As was noted by our (psuedo?) celebrity commenters last week, SXSW is nigh and the world is soon to descend.
Let'em have it, Johnny
In quasi-honor of this, I’ve concocted some posts that revolve around particular global locales. The first of the bunch, as you might have guessed, is Vietnam. And I promise, I ain’t gonna post a bunch of folky protest songs. Read on and see for yourself.
For two weeks I’ve traversed the path of love in song.
This was done in a pseudo-homage to the silly holiday that is Valentine’s Day. Now that we’ve paid our dues to the love gods, we must honor the other side of the coin: heartbreak. Just like its counterpart, the abstract notion of heartbreak is rife with possibility and flush with emotional interpretations. This week, we’ll take a look at a few tracks that mine the wealth of heartbreak.
For those that aren’t so big on the French language, this week’s title is a direct translation of last week’s title, Hearts on Fire.
Le baiser de l'hôtel de ville-Robert Doisneau
The material will be in the same vein as last week too, i.e. each song is amorous in nature as a commemoration to the Valentine Holiday.
The connection between St. Valentine and his namesake lover’s holiday is tremulous.
The Kiss-Alfred Eisenstaedt
It is based more on myth and embellishment than actual knowledge. Of course, I’m not the first to point this out. And I don’t say this to be sour. I am merely noting that the holiday is an utter creation. However, since it is such a widespread celebration these days, I’m putting away my own (small) personal qualms to lay out a list of wonderful love songs. Pour the champagne and cuddle up to your man.
Not to be confused with “The Philosophy of Time Travel“.
Aboot a year ago I wrote some musings about time travel and its implications here.
I like what I wrote there, and I stand by it, as much as it is possible to stand by such nonsense. Last night during Outstanding Vessel XLIV some friends and I had a funny thought: The only group who have yet to harness the power of time travel is the NFL. It guards this secret closely and uses it only for the judging of too-close-to-call plays.
How I imagine this would work is thus: Close play occurs, refs talk it over. if the play is under review, the head ref goes to his enclosed “camera booth” and pinpoints the location to have been standing to know definitively the outcome of the play. Once the location is determined, he is transported back in time to that exact spot, and carefully re-witnesses the play. Upon its conclusion he is automatically transported back to the booth in live time and emerges with the correct call. Everybody back home is happy.
However, the dimension that he just visited is immediately thrust into chaos. Millions of Americans who just witnessed a man appear and disappear on the football field are questioning their existence and calling their congressperson. In order to protect their secret, the NFL installed self destruct mechanisms on not only the time travel equipment but within everyone who knows about the system. Tiny capsules attached to the aortas of the ceos and all the referees of the league release a toxin that administers death immediately, painlessly, and in a manner that will resemble the heart attack that they were all slated to perish from anyways. The time travel equipment explodes in fiery booms of plutonium and flux capacitance. The world, or should i say, A world is thrust into a disastrous spiral, likely ending in cannibalism and bad attitudes.
But at least we got the call right.
Bob Dylan has been a favorite of mine as far back as I can remember.
Dylan album cover (photo by the incomprable Bruce Davidson)
Though I’ve had my own personal struggles with the music from time to time, but there is just so much wealth within it that I always return. It’s no secret that I’ve been stuck on covers recently, so I decided to give the kid from Duluth the treatment. It’s pretty easy to find great Dylan covers (just check out the soundtrack for I’m Not There, it’s fantastic) so I tried to stay out in left field with these.
In honor of my final day of work here in New Braunfels, a poem:
Your townies are sad
Your fake German culture is ‘wurst
Schlitterbahn sucks brat’
Forgive me if I forget to notice passing exits 184-187 for the rest of my life.
Mixtape
I made a “Best of” mixtape for the year ending 2009! You should download it and listen to it while you read about a whole bunch of depressing shit below…..or just download it and listen to it.
I’d be lying if I said I stayed hip to all these songs as they were released. I basically downloaded the best of lists from several prominent blogs, and filtered out what I enjoyed the most until I cracked the soon to be trivial 80 minute mark. YOU SEE WHAT I DO FOR YOU?
I thought it needed color....
In the 1800s, Ireland experienced mass emigration.
Those Irish eyes are smilin, Jay...
It is estimated that two in five Irish born people were living abroad. This massive migration of souls created a lasting societal impact in Ireland as well as here in America. A large piece of that impact is the musical legacy left behind by these millions of traveling souls.
delicious and deadly
Hello there chilluns. It’s been two weeks. I have been in bed for two weeks mulling over the National Championship game. I would still be there, but the artificial cheese dust from the puffy cheetohs i was subsisting on had begun to cause an allergic reaction with my retinas (wiping tears from one’s eyes and eating artificial cheese powder products are a dangerous combo – tell your family).
Sex Tiger, by Odeon
In response to a request from my main man Spoony Bones, I will now give my updated thoughts on Tiger Woods, in light of his “press conference”.
not even 8 blades can cut away the shame
Right off the bat I gotta say all the criticism of the press conference itself, who was invited, why he didn’t answer questions, etc., is preposterous. Is there some sort of post coitus press conference code I don’t know about that he was supposed to adhere to? These freakin’ writers, “If I had cheated on my wife with 22 women over the course of 5 years, I would have done my press conference this way…” Please, shut your mouth.
Now, my thoughts on his words summarized: “Bull Shit”.
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