Thursday, February 26, 2015

The Man Who Was Thursday

Or, in my case, The Man Who Was Thirsty. I'm busy doing stuff and junk. Hmm. I never realized I had a GoodReads page. I don't get out enough, I guess.

I'm tired of writing achingly brilliant things that nobody reads, so I decided to post mildly interesting things, because reasons. Intertunnel reasons. The Intertunnel is like the telephone game except everyone's hard of hearing and has Tourette's Syndrome. Me, I try to stay around the edges and laugh, like a food fight in the cafeteria. Here's a list of (not entirely unwonderful) wonderful things for you to peruse. You can like any one you like, but please: No wagering.

S.Weasel has discovered the greatest website in the world if you get tired of Lingscars is magnifique. 
If the Internet was a rodeo clown with delirium tremens, it would be Lings Cars

I've been listening to a ten-hour version of The Girl From Ipanema
Finally some funny YouTube comments: "I liked the part about the girl from Ipanema."

Gerard's list of journalistic cliches
It insists upon itself.

Here's a series of maps of crime by state from Business Insider
Please note Maine. No one tries pulling any shite while I'm in the state.

Here's a list of all the Alt codes for pretty much every symbol you want to type.
Note: Alt codes have nothing to do with Gender Studies.

Students at McGill University can't compute the average of a few even numbers.
They're not just in college. They're in college to become teachers.

Car surrounded by deer in Eastport, Maine.
People think this is lovely, but unless I'm very wrong, the deer are hanging around people because they're starving.That's the only reason I hang around people.

This is the greatest board game ever devised. That's why you can't buy one.

Well, sorta can't. You could if you had money, but it's solitaire for us. One of the Best Jobs in the World
My Interfriend the Execupundit has a sunny outlook on life. It's almost depressing for an Irishman to read it.

My Interfriend Thud in Liverpool builds wondrous stuff. Going Green.
I thought everything beautiful and useful was banished from the world forevermore. Thud proves me wrong by building things and having children.

Harriett reads and comments here, and I think of her as something akin to my target audience. This is the most moving tribute to an ordinary person I've ever read.
I'd rather someone asked why they didn't put up a statue to me, than why they did. 

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Ode to a Drywalled Hellhole

Ode to a Drywalled Hellhole

by: Wes Montgomery Burns

Though you should build a breakfast bar in divorced men's homes,
Install a concrete counter made precast,
Stitch estimates together for the sale, with loans
To fill it out, inkstained and aghast;
Although your profit be a bill of sale,
Long overdue, yet still hard with agony,
Your mortgage large uprootings from the skull
Of bald Bernanke; certes she would fail
To find her checkbook, unless she
Dreameth in aisles of DSW in the mall.

Monday, February 23, 2015

Hip Hip

I used to play this song for money. It was popular just then, or maybe it was a year or so after it was popular. We were like musical vampires, always playing somebody else's favorite song. I got my amusements where I could find them. Some of the songs were more fun to play than others. This was one of those pleasant accidents where people liked something you didn't dread on the setlist. It was certain death to play a song simply because you liked playing it. You are not the audience, and the audience can't be expected to amuse you.

It's an example of if you don't get what you like, you better like what you get. I used to sing the little tag line at the end of this song, way up high, and it was fun for me. I was always the worst singer in the band, no matter how many people shuffled through it, but for one little minute I sang a happy little phrase that stood out that made people happy to hear it.

We'll never feel bad anymore is not a happy thing to sing. It sounds happy but it isn't. It made me happy to sing it because I wasn't. Is there more than a wistful litote to sing in this life? I don't know. Hip Hip.

[Update: Thud from Over the Water in Liverpool put the boys on his blog. Next stop, the Cavern Club!]

Friday, February 20, 2015

Will Play Guitar For Food

Of course, ultimately we all hold up our own personal signs that read: WILL _______FOR FOOD. We stand at the end of the ramp on the highway overpass of life with our bags of oranges or our Bachelor of Arts and peddle, peddle, peddle.

The way the world lets you peddle is way, way different now. Some people embrace the new way wisely, and they're well-suited to it. Tim Pierce, the pleasant fellow in the video, seems to have rolled out his video instructional channel as a vision of the whole thing right away. He's gotten tens of thousands of subscribers to his channel right quick, and for good reason. He has the only two things that matter on the Intertunnel. He can demonstrate (understatement warning) some form of  ability, and he also has evidence of what I call the magic beans: he made money at it already.

People will listen to you if you can convince them you have the magic beans, even if you're useless. People will pay attention to you in a more desultory fashion if you have a demonstrated ability. If you have both, they're an unbeatable combination.

Tim Pierce was kind to my Heir once. I'm not sure he'll ever need to move a body, but I'll take the feet if it ever comes up.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

The Past Is Foreign Country. They Do Things Differently There

You do not want to go to 1971.

Idi Amin just got elected on the fava Beans and chianti ticket. Sixty-six people were killed by a staircase in Glasgow. Rolls Royce went bankrupt but OPEC didn't. South Vietnam invaded Laos because they didn't have anything to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon. Fifty tornadoes killed 74 people minding their own business in Mississippi, because the tornado industry was unionized and featherbedded back then. The United Nations declared the first Earth Day because the Earth needed an agent, I guess. The Khmer Rouge started getting frisky in Phnom Penh.There was some unpleasantness in Attica State Prison. The Montreux Casino burned down during a Frank Zappa concert, prompting Deep Purple to write Smoke on the Water. Audie Murphy died and Kid Rock was born. Richard Nixon imposed a 90-day freeze on wages, which has somehow lasted until today for me.

Knowing all this, Ike Turner's hairstyle makes perfect sense.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Paperback Writer, All Shipshape and Bristol Fashion

The Moon Loungers are listed on these here Intertunnels as the "Finest wedding band in Bristol and the South West." It doesn't specify the southwest of what, exactly.

Playing at weddings is a tough gig. I've done it. I remember, distinctly, one wedding job in Newport, Rhode Island. It was held on the second floor of a converted building on a pier over the ocean. The groom and the best man were musicians, and they played as a duo around Newport at many of the same places we did. I still have a few happy bruises on my person from Salve Regina night down there.

There are always early indications of how any wedding job is going to go. Certain cues that are invisible to a newbie but a billboard for an old hand. In this case, a woman so old that she was inside-out shambled up to us with a walker, looked at me with a glass eye and the guitar player with a milky one, and asked, "What time does the orchestra start?"

The guitar player is a carpenter, and we used to work together building things from time to time. Whenever things were going really badly -- if you'd just nailed your foot to the floor; if you'd just cut through a water pipe; if you'd just fallen off a ladder; if the check bounced; if the building inspector showed up and he turned out to be a guy you beat up every day in high school; no matter what -- we'd turn to each other and ask in unison, "What time does the orchestra start?"

The groom jumped out the window halfway through our second set, by the way.