what do i have to do to prove my love to you?
1983. Milwaukee, WI brings to us our album of the day. Opening with the ever popular among movies, radio, tv and obnoxious sing-a-longs Blister In The Sun – a song I always skip past. But we also have Kiss Off, Add It Up and Gone Daddy Gone. It’s full of charming hatred and lust.
This record is so good. Malkmus, Reed (big claims here) and Gordan Gano – he sings, he talks and he bo do wah du waohp whops his choruses. Painful love and sex has never sounded so harsh and, well, good. I hope this band never becomes forgotten. Listen to the whole record (download here). That’s your assignment of the day.
(In other news, my biking wounds have healed nicely. No more limp on a harsh knee, my face is pretty much back to normal (insert joke here) and my shoulder has one hell of a scab on it. Back in the saddle, I’ve never felt more fit.)
(Also, making it to Ithaca for Memorial Day weekend. If you’re around the area/there, I’d like to see you – whoever you are.)
Fun things are happening in the New Yorker. I was surprised to read a Shouts & Murmurs in the anniversary edition by Tina Fey. Then I was excited to read that she has a memoir coming out next month! Since it is locked to online readers via subscription only, no link available.
Then, I picked up the next copy and saw our (funny? not funny?) friend Demetri Martin had been the Shouts & Murmurs contributor. Pleasant, funny and with interesting structure to it, I laughed outloud on the Metro (while, gag, traveling to work to deal with Voice Tracks on a Saturday morning). It made my ride much shorter, especially since the red line had (always has) track maintenece delaying it.
I love the New Yorker. Easily, it’s my favorite magazine. I love to read David Denby tear people a new one and Anthony Lane be sympathetic to mainstream comedies.
Yesterday the new issue came in the mail. Overlooked at first, during my second entire flip through I noticed the fiction by David Foster Wallace. His last novel is being published this Spring. Angeline asked me where he lives. I replied, “He’s dead. He killed himself in 2008.” Actually, was good friends with Jonathan Franzen and Dave Eggers. I hear genius-assholes travel in packs.
And if you haven’t gotten your fill of Scientology, this article is FASCINATING. It’s long. In a nut – it’s about a man named Paul Haggis. He was one of the highest-up leaders of the Church of Scientology. Reccently stepped down because the church refused to speak out against the repeal of the Prop 8 decision in California. It not only chronicles his story (he wrote Million Dollar Baby and Crash) but a detailed history (like I said, it’s long) of Scientology in Hollywood, which is gripping.
I sent this around to few, and can’t remember if I’ve mentioned Tom Ewing before. He’s the Poptimist columnist at Pitchfork. The most recent contributition of his discusses Lady Gaga, her popularity, idiocy and genius. We might hate her, or love her. But she is doing something right, right? (Aside from the meat dress.) I don’t like her, and I barely can list her songs let alone sing along to any of them. Honestly. Although I do believe there is something to be said about her.
Also, thanks for this Mary.
yup
Raz-Barry?
Cuh::Bird?
I see no need for a “P”
What a phantom letter
It’s stuff like this that makes me miss being a student. The fact that I actually got credit for writing stuff like this makes me long to be in a writing course again…
Explorations in semantics: Analysis of single words’ ambiguities.
Maintenance is a multi-faceted word. It can refer to cleaning and upkeep. People perform maintenance on cars, bikes, grills, etc. not when they’re broken – but to keep them from becoming broken. There is preventative maintenance; flossing teeth to prevent cavities, icing muscles to prevent soreness, sweeping dust to prevent the formation of bunnies. And of course the maintenance of reputation, as many politicians know, to keep appearances. All of these uses of the word are sewn with the common thread that all things deviate.
Confidence is more than just “guts.” It’s faith, optimism, and hopefulness. Confidence is also secrecy, telling someone a personal piece of information that is not to be shared with others (read, [see below] a confession). And of course – perhaps the most common use of the word, confidence is self-assuredness. Essentially, it’s about control and power, and whether or not you have it.
Bales of hay are bound, that is, they are tied together with string or wire. Young people can be bound for high-school or college (or jail) – they are going to these places. When something is bound to happen, its occurrence is inevitable. Athletes can go out of bounds or be bound up. It’s all about direction.
We all love Seinfeld, that’s agreed upon. Also, most of us love baseball. And to some, yesterday was a sad day with the loss of George Steinbrenner. Luckily one of my favorite ladies who appears on this blog once and a while took a whack at it on this lovely Wednesday.
Maureen Dowd is a cold, powerful woman whose intensity and intelligence surpasses her sweet, sensitive side. She has great red hair and sharp red lipstick to match. Her lips are usually pierced with a smurky smile (see sample photo.) She’s written Are Men Necessary: When Sexes Collide and gave nicknames to Bush and Cheney over the years as “W.” and “Big Time” respectively. She won the Pulitzer for her columns on the Monica Lewinski and Clinton years. Also, she was just featured in this month’s Vanity Fair with A Girl’s Guide to Saudi Arabia. You can see a small piece of her article here. So, basically she’s a bad ass.
Check out her chronicles of Steinbrenner and Seinfeld and don’t be afraid to lurk around her page and read her past contributions. They are usually all pretty terrific.
If you choose to do something every day, you might build a habit. Like writing, or eating beans. Brushing your teeth does not count. Let’s see if this works.
I’ve never seen grass get so brown so quickly. It’s like every grain and strain can stand on its own, managing multiple colors and personalities. It’s like the grass knows its not supposed to be that color. How do I handle this? It’s nice to sit and think, to new Bob Dylan on the radio. Let your eyes wander out the windows, follow the wind as it moves each individual leaf. They wave. Serene suburbia. What am I doing here?
Remember that book I told you about, EATING ANIMALS, well the author is quite the man. Without realizing his name was the same, my mother was telling me about this short story she read in the New Yorker. Turns out it was him. Jonathan Safran-Foer. There’s something about this time right now that has inspired me to be a writer more than ever. I’m glad I cannot figure it out.
Here’s something. It’s time to eat right and stop waiting for people’s calls. If there is too much communication, like there is now, we might all just get sick of each other. Some movie once said, constantly talking isn’t necessarily communicating. Let’s try and remember that, eh? How about we ask some questions and revert back to new ways of doing things. If something is not right with the world, even if it’s just your world, why not change it?
Show me something.
Yes, I’ve played chatroulette and yes, I have made a friend once. We both even commented about how it was nice to find a stranger to chat about nothing with and not run into penis. Some call it creepy, which it totally is. And yea, it’s strange. But, hey! I was bored and needed an excuse to put off doing work. I’ve ran into some people from Australia and Essex, England, some from Spain and few from around U.S. (mainly high school kids)- but all of them were only interested in one thing. This is just a fun thing to check out. Plus- who doesn’t love the New Yorker? Also, even though it’s fiction…check this out. A new one from our good friend Woody Allen. I found myself reading and enjoying it. Something will shake me out of this no-fiction-phase. But it’s not this.
There are some words that don’t rhyme but should. Like rough and dough, or patio and ratio.
And then there’s this list of words: Silver; Purple; Orange. Not only do these words represent colors, but no other word in the English language rhymes with silver, purple, or orange. Bizarre, right. At least blue and red rhyme with a lot of things.
Then we’ve got the word rhythm. Whoever invented the spelling for this word forgot perhaps the most fundamental and elementary rule of words: They can’t be comprised of only consanents. And don’t give me that “…and sometimes Y” excuse. Look at the second syllable: “thm.” That’s just not right.
And what’s up with iron. In my opinion, these are the two strangest words in the American language. How does the written “EYE-RON” produce the word “EYE-URN”?
Life’s mysteries, really. At least dictionary’s mysteries.
And there’s also a bone to be picked with chain stores that sell doughnuts. None of the major chains (Dunkin‘, Krispy Kreme, Tim Horton’s) spell the name of their flagship product correctly. To them, it’s all “donut.”
And hell, they can’t even spell the name of their stores well, either. Shouldn’t it be “DunkING?”
Last time I checked, “crispy” was spelled with a “C” and so was “cream.”
And for Tim Horton’s*, the founder’s real name is Terrence!
* I know nothing about the Tim Horton Franchise, and I would like to thank Tyler Gustafson – Ithaca ’11 – for opening my eyes to the Do(ugh)nut Travesty in the U.S.
If you like to read, read this: http://www.greattypohunt.com/
Feedback