Question for the Beloved Readers

One of my ongoing projects is to clean up the older parts of this blog (fixing broken links, etc.). That’s how I came across this, written 18 years ago:

So here’s what I want, what I really really want: a computer program that will let you feed in the name of a song and the name of an artist, process for a few seconds, then spit out a believable cover version. For instance, I would like to hear Tom Waits doing “Joy to the World” (the Three Dog Night song, not the Christmas carol — can’t you just hear him croaking out “Jeremiah was a bullfrog”?), or Frank Sinatra singing the Velvet Underground’s “Sunday Morning.” I would pay real money to hear the Sisters of Mercy covering “You’re So Vain” or the Pixies’ version of “I’m So Tired.” In fact, I would probably have the Pixies do the whole White Album, just to hear what it sounded like.

(Here’s a link to the original post. Some of you reading this shared ideas back then.)

With the advent of AI, this is now most likely possible. And yet I hesitate to go there, sensing the presence of an infinite rabbit hole from which I might never emerge.

Your thoughts?

Cathartic Video of the Day

OK, so, yes, I have a weakness for these Downfall memes. This particular one is not only brilliantly done but therapeutic — Adolf gives vent to every feeling of frustration I’ve been experiencing over recent weeks and months and years.

Now doesn’t that feel better?

May 7, 2024

I’ve been workshopping new aliases for The Former President Who Shall Not Be Named. One option is Sleepy McFartsalot. I know the rumors that he has been filling the courtroom with clouds of noxious gas are probably just that, but it would be entirely in character.

There is no doubt that he has been, um, resting his eyes from time to time. And why wouldn’t he? He’s an old man, the proceedings are boring sometimes, and he can’t just press a button and get a Diet Coke. In truth it’s the most human and relatable thing he’s done in recent memory — you look at him and think, “That could be my racist grandfather nodding off up there.”1

Meanwhile the judge threatened to lock him up if he keeps violating the gag order, to which I say, “Juan, don’t tease me.” For years now I’ve been dreaming of seeing ol’ Sleepy in an orange jumpsuit. Ideally he would be without his bronzer and hair products for awhile, and America would finally get to see the withered husk beneath the shell. For all we know it would evaporate upon contact with the air.

“Where has the prisoner gone? There’s nothing in this cell but a terrible stench.”

Reading Report, April 2024

Books Acquired:
Star Trek: Log One, Alan Dean Foster
Sometimes a Great Notion, Ken Kesey

Progress Made:
The Rachel Papers, Martin Amis
The Alien Condition, Stephen Goldin (editor)
Loaded, Dylan Jones

Books Finished:
Great Jones Street, Don DeLillo

Great Jones Street is Don DeLillo’s rock’n’roll novel — his third book, vintage 1973. Its narrator, the whimsically monickered Bucky Wunderlich, is currently AWOL from his band’s ongoing tour, holed up in a dingy apartment on the titular thoroughfare. Despite a distinct and willful lack of action or movement, it has a rhythm to it, and pulls you right through its 265 pages.

But in the end I think DeLillo, like all your literary titans, doesn’t really get rock’n’roll. He’s just a little too much of an egghead to hunker down in the mud where the real music is. He wants to, bless his heart; his sensibility is just too refined.

GJS definitely has the feel of an Early Work, and the Pynchon influence is palpable, though it came out the same year as Gravity’s Rainbow. Maybe he was a big fan of V — which I realize now I’ve never read, and maybe I should — and/or The Crying of Lot 49.

I also read most of a book of science fiction stories called The Alien Condition but it was a mixed bag and toward the end some of them were so bad that I just skipped ahead. So I’m not giving myself credit for it. But I’m glad I picked it up — reading bad sci-fi gives you new appreciation for those who do it well, or at least competently, like my old friend Alan Dean Foster. I picked up Star Trek: Log One — the first of his collections of novelizations of Classic Trek episodes — because I already had Log Two, and I’m a little bit OCD that way. I don’t plan to get all 10, but I’m not promising I won’t either.

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Obituaries and Weddings Dept.

Of all the obituaries I’ve read lately, this one — of conjoined twins Lori and George Schappell — is the craziest. And I don’t mean that in a derogatory way, though it is full of details that will make you sit up and go “What?!?” It’s actually pretty inspiring that they were able to lead real lives despite all they had to deal with. Makes my bitching about how the wifi is slow today seem pretty dumb. Read the whole thing — it’s worth it, trust me.

Another recent departure was this one:

After he was paralyzed by polio at age 6, Paul Alexander was confined for much of his life to a yellow iron lung that kept him alive. He was not expected to survive after that diagnosis, and even when he beat those odds, his life was mostly constrained by a machine in which he could not move.

But the toll of living in an iron lung with polio did not stop Mr. Alexander from going to college, getting a law degree and practicing law for more than 30 years. As a boy, he taught himself to breathe for minutes and later hours at a time, but he had to use the machine every day of his life.

He died on Monday at 78, according to a statement by his brother, Philip Alexander, on social media.

He was one of the last few people in the United States living inside an iron lung, which works by rhythmically changing air pressure in the chamber to force air in and out of the lungs. And in the final weeks of his life, he drew a following on TikTok by sharing what it had been like to live so long with the help of an antiquated machine.

His story, too, is a wild one full of twists and turns, and similarly uplifting. Here’s a link to the whole thing.

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