasons. So I decided to remedy that. Lately, I’ve been listening to The 1900s and I’m liking them. Here’s “Bmore.”

gallimaufry

First, my heart goes out to all those across the country who were devastated by the historic outbreak of tornadoes over the weekend. 241 tornadoes in 14 different states killed at least 39 people. The sadness is beyond words.

Also over the weekend, Nicolas Cage was arrested in New Orleans and booked on charges of domestic abuse battery, disturbing the peace and public drunkenness. What I want to know is, during his record pace of making some of the world’s most dreadful movies, how Cage found the time?

Good job, Philadelphia, another unwanted first as the Philadelphia Orchestra has decided to file for Chapter 11

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03.24.11 – a thursday

word

unctuous [uhngk-choo-uhs] adj. 1. characterized by excessive piousness or moral fervor, especially in an affected manner; excessively smooth, suave or smug 2. of the nature of or characteristic of an unguent or ointment; oily; greasy 3. having an oily or soapy feel, as certain minerals

birthday

Harry Houdini (1874), Joseph Barbera (1911), Gorgeous George (1915), Lawrence Ferlinghetti (1919), Norman Fell (1924), Steve McQueen (1930), Nick Lowe (1949), Tommy Hilfiger (1951), Louie Anderson (1953), Robert Carradine (1954), Kelly LeBrock (1960), Star Jones (1962), Lara Flynn Boyle (1970), Megyn Price (1971), Alyson Hannigan (1974)

standpoint

Today, I’m continuing what I like to call My Favorite Music Of All-Time. That’s right. Even if it doesn’t particularly apply for this post, I have a feeling you’ll look past it and appreciate what’s going on here.

Yesterday, I touched on the fact that I have two iPods. The first one is a gigantic clunky thing, it’s screen illegible since the night the Philadelphia Phillies won the World Series a few years back. See, I was in the parking lot of the ballpark the night history was being made.  Philadelphia erupted as Harry Kalas called Brad Lidge’s final stike and mayhem ensued. And, Buckley, my little orange tabby cat was not going to sit still while millions celebrated.

Cats are smarter than most dogs. Also, cats are smarter than most humans. Buckley is the exception. You could teach a kangaroo to do algebra before you could teach Buckley not to not put his nose in the flame from a candle. But one thing the dimwit has is heart, and lots of it. There isn’t a soul alive who, within five minutes of exposure to Buckley, doesn’t want to kidnap the little bastard and take him home.

And I tell you that to explain the following. The Phillies had won it all. Philadelphia was teeming at the edges. It was electric. And Buckley was not immune to the pulse of the celebration. I have no other way to explain why in the world the track shelving in my room would suddenly appear new to him, or why he would jump to the fourth tier of that shelving to attack a plate with a burnt-out candle on it, a plate that he would cause to careen off that fourth shelf and land squarely on my iPod, charging in its dock, resting with a false sense of security, unaware of the bullshit Buckley was up to.

That night, I got home earlier than most in the city, I suppose. I was high-fived out and, despite my many shortcomings, tipping over cars and burglarizing electronic stores just ain’t my thing. So I walked through the front door, trudged up the stairs and stumbled into my bedroom with a smile on my face.

The smile lasted roughly three seconds. There was a broken plate on the ground. Next to it, was an iPod dock in two pieces. And, inches away, almost at the foot of the bed was my iPod, holder of close t0 8,000 songs, face down, silver side up.

Out loud I said, “What the fuck is this?” And then I saw Buckley sitting on the bed. Even though he wasn’t capable of understanding much, the look in his eyes, the tightness in his back, the little fucker knew he did something wrong.

I picked up the iPod. The screen was (and still is) fractured in nine different places. I said a bunch of words I would never say in front of my Mom-Mom. I was furious. My hands were literally shaking. And I turned to Buckley and, even though I never had nor would I ever cause him physical harm, he braced himself for what was coming. The only thing I could think to do was to put him in the closet. So that’s where he went. And before you condemn me for whatever reason, Buckley’s bed was in the closet as were his toys and most of Kate’s makeup brushes. For the next fifteen minutes, I looked at my iPod, pushed all of the buttons and slowly realized it was beyond repair.

But it wasn’t. I hooked it up to the speakers and kept pushing the up button. Music came out. I connected it to my laptop and, lo and behold, there was my entire music library. The damn thing still worked.

I reached into the closet and scooped up Buckley. I held him in front of my face and apologized. He’d all ready moved on.

To this day, I can’t see what’s playing on my iPod and the battery lasts about nine whole minutes but if it’s plugged in it still plays all of those almost 8.000 songs. And yesterday, in keeping with the whole music theme of this week’s posts, I decided to try to listen to as many of them as possible with the intention of finding Six Good Songs In A Row.

Here is how it all shook out.

First

“Birdhouse In Your Soul” – They Might Be Giants

Second

“Sweet Pain” – Blues Traveler

Third

“Everywhere” – Billy Bragg

Fourth

“Nobody Weird Like Me” – Red Hot Chili Peppers

Fifth

“That Says It All” – Duncan Sheik

Sixth

“Turn On Me” – The Shins

quotation

The next person to honk at me THE SECOND the fucking light turns green, is going to win a very special prize. Good luck, everyone! FYI, I was NOT driving while tweeting. I don’t do that. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to hold my crack pipe and fifth of jack. ↔ Kerri Kenney

tune

This was the seventh song. “Satisfied” by Squeeze. Call me all the names you want. I definitely like this song. Sorry.

gallimaufry

No gallimaufry today. Don’t pry. Just accept it.

04.02.10 – A Friday

Add to DeliciousAdd to DiggAdd to FaceBookAdd to Google BookmarkAdd to MySpaceAdd to NewsvineAdd to RedditAdd to StumbleUponAdd to TechnoratiAdd to Twitter

word

hypocrite [hipuh-krit] n. 1. a person who pretends to have virtues, moral or religious beliefs, principles, etc., that he or she does not actually possess, esp. a person whose actions belie stated beliefs 2. a person who feigns some desirable or publicly approved attitude, esp. one whose private life, opinions, or statements belie his or her public statements

birthday

Charlemagne (742), Thomas Jefferson (1743), Hans Christian Andersen (1805), Émile Zola (1840), Walter Chrysler (1875), Max Ernst (1891), Buddy Ebsen (1908), Sir Alec Guinness (1914), Jack Webb (1920), Serge Gainsbourg (1928), Marvin Gaye (1939), Dr. Demento (1941), Leon Russell (1942), Linda Hunt (1945), Anne Waldman (1945), Emmylou Harris (1947), Christopher Meloni (1961), Clark Gregg (1962), Rodney King (1965), Adam Rodriguez (1975)

standpoint

Since I’m having trouble being creative this week, I thought today’s standpoint could serve to further one of the more popular sections of this blog – tune. Instead of sharing just one of my favorite songs today, I’m going to share several that I’ve bookmarked at one time or the other. No rhyme or reason here, people. Totally random. Enjoy.

quotation

The world is full of fools and faint hearts; and yet everyone has courage enough to bear the misfortunes, and wisdom enough to manage the affairs, of his neighbor. ↔ Benjamin Franklin

tune

Even though I’ve shared more than enough songs with you, I’m prepared to offer an additional one. Since revamping the iPod, I’ve been listening to lots and lots of Rogue Wave. I’m fully aware I’m fixated. What can I say? They’re my favorite band, and we’re all going to have to agree with the fact you’re going to need to come to grips with that. Here’s a live version of “Sewn Up.”

gallimaufry

I’m openly declaring it right now. Parenthood is the best show on television right now. Of course, the mere fact I like it means it’ll be cancelled by the time I wake up today. Sorry, Ron Howard.

→ Here’s Reason #423 you should, if provided the chance, get the fuck out of this country. That’s my plan. We can coordinate.

→ Sorry, not to be callous but when you’ve got “only rum and anti-depressants for company,” I doesn’t matter who you are – eventually you’re going to think about sticking a gun in your mouth.

09.29.09 – A Tuesday

WORD

recondite [rekuhn-dahyt, ri-kon-dahyt] adj. 1. dealing with very profound, difficult, or abstruse subject matter: a recondite treatise 2. beyond ordinary knowledge or understanding; esoteric: recondite principles 3. little known; obscure: a recondite fact

BIRTHDAY

Kenny Baker (1912), Buddy Rich (1917), Truman Capote (1924), Elie Wiesel (1928), Angie Dickinson (1930), Johnny Mathis (1935), Frankie Lymon (1942), Barry Williams (1954), Fran Drescher (1957), Eric Stoltz (1961), Crystal Bernard (1961), Trey Anastasio (1964), Kathleen Madigan (1965), Jenna Elfman (1971), Kieran Culkin (1982)

STANDPOINT

There’s a bunch of things drawing my ire today, but nothing I’m prepared to expound on. In the meantime, check these out.

CSI: Miami‘s David Caruso‘s endless opening one liners.

 

From 1959, an interview with Jack Kerouac from The Steve Allen Show.

 

A video that should convince of Eric Lindros‘ ultimate prowess in the NHL.

 

QUOTATION

An ordinary man can… surround himself with two thousand books… and thenceforward have at least one place in the world in which it is possible to be happy.Augustine Birrell

TUNE

Sometimes, you can listen to a song 405 times. Obviously, you dig the song. Or, at least, that’s what the Play Count on your iPod is trying its best to indicate. But then, you’ve got your earbuds in while  sitting on the back porch during your favorite time of day. You’re thinking about a certain aspect of your life, pondering what’s happened and what the future might have in store. And the song comes on. For the 406th time. Due to your mindset, and the particulars occupying your brain, you hear that song again, but, also, for the first time. That happened to me about a week back. I finally heard “Turn On Me” in the exact right context. The lyrics are really kind of awesome. Truthfully, I’d kind of soured on The Shins, but I’m back to thinking James Mercer got the goods.  

GALLIMAUFRY

→ I love reading stories about people who, in the face of adversity, do things I don’t think I’d be capable of doing. Here’s the story of Ken Green. Dude was in an RV, driven by his brother, riding with his girlfriend and his dog. The RV crashed. He was the only survivor and had to get his leg amputated. And, still, the man wants to keep golfing. The human spirit can be inspiring from time to time.

→ Despite my cynical bluster, I’m a perpetual optimist. Even so, I thought, after Donovan McNabb went down in Week 1, and the Philadelphia Eagles announced Kevin Kolb would be the starter in his absence, no good would come from it. I was wrong. Kolb only managed to become the ONLY NFL quarterback to throw for over 300 yards in his first two starts ever.

→ Often, like all of us, experts can be wrong. “When Pounds Go Away, Sleep Apnea May Improve” seems to be an article making complete sense. In the past year and a half, I’ve lost 50 lbs. But my sleep apnea has gotten worse. My doctors are a bit baffled/tickled by it. I’m glad it’s something novel and out-of-the-ordinary for them. Guess it breaks up their days to wonder why. However, last week I slept next to someone who struggled to get herself air about 80% of the night. Kinda scary shit. Just give me the CPAP machine all ready. I don’t care how “unsexy” it is.