Friday, November 10, 2006

They Smile In Your Face/All The Time They Wanna Take Your Place

I witnessed a defining moment the other night at the House of Blues.

hustle Slang. to earn one's living by illicit or unethical means.

Fig. 1: lyric from Kevin Federline's "rap music concert:"

"My name's K-Federline/Ben Franklin's a good friend of mine"

Fig. 2: lyric from Kevin Federline's "rap music concert:"

"I got 50 mill. /I can do whatever I want "

Fig. 3: lyric from Kevin Federline's "rap music concert:"

I come tight with every rhyme/I built a kingdom down the street from Pepperdine/This marijuana got me heavily sedated/I'm Kevin Federline America's most hated (what!)

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Wait Until That Deal Come Round

So how do I get to be one of those chicks that fake-astonishedly opens the suitcases on that NBC guessing game show that stars Howie Mandel's bald pate?

Because that looks like a too-good-to-be-true job.

And it's definitely better than being that underbite girl in the Yoplait "it tastes like karma wrapped in yoga wrapped in chocolate" yogurt commercial.

And there it is, the conundrum that is why I never pursued stardom.

Monday, November 06, 2006

Why Is It I'm Digging Your Scene?

Truly, this is the last kind of music I expected to hear within the first five minutes of my stay in Dallas last week. Mid-Eighties British one-hit wonders who aren't Kajagoogoo? I was expecting some...I dunno--Waylon Jennings. Waylon and Willie and the Boys, you know? Some outlaw country?

Like when Waylon sang in "Lukenbach, Texas" about gettin' back to the basics of love:

The only two things in life that make it worth livin'
Is guitars that tune good and firm feelin' women

Could there be anything more not-Texan than a 24 year-old British ponce prancing in a pompadour, eyeliner and lipgloss, singing "I know I'll dieeeeeee, bay-ay-beeeeeee??"

Sure enough, when it came time to leave, bright pop hits of the Eighties were still laying an absurd pall over the already spiritless, brown-carpet bleakness of the DFW airport.

Friday, November 03, 2006

Run, Rabbit, Run

In the time-honored tradition of other blogs I admire (imitation=flattery, y'all), I hereby institute


Because what's better to ease you into the weekend than a Friday-morning spin of some Floyd?

I've never been a pothead, so I delight in chillaxing with the Floyd when the day is tastily stretched out ahead of me, weekday pressures are gone.

There was a period of time where anyone who came to my two-residences-ago coach house apartment was forced to listen to the interlude on the first track of Dark Side of the Moon where "Speak to Me" effervesces into "Breathe." Even in my crumbly attic apartment with the weird ceiling-stuccoed walls, you can just imagine Dark Side of the Moon being played up to the stars, as it was in 1972 at a launch party at the London Planetarium. Better that than synchronizing it with a DVD of The Wizard of Oz. I just don't think anything should interfere with the Floyd -- except perhaps embellishments of their own design.

Oh, and record scratches.
I gotta get a turntable. Til then my own copy of DSOTM is as useful as a placemat.

Next: Steely Dan Sunday!