Saturday, January 31, 2009

The Boy Speaks

Yesterday, while we killed time waiting for "the procedure", we enjoyed the beautiful afternoon in our back yard. As my wife and I sat the Boy wandered out. He laid down on the bench of his playtable, shut his eyes and didn't stir. I asked, "What are you up to, Boo?"

"Oh, I just enjoying the sun." As he spoke a puff of wind fluttered his hair across his forehead. Then he added lazily, hands clasped upon his chest, eyes still closed, "Hmm, it a touch breezy today."

My wife and I laughed as we always do when something absurdly adult comes out of his mouth, especially when he is as likely to have answered, "Cookie, cheese, konk!"

He speaks like that so often. Yesterday morning, while at the park he said to his sister, "We shouldn't walk on the grass. Much better that we use the pavement."

Is it normal for a 3 year old (closing in on 4) to speak like that? To sound like Noel Coward?

Friday, January 30, 2009

The Fix

Apologies for the lack of posts but I've been rather contemplative, what with Threepeat's accomodation arrangements. I also have a little procedure scheduled for this afternoon that will put an end to our reproductive ways. Now that will get a man to thinking.

So forgive me my literary failings while I come to terms with my self-authorized "gelding", as it were. My weekend will no doubt be spent with a pack of frozen peas in my nether region and a 100 yard stare on my visage.

Um, apologies as well for the visual.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

The End Is Nigh

That's it. The economy is officially trashed - done for - completely screwed. The post office, due to massive deficits, has told congress it may need to drop one day of mail delivery a week - like say, Tuesdays - in order to balance the books.

Man, we can't even deliver the mail anymore.

What next? Electricity only on odd numbered days?


I don't know if you wander over to Forest Roxx, Curry's music blog that I occasionally contribute to, but there are quite a few tasty treats to be found there.

I did a post there recently about the relatively unheralded guitarist, Clarence White, who died tragically in 1973 at the age of 29 when he was hit by a drunk driver while loading gear in his car after a gig. He was stunning - one of the founders of country rock, an innovator on the guitar like few others, a truly magnificent artist and a bit of an obsession of mine this week after a little reminder I got from the Padre.

I put together an assemblage of three songs to show off his remarkable abilities and amazing creativity. It's just audio with some images added.

The first is The Byrds (he was a member) live at Fillmore West doing King Apathy (a song that could be a template for half of Uncle Tupelo's act) - Clarence is frightening.

The second is The Kentucky Colonels (his family's bluegrass band) doing Fire On The Mountain in less than a minute - Clarence is too fast for words.

The last is the overlooked Gosdin Brothers doing Tell Me on which Clarence was a very young hired gun. It's White's masterpiece - listen as he takes a simple but tasty moon, spoon, june song and explodes it, especially the last 50 seconds, with (to use an old bebop term) bomb after bomb after bomb.


The Padre, a pretty decent authority on White, hadn't ever heard the Gosdin Brothers track before today (it's pretty rare and obscure). When he heard it this afternoon he texted me. This is what he called the last solo of the song.

"Psychobilly, freeform, modally syncopated hickshred"

That about sums it up.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Rabbit Is Dead

I never appreciated his books till I heard him reading from one aloud. After that, his voice - its timbre and melody - resonated every time I read a passage. He was the first author that taught me to enjoy real, grown-up, adult books - made certain I experienced them rather than simply plodding through them. For that I am eternally grateful.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Separated At Birth

The previous post with the pic of Curry brought a complaint from the man himself about his choice in spectacles at the time the photo was taken, followed by an oath from him that the person was actually his identical cousin. That started me thinking.

Then it dawned on me!


The impending birth of our kid has me thinking about old friends (I have no idea why). So gang, my thoughts are with you of late...

The Padre in his element

RC and me, too many years ago to contemplate

Curry, young, but bemused

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Soul Disturbance

Like a Carver short story. Blaize, who posts altogether too infrequently, has offered a soul disturbing (and voyeuristic) view into another time and life. It reads like whispers from the past.

Painless Childbirth Operation

We are preparing for the arrival of Threepeat. Loads of nesting and whatnot.

The critter will be delivered by a midwife - actually a nurse-practitioner who is a certified in midwifery and has delivered more than 5000 little humans. We will also have a doula as they're a perk offered by the hospital at no cost and take a little burden off me. As she did with the previous two, the real bearer (of the burden), my wife, plans to go through it without the aid of meds - a real trooper, she. For our day and age it will be (we hope) a relatively crunchy (if increasingly more common) method of bringing another person into the world.

As opposed to say, this, from Life Magazine, 1944, titled Painless Childbirth Operation...

Note the crowd required. Note the direct contradiction of the article's title, "Painless Childbirth Operation", in the mother's face. Note the absense of the sperm donor, dad. But best of all, note in the last frame, as the newborn is presented to mom, a nurse pins her hands above her head. In the entire pictorial essay there is no photo of mom holding child.

Medicine in this country screwed up the very natural act of birth for about a half a century. Only now are we getting it back, but the rise of the cesarean section threatens to rob us of those gains. From birth "operations" to formula feeding to disposable diapers, the litany of stupidity goes on and on. We are one dumb culture if we can't get the basics of reproduction and post-natal nurture right.

Daddy Knows Best

Daddy has sex and makes babies with 13 year old daughter for 6 years. Mom seems to be ok with that. Four children are produced from the incestuous union but three get ill and are denied medical attention lest the family secret be discovered. Those three offspring die and two of their bodies are kept in coolers at the family homestead. Daughter says daddy fathered all four; daddy claims only two of them were his (as if that somehow mitigates his actions).

Ain't that heartwarming?

The Disgust. The Repulsion. The untethered Anger.

I note this story for but two reasons:

The Padre is from Harrisonville.


Nancy Grace has hit the mother lode, giving her enough material for all of 2009 (and that makes the story even more objectionable, if possible).

Have a great weekend now... if you can.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

From This Day Forward...

Thank you Mr. Obama, for restoring our dignity.

As of this day the United States of America will abide by its core values, not just when it is easy to do so, but also when it is difficult. We will no longer torture people.

We are once again human beings.

Except for Dick Cheney, who, by presidential decree, can now be used in perpetuity as an Indonesian bamboo planter.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

My Excuse

I really had planned to. It was all laid out in my mind. The innocuous, reminiscing open that was seemingly unrelated. The transition to the topic at hand that moved so smoothly you didn't even know you were being turned. The historical references - both personal and not. The gathering and inclusion of my children in the moment. The dichotomy of feelings and the double-edge that carries. A torch-passing. And lastly, a light flick to unburden the self-importance of it all.

I really had it done. It was complete in my head for literally months. Refined, polished and perfect, but for the actual word to page. And then...

I just didn't see the point. And I just soaked in the day's sights and sounds, felt it wash over me. And I realized that even if all the professionals talked about was race, I voted for a man - the best man in perhaps several generations for the job - and I didn't notice race at all. I still don't, despite their best efforts (good or ill) to focus me on it.

Maybe that's the real story - an entire generation of us that just don't notice.

Anyway, sorry for the failure to post. I was busy enjoying the day.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

My Mouf

I had a little oral surgery yesterday. They put in an implant after removing an old root-canaled tooth that had cracked irrepairably. I was under general anesthesia for the procedure and the doc hit me with a local as well. Today, some 24 hrs after the surgery, I still have novocaine numbness. It isn't what it was yesterday but wow... I am still drooling. Unless he cut the nerves I guess there's no reason for concern, and to be honest the fact that he drilled a titanium post into my jaw means a little residual numbness is welcome.

The family, meanwhile, is quite pleased I'm blathering far less frequently - not so much the drooling, though.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

A Done Deal

The guy is apparently going through with it. He went and got his presidential picture took. That makes it more official than any dumb oath. Please don't use this image for porn, OK?

Oh, and now that it's all official and everything does that mean David Plouffe can stop asking me for more money? Friggin guy is worse than the Nigerian dude with the cash flow problem. Sent me an email the other day from "Jill Biden" - what the fuck did she do to them that she has to get her named slapped up on the header as punishment?

Damn, enough, you won already.

And you can't seriously think I'm going to donate to get rid of HRC's campaign debt, cause if you do, seriously - you're a bunch of crackheads.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009


The Girl, as I have mentioned before, has some issues with her speech and has been diagnosed as significantly delayed. She speaks - a lot - but is frequently unintelligible. We spend a great deal of time asking her to repeat herself and then discussing amongst ourselves what exactly it is she is trying to communicate. It's frustrating for us, but even more so for her, as you might imagine.

Enter the Boy. Of late, as we stand staring at the Girl in befuddlement and she grows increasingly exasperated at our failure to understand her desire or statement or joke or observation, her older brother will non-chalantly toss out a translation. It will always be correct. It will always be exactly what it is she is trying to say. He has become an oracle.

How does he do this?

Widget = FAIL

If you follow the Threepeat status widget you may notice it's stupid beyond belief. That's why I have it. This week, however, it has reached an apex of ineptitude. Note the "progress this week":

"This week more the baby gets an oily vernix all over"

Is this translated from another language?

"I Still Can't Accept What A Nob I Am"

Shine On

Vivian Kubrick, at the tender age of 17, was allowed by her father to shoot a documentary about the making of The Shining. Set aside about a half hour, it's intimate and fascinating.

via sullivan

Incongruence #5, Irony Unbound #1

Seagrams ad,1945

Crossposted from my de-moted vision blog

Monday, January 12, 2009

An Addition

Yesterday I went a little nuts with images. They seem to be an obsession of late. Forgive me. To save you all the burden of wading through them if you would rather not, I've created a new blog to be my imagery playground for various and sundry themes.

If you're interested, it's De-moted Vision.


The Boy, as he does occasionally, watched me pee this morning. As I went about my business he announced quite loudly, "When I grow up I'm gonna have a big penis too!" Since he's only ever seen his penis and mine I think he may short-changing himself with his idea of "big".

A Working Joe

Hey, Joe the Plumber's first day on his new job as a War Correspondent. He is very inquisitive. He is sympathetic. He is amazing. Just watch.

I like that as a war reporter he has decided that we shouldn't have any war reporters and should just go to the movies and cheer like they did during the Crusades and the Civil War when a bunch of old, dead people were younger and not dead.

Appoint Joe the Plumber, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Everything right now!

Art Of Cool #16

Glenn Gould

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Art Of Cool #15

Robinson Jeffers

Art Of Cool #14

John Lautner

Art Of Cool #13

Hans Wegner

Art Of Cool #12

Buck Owens

Art Of Cool #11

Uta Hagen

Art Of Cool #10

Don Van Vliet

Art Of Cool #9

Wanda Jackson

Art Of Cool #8

Stephen Hawking

Art Of Cool #7

T-Bone Burnett

Art Of Cool #6

John Cassavetes

Art Of Cool #5

Anita O'Day

Art Of Cool #4

Harlan Ellison

Art Of Cool #3

Richard Diebenkorn

Art Of Cool #2

Diana Rigg

Art Of Cool #1

Django Reinhardt

I don't pretend to have any great insight into "cool". If I did, I would be. I just know, that I know it when I see it. So from time to time I will offer up my those that display the genuine "Art of Cool". They may have fucked up in any number of ways, but they will always remain in some magical, intangible way, Cool.

Incongruous #10

James Dean, Ronald Reagan

Incongruous #9

Dolly Parton, Keith Haring

Incongruous #8

Marty Allen, Betty Ford

Incongruous #7

Ann Coulter, Al Sharpton

Incongruous #6

Sigfreid & Roy, Leni Riefenstahl

Incongruous #5

Rosemary Clooney, Boris Karloff

Incongruous #4

Leonid Brezhnev, Chuck Conners

Incongruous #3

Pierre Salinger, Blondie

Incongruous #2

Jackie Gleason, Salvador Dali, John Perona, Johnny Ray

Incongruous #1

Linda Blair, Keith Moon, Linda Lovelace

Sunday Image #10

Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, 1947

Sunday Image #9