product placement

Worst. Product. Placement. EVER.

Thank God For Laughter

While I was surfin' the interwebitudes the other day, I found Jesus. He was right here on MySpace, and boy was he funny! So I bought the download and it's actually better than I thought it would be. Props to Abie Bowman and his really fine "Jesus: The Guantanamo Years."

BTW, this has content that will piss several people off, even though Jesus doesn't use any bad words, but those of my friends who are quite religious might be a bit uncomfortable about some of the content, so be forewarned... not to mention that it's really hilarious to hear Jesus rip on Monty Python!

I Love Music (Despite the People in Charge of It) Part 3

They just can't help themselves... the RIAA, along with all the record companies and the accountants, lawyers, sycophants, and the rest of the dinosaurs in the music industry that don't actually do anything to make the music, the lifeblood of their "business," they're all just working hard to help the artist.

Oh yeah. Right. Ye Gods.

OK, just a serious note to any and all musicians. DO IT YOURSELF. Don't sign any record contracts, just go totally indie. It worked for Ani and it can work for you, but it'll be the hardest job you'll ever love.

... and I promise that I won't go past part 3 on this series of ILM(DtPiCoI). I'll probably have to come up with something a bit more pithy, like 'Frak the Music Industry.'

Meanwhile, former governor Mike Huckabee is playing air hockey with Texas on the Colbert Report.

Ye Gods.

Music and Politics

Again, here we have another case of a politician using popular music to fire up the crowd during appearances. And, like Reagan with "Born In the USA" (and, I'm sure, others before and after), no one paid attention to the damn lyrics or even asks the particular performer if they can use their songs.

[Not that one would have to - after all, as long as you're paying the performance royalties, it really shouldn't matter until you piss someone off and they ask you to stop. But I guess I was just raised better than that... and hell, I wouldn't run for office anyway; that's another story for another time.]

It seems to be a problem with Republicans more than Democrats. After all, Clinton and Kerry had the good sense to ask the actual artists to perform in some venues, but you never hear of Democrats being asked to not play an artist's music. Of course, it could be that more artists like Democratic candidates, but there's always Ricky Martin or the Oak Ridge Boys.

Then again, can't you just imagine someone playing "She Bangs" at a Hillary Clinton event?


UPDATE: Can't plead ignorance, Mac should've known better - or someone close to him should've been able to advise him better.

Ah crap, not again!

For me, first it was the 45. I collected my favorite music, one at a time, on those nice round hunks of vinyl with colorful labels surrounded by black grooves of joy. When there was a price hike on 45's back in the seventies, I actually appeared on the local news on a "kid on the street" interview where I explained that my favorite record store was a bit pricey for me, and I would occasionally "cheat" on 'em by buying some of the more popular singles at Woolworth's.

When I got old enough to discover that singles came from albums (and yet not quite old enough to know where babies came from), I immediately launched into my LP collection. I remember buying the first KISS record in Washington DC with my Uncle Buck in tow. I hadn't seen the first KISS record back home in SC, so I figured it was a rarity. (Many years later, I got a much better idea about rare records, but hey, I was still a kid then, OK?)

And my precious 45's fell by the wayside.

The first CD I ever heard was Abacab by Genesis, in a stereo store on Two Notch Road across from Columbia Mall, back in the early 80's. There was no sound of the needle on vinyl, just a sudden blast from the speakers that, in my mind, was just like those old Maxell ads, blowing everything else away. For several years I still collected LPs, but I knew what was going to happen next - I'd get a CD player and tape my favorite albums so I could get the best recording and listen to them in my walkthing.

I was actually a little late to the game in purchasing a CD player, mainly because I had so many cassettes and LPs. I could borrow an LP from a friend, tape it and give it back, and still enjoy that music in my car or when I just wanted to slap on the headphones and drift away.

The first CD I bought was the soundtrack to the movie "Bird." I bought it before I even had a CD player. A friend of mine was giving his wife a CD player for Christmas but had no where to hide it. So, we carefully unboxed it and attached it to my stereo so she would think it was my CD player and have no clue that, once Christmas was near, it would go back into the box, get wrapped and sit under the tree for her. Having that CD player for about a month or so pretty much converted me, and I bought a CD player myself just after the holiday, as well as joining a mail-order CD club to start building my collection of CDs.

And my precious LP's fell by the wayside. Eventually, so did my cassettes, as CD players became ubiquitous in my house, my car, and as a walkthing for slapping on headphones and drifting away.

Today I still swap CDs with friends, and I also purchase digital downloads for listening on one of the four different mp3 players available to me (including the PC I'm using to access and write this blog). It's been some time since I bought a CD - actually, it was Christmas, and they were for my wife. Of course, there's all sorts of music available on the web, and I have a little collection of my favorite music sites that keep me tuned in to what's happening now. And don't forget those great streaming options as well! Hey, I've got a lot more space on my hard drive(s) than I do in my shelves for new music.

So I wasn't really shocked or surprised to read about the death of the CD this morning (thanks to a lovely link from the always interesting Largehearted Boy). I believe we've seen this coming for quite some time, but it was nice to read the write-up.

Ya think someone will let Dougie know?

for whom my heart weeps

I heard the story of the two women who blew themselves up in pet markets in Iraq as I was getting dressed yesterday. It was before 6 AM and I was preparing to go to work; I had just stepped out of the shower.

I'm a pet owner and have always loved my furry friends, from my first cat (Cougar) as a kid, through college (having cats in my off-campus apartments, sometimes without the knowledge of my landlords) and single life, and even now as my wife and I share our home with Murphy, Buster, and Peekaboo (the spelling of whose name is a controversy in my house, since my wife swears she named her after the skier).

So I'm immediately saddened thinking of the poor dogs, cats, birds, fish, turtles, and who knows what other kinds of animals were in those stalls as some disillusioned, perhaps brainwashed woman walks up and ignites a bomb strapped to her body, killing in the name of scaring the hell out of us.

Then later yesterday I hear that both of those women had Down Syndrome. They most likely never understood that they were going to their death; indeed, the bombs were not set off by their hand, they were activated by remote control, by someone else at a safe distance, someone else who knew they were sending not just the innocent to their deaths but two women who were so much more than innocent... what is the word for that?

My eldest brother, Jim, had Down's. Back in the sixties, they didn't use the term Down Syndrome, they used the term mongoloid, which was a reference to the way the eyes slant in those children. Jim was very severly retarded; he only ever showed that he recognized my mother. Unlike some Down's children, Jim would never be able to care for himself, and, at the recommendation of professionals, he was admitted to a facility that would be able to give him the 24-hour care he needed.

I have very few memories of Jim; I was quite young and not very well myself, and only saw him when we visited the facility where he lived. Jim never knew me or my father, or at least he never responded to us in any way recognizable. Jim died at the end of the sixties.

I wish that I could talk to Jim now. I wish that I could call up his face easily in my mind. I am so desperately sad about those two women who never understood their fate and madder than hell about the evil that exploited them. It's hard to see the screen at this point, and I'm just not sure why I have kept typing... but one thing sticks with me.

Most of the pictures you see of Down Syndrome children show them smiling. Of the Down's kids I've met, they seem to have a genuine aura of love around them, and they have a happiness and a joy that is infectious. They are enjoying what they're doing as they're doing it, something that I have certainly struggled with in my life.

In my mind I can see these two women now, out among people at the market, people who they did not know but who also did not know them. They were probably enjoying the sunshine and the sounds of commerce and birdsong. They were probably smiling that lovely, happy smile, content with the moment, when the bombs that were strapped to their bodies ripped them apart.

Some Stuff You Just Can't Make Up.

I thought he was kidding. I know Uncle Keithy likes to joke around, but really...

The Attorney General of the United States has a picture of George Orwell hanging in his office.

Because he likes the author's writing style.




Hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooolllllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee shit, people.




Just in case you were wondering - 357 days left to go.