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October 31, 2006
The Blog-Off Is Over
We said we were going to do it, and we did it. We have to love ourselves for that.
Posted by bill at 7:07 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 30, 2006
What's Blowing My Mind (Part 2)
The Kinks
I know the Kinks are a great band. I’ve known it for a long time. And yet for some reason I keep forgetting it, so every time I’m reminded it comes as this great revelation.
My most recent Kinks phase began when I was watching an old episode of The Sopranos that used the song “Living on a Thin Line” (a rare Dave Davies vocal, that one). Then, thinking of Halloween-related songs, I remembered the song “Sleepwalker,” which I had only on a cassette I got from Bob (thanks, Bob). This led me to seek out a compilation of the Kinks’ later-period hits called Come Dancing.
Tragedy struck when the CD arrived and “Sleepwalker” was mysteriously missing from the running order. Turns out there are two versions of the album extant, and the one I had ordered was not the one I received. But in the end I couldn’t return it, because the songs that are on it are so freakin’ excellent. “Juke Box Music.” “Rock’n’Roll Fantasy.” “Low Budget.” The Kinks were so right-on they could even make disco work—check out the whomping backbeat on “(Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman.” I won’t forget about the Kinks again anytime soon, and neither should you.
“Sex and Candy”
You look up “one-hit wonder” in the dictionary and you see a picture of Marcy Playground, and you wouldn’t even know it was them if it wasn’t captioned “Marcy Playground.” But their one hit, a woozy slice of Malkmusian pop called “Sex and Candy,” is one hell of a tune. It popped into my head the other day, and thanks to the Internet and 99 cents, it was mine in no time. Well worth the money.
Bright Red/Tightrope
I know I heard this album when Laurie Anderson released it back in 94, but I guess I didn’t really listen to it. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Anyway, the point is, I didn’t come to appreciate its beauty until very recently. Crisply and economically produced by Brian Eno, Bright Red/Tightrope is less aggressively weird than other Laurie Anderson albums—although still weird enough (see: “The Puppet Motel”). For the most part it is filled with real songs, languid and melodic and addictive as Mugwump semen. Anderson’s paramour Lou Reed guests on a wonderful song called “In Our Sleep,” and this is where we run up against the limits inherent in writing about music. (“Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.”) I can’t possibly hope to express its true glory here; you’d just have to hear it for yourself. Come by the house some time and I’ll play it for you.Posted by bill at 6:03 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
October 29, 2006
What's Blowing My Mind (Part 1)
To paraphrase Clark Gable, “You should have your mind blown, and often, and by someone who knows how.”
Here are a few of the things that have been blowing my mind lately (in the area of music, that is; there are other things, too, that need not be gotten into here; The Prestige was one of them).
We Are the Dead
I plucked this song off David Bowie’s Diamond Dogs for a Halloween mix I was making, and I’m all, like, wow…. It’s funny, on an album full of great songs, no one song stands out so much. But take any one of them out of context, and you realize just how phenomenal it is. This particular tune starts off sweet and lyrical, then turns metallically ominous, then changes back, then changes back again, all so seamlessly that it really seems like one song. Check it out and tell me I’m wrong. I dare you.
Osmium
This album, vintage 1971, was the first release from Parliament after George Clinton broke away from the other Parliaments to explore the possibilites inherent in the combination of soul music and LSD. As you might expect, it is a truly widescreen psychedelic funk experience, grounded in the heavier side of soul but branching off in all sorts of strange directions. Its breadth is such that it can encompass a country song built around the Jew’s harp (“Little Ole Country Boy”), a gospel song built around the harpsichord (“Oh Lord, Why Lord”), and a song Pink Floyd would have written if they’d been from Detroit (“The Silent Boatman”). The CD adds a bunch of great bonus tracks, including two monster-hits-that-should-have-been, “Come in Out of the Rain” and “Fantasy Is Reality.”
Posted by bill at 1:49 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
October 26, 2006
A creepy development in medical science
Just in time for Halloween:
Hospital Panel OKs Face Transplants
The horror movie based on this pretty much writes itself: good person gets evil face, goes on a killing spree, ends up getting de-faced in some ironic way. The only question is, who do we cast in the lead? Christopher Walken and Dennis Hopper are getting too old for this sort of thing; who’s gonna represent for the next generation of movie psychos? I think Rainn Wilson, who plays Dwight on The Office, could do very well. He’s already pretty creepy as Dwight—all he needs to do is be a little less funny and, presto chango, it’s Tony Perkins time. Cillian Murphy proved himself extremely disturbing as the Scarecrow in Batman Begins. It might be fun to see Zach Braff take a shot at playing a villain. I dunno…your thoughts?
Posted by bill at 10:16 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 25, 2006
Poetic Spam Redux
Inspirational, this time, with a lyrical twist:
Don’t give in the problems, whatever age you are!
Have a BEST sex in any time you want!
because the Moon
strings on violin. There
Posted by bill at 5:25 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 24, 2006
Heresy to Megahertz
Herewith, more top-of-the-page juxtapositions lifted from Webster’s College Dictionary, c. 1991.
heresy to hero sandwich
hostage to hot tub
hot war to housekeeper
illuminati to imbecile
impregnable to impulse
jelly to jet engine
jihad to jockey
jumping bean to junkie
Kaposi’s sarcoma to katzenjammer*
kidney bean to kimono
kudos to kvetch
Labrador retriever to lactation
lay to L.D.S.
lonely to long-lasting
loon to Lord Chancellor
medieval to megahertz
*noun; 1. the unpleasant afteraffects of excessive drinking; hangover. 2. uneasiness; anguish; distress. 3. an uproar; clamor.
Posted by bill at 3:06 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
October 23, 2006
Inside the Schneid
I’ve always wondered in a vague, half-assed way about the origin of the term “the schneid,” which crops up mostly in the context of sports. You don’t often hear about someone being “on the schneid” (i.e. stuck on zero, scoreless, winless); more commonly, when a team posts its first point of the game or wins its first game of the series, you are notified that they are now “off the schneid.”
I was inspired to do a little research by a headline in today’s Oakland Tribune, which declared the hapless Raiders “off the schnide” after having defeated the even haplesser Arizona Cardinals. Seeing this, I realized that I’d never actually seen the word written down before; I’d always assumed it was spelled “schneid” and somehow related to the surname “Schneider,” perhaps the tragic legacy of some poor bastard who never got any. (See also: “Munsoned.”)
This proved to be more difficult than I expected. Nothing in Webster’s, either print or online. No Wikipedia entry. A Google search turned up many examples of usage (all favoring the more intuitive “schneid” over the Trib’s bizarre “schnide”), but no exegesis. Finally I found the following on word-detective.com:
“Schneid” is actually short for “schneider,” a term originally used in the card game of gin, meaning to prevent an opponent from scoring any points. “Schneider” entered the vocabulary of gin from German (probably via Yiddish), where it means “tailor.” Apparently the original sense was that if you were “schneidered” in gin you were “cut” (as if by a tailor) from contention in the game. “Schneider” first appeared in the literature of card-playing about 1886, but the shortened form “schneid” used in other sports is probably of fairly recent vintage.
I am willing to buy this explanation for the most part, though I still suspect that the term may derive from some actual Schneider who was a really sucky card player, similar to baseball’s Mendoza Line. But in any case, I am now off the schneid for the week of October 23.
Posted by bill at 5:06 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
October 20, 2006
The other shoe drops
So Tuesday I had a dream involving Lenny Bruce and cornflakes. Wednesday I happened upon a Lenny Bruce reference in the newspaper. At 5:42 this morning I got this in my inbox:
Am I saying that my dreams are now predicting the future? Em, no. Not exactly. It’s not my intention to say that. I’d prefer to think that the cornflake spam was triggered by my writing about cornflakes on this site. However, I’ve intentionally kept my email address off the site in order to avoid spam. So I don’t know what to think.
Posted by bill at 10:41 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
October 19, 2006
The Day the Aliens Landed
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October 18, 2006
All Hail the Olbermann
I lifted this picture from the fan site Olbermann.org, which captioned it “Attractively Rumpled.” And who am I to argue? The salt-and-pepper hair is terribly distinguished, and only a little bit satanic.
I’ve had a little man-crush lately on MSNBC’s Keith Olbermann, who’s the only guy out there in the vast wasteland we call TV news tellin’ it like it is. (Other than Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, of course; but since they’re still nominally comedians, they don’t count.) Hammering every day on the Bush administration’s latest travesties isn’t exactly a difficult job, but Olbermann does it with an admirable mix of passion and precision.
Every time I watch one of Olbermann’s “Special Comments”—carefully written, articulately delivered, cogently argued, and peppered with literary and historical references—I think to myself, “I can’t believe I’m actually seeing this on TV in the 21st century.” It’s so counter to the general trend that it seems like a miracle. And while you could argue that Olbermann’s nightly outrage has become a tad predictable, still, it feels like he’s expressing the outrage I should be feeling, if only I had the energy. And a TV show. So I say, keep it up, Keith. I love what you’re doing, but not in a way that should make you uncomfortable.
Posted by bill at 5:54 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Follow-up
About 10 minutes after posting that last entry, I opened up the paper and read a review of Bob Dylan’s show at the San Francisco Civic. If you can take Joel Selvin’s word for it—always an iffy proposition—Dylan opened with an obscure song called “Lenny Bruce.” This would help to explain my dream, if I’d been at the show or heard about it, which I wasn’t and didn’t. Still, I’m sure it’s all connected somehow.
Posted by bill at 8:53 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Paging Dr. Freud
One of my dreams last night involved a portrait of Lenny Bruce made out of cornflakes. This is odd, because I very rarely think of Lenny Bruce, and almost as rarely of cornflakes. I wonder sometimes how the subconscious constructs these things. Does it just dip into a pool of nouns and come up with something random? Could it have just as easily been a bust of Zero Mostel made from rice krispies? Should I be sitting here trying to figure out exactly what Lenny Bruce means, and what the cornflakes mean, and what it has to do with sex? Like I have time for that. Well, I do have the time, but not the inclination. Figure it out for me if you’d like.
Posted by bill at 8:25 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 16, 2006
Bigger than Jesus, and just as omnipresent
No heavy lifting today; the old melon feels entirely too squishy. Instead, a small detail from real life that I want to preserve by putting it down in pixels.
Saturday night Cecil and I were going to the movies and, after much hemming and hawing, we finally decided to see The US vs. John Lennon. The wisdom of this decision was confirmed, I thought, when I took my seat in Cecil’s Chariot of Fire and heard a Beatles song on the radio. As it turned out, our friends at KFOG had chosen that day to play every Beatles song in alphabetical order, so we got to hear “Rain,” both versions of “Revolution,” and “Revolution #9” on the way into San Francisco.
We found the theater and, somewhat pressed for time, opted for valet parking in the garage underneath. As we got out a Middle Eastern-looking gentleman stepped forward to take the keys. And what do you think his nametag said? That’s right: “Ringo.”
Posted by bill at 9:52 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 15, 2006
The Documents of Hector Maze: 8.2
For some indeterminate period I lay staring up into a seamless blue sky. Then in a matter of moments the sky filled with clouds and rain began to fall. But it was warm rain, and it felt good, so I stayed put. I closed my eyes and let the soft drops bathe me.
When the rain stopped I opened my eyes. The clouds departed just as quickly as they’d arrived and the warm sun returned. The water evaporating from my skin brought me a simple. material pleasure that had a nostalgic tinge to it…although nostalgia for what, I couldn’t say.
By the time I was completely dry, I noticed that the sun was getting low in the sky and the temperature had dipped a bit. I figured I’d better start looking for a place to spend the night, so I got dressed and started back into the forest.
I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for, but I figured I’d know it when I found it. Sure enough, after about a half-hour of wandering I found the entrance to a small cave and poked my head in. It was dark in there, but warm, and by now the evening was cold enough to make a cozy little cave seem appealing. I crawled inside and before long I was asleep, again, with the ripe loamy scent of soil in my nostrils.
And then I started to dream within my dream. This new dream was different, though. Now I was some kind of animal. A big cat, I think. Everything looked, sounded, and smelled sharper than it ever had before. I was a creature of pure sensation; no language, no extra thought, no inner conflict. A huge full moon glittered overhead like, well, like a huge full moon. Just that and nothing more.
Suddenly I became aware of something important in the vicinity. Something moving. And there it was, on a branch close by, pinned down by the pitiless moonlight: prey. Without hesitation I leapt, and before crushing it in my teeth I had just an instant to catch the last look in its eye, a look that had barely had time to begin developing into terror. Then I was chewing, feeling the bones crunch satisfyingly, the blood drip down my chin.
Yes…well…it sounds a bit strange now, I realize. In the moment it was just what was. That one kill didn’t fill my stomach; it took several more before I was ready to find a warm spot and curl up contentedly to digest.
When I opened my eyes again I was back in my cave with yellow-green morning light filtering in, facing a new day that was a complete mystery.
Posted by bill at 2:11 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
October 12, 2006
The Documents of Hector Maze: 8.1
I slept for a long, long, long time, and as I slept I dreamed. It was all one dream, an epic, a dream that felt more real than most of the rest of my life.
I found myself on a winding path under bright moonlight, the lights of the city behind me, the darkness of the mountains ahead of me. How did I know which was ahead and which was behind? I just knew, with the unquestioned certainty of dream logic.
I climbed and I climbed up a slope of black rock bleached gray by the moon. It was a long way up, but I was tireless, and eventually I reached the top and stood looking back at the city below. I thought of all the people there, the drama, the competition, the endless scrambling for survival and advantage. Then I turned my back and began making my way down the other side of the mountain.
Dawn was beginning to lighten the sky as I descended into the valley below. At the bottom was a stream where I stopped to quench my thirst. The water was the cool, clear, and indescribably delicious. This, I thought, is how the water in the Garden of Eden must have tasted.
On the other side of the stream a forest began, and I wandered into it heedless of where I was going or how I was going to get back. The first rays of sunlight were rippling through the canopy of trees and I gulped the air like it was food, rich and thick and chlorophylled. There was life all around but nothing was moving, nothing made a sound. It was like I’d walked into prehistory, before the first animal had opened its eyes. Had a tree ever fallen in this forest, with no one there to see it? Or was this before the advent of time, of decay, of death?
Eventually I came to a clearing and stood for a moment with my eyes closed, feeling the warm sunlight on my face. I couldn’t remember when something so simple had felt so good. A quick flash of my former life shot through my head—I was sitting in traffic on a rainy day, going nowhere, seething with pointless impatience and hatred for everything around me—but it all seemed very far away, with no relevance to to my current existence. I breathed in slowly, breathed out, opened my eyes. It was a beautiful day. There was a carpet of thick, deep green grass under my feet, and I was seized with the impulse to take my clothes off and lay in it for awhile. So I did.
Posted by bill at 11:48 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 11, 2006
The Spermamax Conundrum
So I got a piece of spam today with this subject line:
You want a girl, then try Spermamax.
And nothing else: no message body, no attachment, no URL. I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out what they mean by that. The most obvious interpretation is “Use Spermamax and you will get a girl.” But in my experience, girls generally prefer Spermaless, if not Spermanone—unless they for some reason want you to get them pregnant, which leads me to interpretation 2. Maybe they mean “If you’re intending to impregnate your good lady wife, and you desire a female child, then use Spermamax.” Which would make it something of a miracle product, although one not likely to sell well in China.
Or maybe it’s just some kind of bebop poetry, with no causal link implied. “You want a girl; then you try Spermamax; then you get hit by a bus.” But the darkest interpretation is “Use Spermamax and you will no longer want a girl.” If so, will it just make the whole thing happen in your head, like Digital Underground’s sex packets, so that no actual girl is necessary? Will it kill your sex drive altogether? Or will it turn you gay? ls it Spermamax that’s really to blame for the Mark Foley scandal? I’m sure the Republican Party would like you to think so. “Agents of the Homosexual Agenda dosed Congressman Foley’s Sobe with Spermamax; it’s not his fault.”
…and there’s the buzzer that tells me I’ve milked this very slim vein for all it’s worth. Thanks, you’ve been great. I’ll be here all week. Don’t forget to tip your waitress.
Posted by bill at 6:18 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
October 10, 2006
A true confession
So dedicated am I to this blog-off that, with midnight fast approaching, I came this close to passing up an opportunity to get laid in order to write something. This close.
And then I came to my senses.
Posted by bill at 11:09 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 9, 2006
Christopher Columbus, Meet John Lennon
Lennon flashes the peace sign, while Columbus rocks some kind of Illuminati hand jive.
Today is Columbus Day, which is probably my least favorite holiday of the year. Not that I have anything against Christopher Columbus per se. Mind you, I don’t want to go on record as being pro-Columbus, either. My official position is to remain firmly neutral on the whole topic. In San Francisco they’ll be having the country’s largest pro-Columbus (or “Italian pride”) parade; in Berkeley they’ll be somberly commemorating Indigenous Peoples Day; in Oakland I could really care less, except that Columbus Day always ends up being inconvenient in some way. Inevitably, if I’m expecting a desperately needed check, the lack of mail will screw me over; if I’m trying to make a crucial payment, the payment will be delayed. Could we please just abolish this contentious, inconsistently observed, wholly useless holiday once and for all?
In other news, it’s also John Lennon’s birthday. Of course Lennon was a Libra, and of course he was my favorite Beatle (although I’ve been listening to the magnificent All Things Must Pass a lot lately, and George has been gaining ground). Why not celebrate by listening (or relistening) to the Monkey Vortex classic John, Paul, and Brando?
And finally, the old calendar on the wall tells me that today is Canadian Thanksgiving. I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean. Presumably our neighbors to the north will be eating Canadian turkey with Canadian stuffing (a.k.a. bacon), then fall asleep on their Canadian sofas in front of Canadian football, dreaming whatever it is that Canadians dream.
Posted by bill at 7:53 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 6, 2006
Arrogance to Heatstroke
So what do underemployed editors do to occupy themselves? A lot of things, many of them not fit for discussion on a family Internet. But one is to flip idly through the dictionary. Doing this some years ago, I noticed some interesting juxtapositions at the tops of pages, where the first and last words on the page are printed in boldface. Seeing as I’m contractually obligated to post something today, and I don’t have any better idea, here are some examples. (I can hear that voice in the back of my head again—is it Capote or Cecil, or my conscience?—that high-pitched voice that wails “That’s not writing, that’s typing.” Quiet, you!)
arrogance to art form
assumed to astral
attic to auction
bean sprout to beaten
beret to beset
blurry to bob
chickenshit to Chilkoot Pass
crackbrain to cranberry bush
cupidity to curiosity
debonair to deceit
delivery room to Demerol
Derby to descending colon
descension to desire
destitution to determine
digger to diligence
ding to dioxin
direct action to dirty tricks
discarnate to discontented
disposable income to dissenter
distemper to distributed data processing
doggy bag to dolomite
double-time to Dow Jones Average
dreamland to drift
driftage to drive-in
Dumbarton to dunk shot
ejaculation to elder
emotional to EMT
ethereal to Etruscan
falsify to fan belt
fellah to fence-sitter
financial to finger paint
finger post to firebrand
first class to fish pole
fixate to flagpole
flirtation to floor
flouncing to fluffy
Flushing to flying fish
foreshadow to forgive
Fuehrer to full moon
functional shift to Furbish lousewort
heartbeat to heatstroke
Posted by bill at 11:57 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 5, 2006
I am lazy and arrogant
In case you hadn’t heard, I am currently engaged in a blog-off with my nemesis Cecil Vortex. You will probably hear Cecil whining and crying that today’s entry is a cheat, because it’s technically more typing than writing. Actually, less like typing, more like cutting and pasting. But screw you, Vortex! Take your Virginia Woolf books and your tea and crumpets and your pressed flowers and go sit in a meadow and write some more “poetry.” See if I care.
Anyway, I got some spam in German today, and just for kicks I ran it through Babel Fish to see what it said. I found the results amusing, and you may too:
Richly by search machines (www.thephilter.com)
Let me one equal get straight. I am lazy and arrogant. Everything is no matter to me, because I am simply much to realm. I am much to realm, in order to sit at all here and write this text. Therefore I will seize myself briefly. I earn each year over million euro with search machines, without doing much for it. Whether it pleases you or not, here goes it not around it to you to please, but therefore who you gladly exactly the same realm waerst like I, otherwise you would not read that here! You found this web page, because you would like to know as one by search machines become rich. There are many sides, which are concerned with in the InterNet how one makes money in the InterNet. Perhaps you already pursued or other idea. And? How were the concepts like that? Do you have to learn a course on a DVD bought around as one become rich? Were you impressed? I not! Not even a little! What do these sides promise? A few thousand euro in the month? Do you want to earn a few thousand euro in the month? That is ridiculous! I earn millions and if you knew like then it ill you would make! My income generates itself nearly automatically! Thus who am I?
I am that, which drives past in the Aston Martin at you and you think: “which for an arrogant asshole!” And do you know which? You is right. And do you know which? That does not interest me at all! Do you, which is important to me your opinion, mean? Your opinion is all the same to me! You find me arrogant? You can leave my web page at any time again! I do not write this text around friends to win, to show but over you, how one can earn millions! It is not a secret, which I sell on this web page my idea. If you see, what I make exact you will be surprised so which am possible!
Yours sincerely,
Putrid, arrogant search machines
Posted by bill at 3:12 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 4, 2006
Oh Happy Day
When the home computing revolution started 20-some years ago, we didn’t know exactly what it would lead to, but we expected that someday it would change the world as we knew it. When everybody started getting online in the early 90s, it became apparent that this new interconnectedness would lead to novel and unforeseen manifestations of human culture that would engender new ways of thinking and communicating and maybe even change our destiny as a species.
There were a lot of false starts and failed experiments along the way, but I’m here to tell you that the potential of the information age has finally been fulfilled. The very pinnacle has been reached, that perfect marriage of technology and content that we always dreamed of.
That’s right: Luann now has a MySpace page.
And I quote:
“About me:
Okay, there’s actually three of us here cuz we’re best buds - but Delta doesn’t know about this site yet and Bernice didn’t want her name up there so it’s called Luann, after me.
I was named after my uncle Lou and my aunt Ann - and that pretty much describes me: a mishmash. My emotions are roller-coasterish and my decision making like a ping pong ball. This, apparently, makes me normal for a 16 year old girl. I’m an optimist and a romantic. I love to laugh and have a good time. And I’m playful: that’s me with the big kissy lips.”
I could go on, but I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the pleasure of experiencing Luann’s universe first-hand. By all means, click on the link above right now, get Luann’s vital stats (she’s a Virgo!), read her blog, check out the (currently) 1049 people who have signed up to be her friends. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll feel vaguely sick and disturbed—but you’ll still come back for more, just like you do with the comic strip. Because, deep down, you really hate yourself.
Posted by bill at 2:32 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 3, 2006
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Continuing on yesterday’s theme, here’s what happened on the way home from the gym today:
As I walked through the Oakland Rose Garden, a film crew was taking their lunch break. In the middle of the grassy area to my left, a solitary table was set up with plates, silverware, and empty wine glasses. Behind it a huge reflector caught the sun, casting a powerful illumination that made me wince. (It’s amazing, I think, that more actors aren’t blind.)
I usually pick out one rose to smell on my way through the garden, and today I spotted a particularly attractive purple specimen. As I leaned over to sniff it, I was hit simultaneously by the lush, suggestive fragrance of the flower and by a flourish of flamenco; looking around, I saw a guy I hadn’t previously noticed sitting on a park bench with his guitar.
In Linda Park a crew of workmen was stripping the branches off the pine trees and feeding them into chippers, looking very much like orcs. They scared me a little bit, so I changed course to head down Oakland Avenue, only to discover that a block away a house was on fire and the street was full of fire trucks.
As I approached Piedmont Avenue, a man in powder blue sweatpants was pushing the most heavily laden shopping cart I’ve ever seen up the hill. This thing looked like a zeppelin on wheels. As I crossed his path he locked eyes with me and nodded as if to say, yup, this is all in your head. And yet as far as I can tell I’ve been awake since nine o’clock this morning. What does it all mean?
Posted by bill at 1:59 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
October 2, 2006
Gently down the stream
I don’t know if it’s the season, or disruptions in my sleep pattern, or the pounds of sinsemilla I’ve been smoking*, but life has taken on a distinctly dreamlike cast lately. Strange things have been happening, not necessarily exciting things, but enough to make me question if some sort of breach has opened between so-called “reality” and the world of dreams.
(*not really—I kid)
For instance, did a cute teenage hippie girl really wander into yesterday’s open mic and sing a lovely a cappella version of Syd Barrett’s “Dark Globe”? Did I really read about a bizarre dispute going on at the World Chess Championship, where it appears that one player has been sneaking off into the bathroom to cheat? Did the voice of Johnny Cash singing “I Heard That Lonesome Whistle Blow” really come drifting across the river in Crooked Creek? Dig Hugo Chavez really call George W. Bush the devil and start waving around a Noam Chomsky book? Did Leila really call me “banana boat”? I just don’t know anymore and, to some extent, I don’t care. Life is but a dream anyway, and as long as it’s a relatively pleasant and interesting dream, you won’t hear me complain.
Posted by bill at 6:01 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 1, 2006
You've got to pick up every stitch
I just realized that in Monday’s entry on fantasy covers, I made one important omission (important to me, anyway), and it has to do with Donovan’s “Season of the Witch.” I would like to hear it performed á la “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” If you don’t know this song, go find it right now and imagine it done with Pixies-derived loud/quiet/loud dynamics, the guitars kicking in on the chorus and Kurt Cobain shrieking “Must be the season of the witch!” at the top of his lungs. Dude, sweet.
Posted by bill at 6:28 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack