THIS is a meme I can get behind…

more song chart memes
Or try this one…or make your own and mail it in! They’ve got tons:

more song chart memes
I just sent them a blues bar graph…will have to post it later.
THIS is a meme I can get behind…

more song chart memes
Or try this one…or make your own and mail it in! They’ve got tons:

more song chart memes
I just sent them a blues bar graph…will have to post it later.
Rosemary Dogface
with the huge chest
and the diamond ass
but just one blue eye
gymnastic afterthought
I can’t remember her
saying anything afterwards
or ever for that matter
Patrick Remoulade
(so named for a French Class error)
stumbling through study hall
smoking weed in the vent in the back of Civics
handsome man
(I’d have never dared to say that aloud)
told everyone about Rosemary
after swearing he wouldn’t
Donald Donaghy
then
started doing it
with
my Rosemary and I’m laughing
about it now
although
I went home and stabbed a pillow
that night
someone touched me
someone stuck it to me
someone different made me happy
a little
and I was heedless
everything I need to know
about my worth is here
http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/meast/05/17/iraq.quran/index.html
That’s always a comforting, relationship-building thing to hear, dontcha think?
In a language no one
has ever learned to speak fluently,
the word for “chop shop”
is “America.”
No matter where the chop shop is located
the operation is the same:
steal a vehicle; rip it apart;
sell the pieces to people
who put them in their own vehicles
and drive to places they want to go.
The parts work fine. They don’t care
who’s driving, or that the vehicle
is not their homeland.
It’s the victims of the theft
who raise hell about it. After a time
they get another vehicle,
which may or may not be stolen again.
If it is, they may take the bus from then on
and sit next to others who have
no vehicle of their own.
In that same language, the word for peace
is “revolver” and it is used as a synonym
for “justice.” “Justice” is pronounced
“America” as well. You would think
this would be confusing, but the language
doesn’t care about the speakers who mix the words up
and most people get along fine, or think they do,
since no one is fluent in the tongue anyway.
This language, suprisingly, has no
written alphabet. There is no literature
and there are no schoolbooks to teach it. All knowledge is assumed to be
common to all, and when a disagreement arises
about usage or grammar, arbiters send the dissenter
to America and suggest that justice has been done.
(The word for “arbiters” is unpronounceable
and is only thought, never spoken aloud,
not even incorrectly.) There are millions of native speakers of this tongue
who cannot discuss anything with each other.
The language doesn’t care about them. Someday,
they will vanish on the highway to the next terminal.
What, exactly, is needed to “play” prerecorded loops and/or created on a laptop live? Assume I know nothing about it — which is true; also assume that I want to keep it all as simple as possible.
For the new CD, Faro and I are considering expanding our sound a bit, and while we’d love to include a live drummer – our one performance with a drummer, with Jerome DeuPree of The Jeff Robinson Trio and ex-Morphine, was a kick and a half — it’s not really practical right now. So we’re looking at using electronic beats, and if we’re going to go that route, we might throw other stuff in there as well; I know it’ll require one of us, probably me, to trigger stuff. But I haven’t got a clue as to how to begin or what equipment is required. I can handle playing live with a guitar in my hands, but this type of thing is beyond me.
Any and all info is welcome.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Also: anyone out there know anything or is a fan of the group Grizzly Bear? I caught a performance the other night on TV and was intrigued, and have downloaded their piece “Eavesdropping.” I like their sound.
enough with trauma, enough with injustice,
enough of ecstasy and horny tales.
enough with the empty skins of these things —
limp words, deflated balloons, dead air.
don’t tell me about racism
if you can’t make me squirm
under the boot on your neck.
don’t speak of sex unless
I can learn from you how dry friction vanishes
into liquid and steam.
don’t even bother with the breakup talk
unless I understand what your lover looked like
the last time she walked away from you and
until I can smell the rug you laid upon
while you cried.
I’m eager for the death of Word these days,
hoping I get to watch it kick and strangle on itself.
if you want me to step up and put it on my shoulders
and keep it from hanging, you’ll have to make it disappear
into the things you claim to understand
simply because you know how to pronounce them.
I just saw something in passing on the Web about special ham that goes for 2100 dollars a pound and was going to write something scathing about class warfare and figurative cannibalism, but then I stopped because I realized how many people on my friends’ list are really into food and who might think I was firing shots at them.
I’m not, but I gotta say, I don’t get it. See, here’s my orientation to food:
1. Hungry? Eat something. Move on.
2. Thirsty? Drink something. Move on.
3. In a hurry? Eat something quick. Move on.
4. Got some time and want to do something nice for someone? Cook a good dinner for them. Eat it. Move on.
5. Got some spare money and want to enjoy a nice experience? Go out to a good dinner. Eat it. Move on.
Operative words being, “move on.” It’s food — here then gone. Fuel. Sustenance. That’s all.
Great meals stand out for me in my memory, of course, but that’s always more about the circumstances than the food — the millieu, the social scene, etc. Good food’s an accent for me, not a central point.
I like good food, like finding new foods, etc. But television shows about, or an entire network devoted to, food? Huh? (Bourdain I make a very occasional exception for because again, I don’t think his shows are really about food.)
Anyway…just letting you know that if you see me going off about food in the future, keep this in mind.
http://www.reuters.com/article/newsOne/idUSN1451387120080514
I’m on record as saying that the state should stay out of this issue altogether; I think the most equitable solution is to eliminate all civil connection to and regulation of how people choose to live their lives and manage their relationships. But we’re not likely to see that anytime soon. For now, this decision would extend existing protections to same-sex relationships.
Keep your fingers crossed.
ETA: They’ve overturned the same sex marriage ban.
Ran across this list this AM while looking for something else.
http://www.newyorker.com/online/2008/05/19/080519on_onlineonly_remnick?currentPage=all
I’d quibble with some choices, of course. (It is the New Yorker, after all, so I don’t expect revolutionary thoughts.) But why is there no “Interstellar Space” from Trane? It has Keith Jarrett (admittedly, with a great album), but no Herbie Hancock as a leader? Where is Anthony Braxton and in fact, where is a better representation of the AACM in general? It’s a good basic collection though.
For my jazz fans out there — what would you add?
Overnight,
one hundred and seventeen million dollars
was stuffed into my head.
Whoever did that
rammed it in there with an Aston Martin,
left it running in my ear canal.
I walked around
for several hours before sunrise
imagining how I’d burn the place down.
I broke two cheap dishes and
kicked the furniture until I bled.
There is no room
now for thoughts about paying bills
or simple dinners, lovemaking or the way
a cat feels early in the morning.
All I’ve got left is five dollars
burning a hole in my ratty pocket
and a roaring in my head that won’t quit.
Len Germinara did a great feature, showcasing the balance between literary based poetry and the performance scene. Godd stuff on what was overall a high energy night with a packed house.
Next week: old school local favorite Michael Mack, rescheduled from car trouble and a mild stroke, FINALLY makes it to GP!
we’ve got the poetic Man O’ the Islands, Len Germinara. Promises to be a good feature!
Come on down. Reflections Cafe, 8 Governor St, Providence, 7:30 PM.
There’s a ferret on the floor in front of me right now who is desperately trying to climb my sweatpants from the inside.
Withered me, leathered me,
grizzled beard on weathered me;
walk me out to any cliff,
let the wind put an end to me.
Blackball me, lever me,
pry me up and sever me;
make me shut my mouth for good,
turn me into history.
I can’t do this by myself,
I can’t make me disappear.
I can only do it with your help,
Hold my hand and help dispel the fear;
Obese me, obscene me,
Rattle brained depressing me;
Put me on a chariot,
Let the angels carry me.
For too long I’ve been trying hard
To take that last walk on my own.
I’ve been killing off my heart,
I’m no good at it when I’m all alone;
So comfort me, comfort me,
I’ll nullify your faith in me;
Watch me walk away from this
and you can keep the best of me.