Tuesday, May 15, 2007
All Tooth
At work, they're having some idiotic promotion in which we're going to "eliminate hunger". There are all these signs up, telling everyone how we need to eliminate hunger. Under the sign on my cube, I wrote: "But I'm hungry right now."
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What I don't understand is how he got the name "Winnie" the Pooh. Everybody calls him "Pooh" or "Pooh Bear". How did he get to be "Winnie the Pooh"? Is a winnie a type of pooh?
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I think the best voice in rock music has to be John Lennon. I'm not a big Lennon fan. I think it was that whole love-in, bed-in thing. Ick. But he had one hell of a voice. What in the world is cooler than his vocal on "Twist and Shout" or "I Am the Walrus"? Anything?
I think the best living voice in rock music has to be Britt Daniels of Spoon. He's got some range, and there's a lot of that Lennon edge in his voice. Just pop in "That's the Way We Get By" or "The Beast and Dragon, Adored". Spot-on.
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I got called "Buddy" at work today. By a guy I don't work with and only see in passing. He's not a real hard worker, but he's not a loaf either. There was a funny, knowing tone to his voice on the phone. I got the whole bit about him not wanting to do any work, and how he was sort of telling me how he wasn't going to do the work I'd assigned him. Truly, I don't really give a damn whether anyone does the work I give them -- as long as it's off my plate. What was striking was how practiced he sounded. See, I know all about this guy. I know he's got this agenda, and that he's working on getting out of here and into something better. But he's still playing the game with everybody. He's still pretending he's like the rest of us, in line, digging away. I wish I could just break his chain with my shovel and tell him to get the hell out of here, we don't need you anyway, and you're cheesy buddy-vibe just creeps everyone out.
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My favorite word lately, is "pile". I'm using "pile" all the time now. You know, as in, "That guy is a frickin pile." A pile of what, you ask? I think the listener can fill that in themselves. Everyone is a pile to me. GMAC, our mortgage company, is a pile because their crappy website was down half the day today. The guy next door is a pile because every time he mows his lawn, his grass blows all over this rose garden we just weeded. The president is a pile because he's a lame duck with no plan or ambition. The candidates for '08 are all piles because they don't have any independent thoughts. The guy at the high school who gave us shit about what door we came in is a pile because he didn't have to take it that far. ******* is a pile because she lied to everyone and still acts like it was normal. The guy at the liquor store is a pile because he gave my wife crap about leaving the dog outside. The woman in the checkout line is a pile because she is slower than molasses and won't make eye contact. You get the idea. Pile.
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I've been slowly reading this collection of Shirley Jackson short stories that I got for Christmas, and I read one yesterday that's so good -- I mean the writing is so strong -- that it has to be one of the best American short stories ever written. It should be read in schools everywhere. She's very simple and direct in her language, and doesn't give a whole lot of description or setup. But she can create a tone like no one else. She's been here all this time. Why haven't people noticed her?
--
I think, as a concert piece, the unannounced encore is dead. The band plays for a while. Then they say it's their last song. Everyone else knows otherwise. They all walk off. Two minutes later -- not even enough time to properly enjoy a beer -- they all return. And they're always so fake-surprised, aren't they?
It's just stupid.
Either tell the audience, "We'll be back in ten minutes," or don't do an encore. Unless of course the crowd really does earn it. If they're all still out there, screaming and pounding on the seats when the venue turns on the lights and the roadies are taking apart the set, then fine. But otherwise, it's dead. It died some time in the 80s, I think, and now it's all wink-wink, nudge-nudge. And who wants that at a rock show? For Christ's sake, it's not a network sitcom. It's rock and roll.
--
What I don't understand is how he got the name "Winnie" the Pooh. Everybody calls him "Pooh" or "Pooh Bear". How did he get to be "Winnie the Pooh"? Is a winnie a type of pooh?
--
I think the best voice in rock music has to be John Lennon. I'm not a big Lennon fan. I think it was that whole love-in, bed-in thing. Ick. But he had one hell of a voice. What in the world is cooler than his vocal on "Twist and Shout" or "I Am the Walrus"? Anything?
I think the best living voice in rock music has to be Britt Daniels of Spoon. He's got some range, and there's a lot of that Lennon edge in his voice. Just pop in "That's the Way We Get By" or "The Beast and Dragon, Adored". Spot-on.
--
I got called "Buddy" at work today. By a guy I don't work with and only see in passing. He's not a real hard worker, but he's not a loaf either. There was a funny, knowing tone to his voice on the phone. I got the whole bit about him not wanting to do any work, and how he was sort of telling me how he wasn't going to do the work I'd assigned him. Truly, I don't really give a damn whether anyone does the work I give them -- as long as it's off my plate. What was striking was how practiced he sounded. See, I know all about this guy. I know he's got this agenda, and that he's working on getting out of here and into something better. But he's still playing the game with everybody. He's still pretending he's like the rest of us, in line, digging away. I wish I could just break his chain with my shovel and tell him to get the hell out of here, we don't need you anyway, and you're cheesy buddy-vibe just creeps everyone out.
--
My favorite word lately, is "pile". I'm using "pile" all the time now. You know, as in, "That guy is a frickin pile." A pile of what, you ask? I think the listener can fill that in themselves. Everyone is a pile to me. GMAC, our mortgage company, is a pile because their crappy website was down half the day today. The guy next door is a pile because every time he mows his lawn, his grass blows all over this rose garden we just weeded. The president is a pile because he's a lame duck with no plan or ambition. The candidates for '08 are all piles because they don't have any independent thoughts. The guy at the high school who gave us shit about what door we came in is a pile because he didn't have to take it that far. ******* is a pile because she lied to everyone and still acts like it was normal. The guy at the liquor store is a pile because he gave my wife crap about leaving the dog outside. The woman in the checkout line is a pile because she is slower than molasses and won't make eye contact. You get the idea. Pile.
--
I've been slowly reading this collection of Shirley Jackson short stories that I got for Christmas, and I read one yesterday that's so good -- I mean the writing is so strong -- that it has to be one of the best American short stories ever written. It should be read in schools everywhere. She's very simple and direct in her language, and doesn't give a whole lot of description or setup. But she can create a tone like no one else. She's been here all this time. Why haven't people noticed her?
--
I think, as a concert piece, the unannounced encore is dead. The band plays for a while. Then they say it's their last song. Everyone else knows otherwise. They all walk off. Two minutes later -- not even enough time to properly enjoy a beer -- they all return. And they're always so fake-surprised, aren't they?
It's just stupid.
Either tell the audience, "We'll be back in ten minutes," or don't do an encore. Unless of course the crowd really does earn it. If they're all still out there, screaming and pounding on the seats when the venue turns on the lights and the roadies are taking apart the set, then fine. But otherwise, it's dead. It died some time in the 80s, I think, and now it's all wink-wink, nudge-nudge. And who wants that at a rock show? For Christ's sake, it's not a network sitcom. It's rock and roll.
