No dictatorship can tolerate jazz. It is the first sign of a return to freedom.
I call this, Eggs on Fried Dough.
Or, Blackened Yardbird Ova Encrusted with Shell Particulates on a Bed of Olive Oil Saturated Gluten Enriched Shortbread.
At no point in my life could I have related to this song in any way whatsoever.
So long Adam Schlesinger.
I watch part of one video and now every other post on FB is shaming me because I can’t use a lathe to turn an old engine block into an elegant set of fruit bowls.
Apparently, all the cool people are melting crayons and submerging them in epoxy resin to create astounding works of art.
I will try to do better, but right now I think it’s best if I focus on not poisoning myself with my own cooking.
I look forward to this disease releasing its hold over us.
But I think it would be a shame, heartbreaking really, to go through all of this, to survive it, only to accomplish a return to “normal.”
You may not care for some of these selections, but there is no bad music here. These are some of my go-tos.
In no order.
- Tom Waits & Crystal Gayle – One From the Heart
salt, sugar, the soundtrack from
Civilization has been thrust upon me and it has not added one whit to my love for truth, honesty, and generosity.
This would do nicely for me I think.
As would this.
I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: “Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow.” Perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because we think we have time, or have to reckon with time. But what if we don’t have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.
Baseball is not life. It is a fiction, a metaphor. And a ballplayer is a man who agrees to uphold that metaphor as though lives were at stake.
Born March 26, 1874. San Francisco, California.
The inscription reads:
With best wishes
For your enjoyment
Some now, some later
Dad, Christmas 1974
Coming in July 2020.
What was the rock my gliding childhood struck,
And what bright unreal path has led me here?
Listening to Larry Carlton’s guitar solo on Kid Charlemagne makes me think all those years ago Steely Dan gave me an unfair baseline for what constitutes a good solo in rock.
One plot line that was left out of the New Testament was that Doubting Thomas just followed Jesus around saying “But who’s gonna pay for all that?” to whoever was within earshot.
My cat, Venn the @#$%!, has taught himself to wake me up by leaping from the headboard onto my groin. I don’t enjoy this.
I’ve outsmarted him again though. I get up at 3:30am now.
This is him after explaining … the rest “Venn the @#$%!”
Mr. President, since you’re in the mood for giving out medals, I just wanted to let you know I’m on my way to set fire to a homeless encampment. I’ll swing by your place afterwards to pick up my bling.
- I really want there to be a cure for cancer.
- Thirty years ago Rush Limbaugh was a bloviating, bigoted, jackass.
- Last week Rush Limbaugh was a bloviating, bigoted, jackass.
- Today, Rush Limbaugh is a bloviating, bigoted, jackass.
I’m not sure if this is resistance or acquiescence, but I’m listening to this wonderful music to deal with yet another grey day here on the plains.