...more recent posts
the sunny side of the street
I was wondering about those ubiquitous Chevy ads, the "walking on the sun" campaign. Did they buy a Zombies song and re-write it? No, Christopher Caldwell of NY Press explains that it's Smash Mouth, in the process of selling out. (see "In Any Event" down the page) But I don't buy his critique. It's not that these folks don't understand irony; the situation is the height of irony, or what irony used to mean. In fact, it's so ironic it's subversive, but in the wrong direction. Nowadays irony is just the echo chamber of meaninglessness; postmodernism's aversion to any commitment requiring a value judgement. 'Course I knew that years ago, which is why I thought the Clash were a joke even then. Smash Mouth and the admen are all of one condition: nobody sells out anymore; they just buy in. And the moral is: the only thing you have to pay the Zombies is homage.
Get your war on, page 13: Get your Exx on.
live set and interview with "big al anderson" of the wild weeds and nrbq
Thomas Friedman is at it in the Times again, this time attributing
the cooldown of nuclear tensions over Kashmir to GE,
American Express, Dell, and other enlightened companies
who job out white collar coolee labor in India. Seems those
companies would have to take their high tech crap jobs
elsewhere because of the danger, so the indentured
servants put pressure on the Indian government to stand
down. To Friedman this is another example of how wonderful
global capital is. Not a word is said about all the money and
jobs and training being exported from the US because the
Indians are willing to work for so much less. On the subject
of Hindus, we can only hope Friedman will be reincarnated
as a minority American in an inner city with poorly funded
schools and no industrial base.
Pardon me for raining on Steve Fossett's parade, but isn't
his "world record solo balloon flight" a bit of a cheat? First, it
took him, what, eight tries? Second, he had bottomless
funding to keep making high-tech improvements on his
balloon technology. And finally, and most damning, if you
start in Australia, fly to New Zealand, and keep going east till
you hit Australia again, that's circumnavigation, sure, but not
so impressive and lengthy a voyage as starting and ending
on the equator. And the "southern route" is basically what he
did. I wince every time I hear some media ho refer to him as
a "world record holder." Oh well, at least it wasn't Richard
Branson.
memo from samoa : According to a drunk guy who residents at Bellevue Hospital in New York
City, It will be an another strange lounge act will be committed by Samoa a
front man of The Lonely Samoans and NYC's latest lounge band sensation "The
Mood Illusion".
This Sunday August 11th at The lakeside lounge
162 Avenue B. 212.529.8463
7:00 till 8:30 It's friggin FREE!!!!!!!
Starts 7:00pm sharp! as razor which you could use for suicide or could use
for plastic surgery.
i only caught the last few minutes of this documentary about a young vietnamese girl who comes to study in america but wish i had seen more. can you imagine the image of america one would construct if you were plucked from your home and stuck with a family of uncaring rednecks for your senior year of high school in rural mississippi?
Summer in the City
Hot town, summer in the city
Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Been down, isn't it a pity
Doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city
All around, people looking half dead
Walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head
But at night it's a different world
Go out and find a girl
Come-on come-on and dance all night
Despite the heat it'll be alright
And babe, don't you know it's a pity
That the days can't be like the nights
In the summer, in the city
In the summer, in the city
Cool town, evening in the city
Dressing so fine and looking so pretty
Cool cat, looking for a kitty
Gonna look in every corner of the city
Till I'm wheezing like a bus stop
Running up the stairs, gonna meet you on the rooftop
But at night it's a different world
Go out and find a girl
Come-on come-on and dance all night
Despite the heat it'll be alright
And babe, don't you know it's a pity
That the days can't be like the nights
In the summer, in the city
In the summer, in the city
Hot town, summer in the city
Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Been down, isn't it a pity
Doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city
All around, people looking half dead
Walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head
But at night it's a different world
Go out and find a girl
Come-on come-on and dance all night
Despite the heat it'll be alright
And babe, don't you know it's a pity
That the days can't be like the nights
In the summer, in the city
In the summer, in the city
-the spoonful
Mr. Wilson I just discovered that it is not possible to post on your page, what's that all about? I have been experiencing that flit, unfortunately the flit's are cock roaches. Where are you? Do you know what night it is?
I rarely regret cable TV, but I would like to see this one: a documentary focusing on Detroit in the late sixties, and how the World Series winning '68 Tigers salved the wounds of the previous year's race riots. I was nine that summer, and barely cognizant of such matters, but I do remember the remarkable nature of that season. It was the year I got socialized. I'd never had any interest in sports, but that spring they had us playing T-ball at school, and as the Tigers gained momentum the interest among my peers was so pervasive that I couldn't help but become a fan. It was one of the few times I've wholeheartedly been involved in something so unabashedly mainstream. It was the year that Denny McLain won 31 games. That was (and remains) an amazing figure. My Dad told me stories from his childhood about Dizzy Dean, the St. Louis eccentric, and the last pitcher to win as many as 30. That had been in 1934, thirty-four years earlier; an unfathomable gulf for a child to contemplate. Now it's thirty-four years since '68, and while I've got a broader perspective on time, I'm no closer to understanding it. McLain seems as far away as Diz, yet I can recall the year's events as if it were last season. Mostly I heard them on the radio, narrated by Ernie Harwell, Detroit's Hall of Fame play-by-play man, who is retiring this year at age 84. Despite dominating the American League, the Tigers were Series underdogs against the champion Cardinals. They had Bob Gibson, who set the ERA record that year, but "only" managed a record of 22 and 9, which goes to show why '68 is remembered as the "year of the pitcher". He easily defeated McLain in their two series match-ups, but our number two guy, pot-bellied southpaw Mickey Lolich, emerged as the hero, winning three games. He beat the invincible Gibson in the deciding seventh game, pitching on short rest, as the Tigers came back from a 3 games to 1 deficit to win their first series since 1945. It remains one of the most satisfying experiences of my life. The next year, I found out that (Yankees aside) sports is really about your team losing more often than it wins. Denny McLain ended up in jail as a two-bit mobster, and I haven't had much satisfaction from the mainstream since.
i forgot how sucky daytime tv is.
From NY Press, John Strausbaugh talks to Richard Metzger about the travails of Disinformation.
oh yeah, lomax died
help your country, spy on your neighbors
Name:
Joe
Whore:
white house press corps
Date:
07/08/2002
Testimonial
God! How inept are these people! It's not about the #4 form people! It's about selling on insider information! Unbelievable. Shoot me now.
Montana Postcard
Hope there are some better pictures out there; we’ll scan ‘em if necessary. Mine are mostly landscape, and don’t include all participants (or do justice to those they do include). Nor do they show the incredible series of meals produced and consumed. I’m sure you’ll see more of such things, but this is what I’ve got. Wish you were there.
this guy hijacked abaton book company (marianne nowottny) website too.
Back at work on the third of July; an abrupt transition. Head still full of canyons and meadows and rivers and mountains, receding now behind the city, but still there, finding a way through the cracks, the gaps, all the little spaces never quite paved over, in the city or in the mind.
I want to thank our hosts once more:
The RenHillWalls, who put us up in Bozeman, providing various sorts of guidance.
The Copelands, who installed us in their amazing Lucky Dog Lodge on the Gallatin.
The MacFaddens, whose beautiful cabin on the Smith River is no more than a fitting setting for their jewel of a daughter, Sarah, who was the major motivator behind the whole adventure.
Thanks to all, and to all the friends, old and new, who shared the good times.
May we meet again.
We’re back.
More or less.
Please allow for a brief recovery period.
Grand trip amid grandeur and intimacy
Returns to remains that won’t go away.
Be glad you’re gone;
Be glad you’re home.
Be glad.
Be somewhere.
More later.
wont get fooled again
tree house
update on recent webcasting ruling :