There was a bit of controversy surrounding this dance video according to NPR today. I watched it and just saw some people helping an old man take back something that was taken from him years ago.
I believe the method is something like this:
You tell me what you think.
Thanks for stopping.
And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. His heart exploded—during the opening song for Sesame Street.
Oh, that’s misdirected. It implies that I detest him for being a Creepy Uncle. I would like to emphasize that my judgement is one based upon my experience of his music.
The world of music has not diminished one iota with the death of Michael Jackson. I know a lot of folks actually liked this mad-hatter, but even his best work—that with the Jackson Five—was quite pale compared with something like Sly and the Family Stone (take special note of Fresh).
He certainly made a lot of money for folks who already had a lot, but this in and of itself is not a very interesting accomplishment. Even Amazon.com remarks on, “His incalculable musical legacy” (on their home page). Well, duh. My musical legacy is incalculable. A musical legacy is not something subject to calculation. True by default is hardly impressive.
I’m a little sad only because the prediction of the sagacious South Paw Jones (in his work “The Last Remaining Beatle”) did not come to pass:
Please don’t think me callous for speaking ill of a dead man. My criticisms of his music were much more caustic while he was alive.
Remember: never trust a fishmonger with warm hands (where has he been keeping them?).
Later. Sly Stone is calling me.
I was visiting with a friend of mine who was working the door at one of my favorite local watering holes (Hazlewood) when he told me about this crazy, drunk guy who was racing around in his electric wheelchair. He was drunk, belligerent, and wanting more drink. My friend had turned him away thrice and had seen him make attempts at some of the other bars within view.
Nearly immediately after he related this story to me, who should come weaving down the sidewalk but our surly, profane comrade. He rammed his wheelchair into the metal railing which surrounds the seating area outside the pub, made an inappropriate remark to the woman sitting on the bench, and demanded a cigarette from any of the three seated with her. They ignored all of this (probably a good policy given the circumstances) and he weaved on.
Not far enough, however, because he again came to my friend (for the fourth time that evening). Legless and abusive, he came to the door and Eric politely refused to allow him entrance. Again he was sent merrily on his way.
Perhaps another half an hour slipped by and our wayward fiend came weaving along again. Only this time he was weaving down the middle of the road, diving at the yellow divider whenever a car would approach from the opposite direction (causing them to halt in case he did cross the center line into their lane).
A few days later I came across this piece in the Seattle Times police blotter:
There was doubt in neither my friend’s mind nor mine that he was suicidal. Although dousing oneself in gasoline directly from the pump seems a bit dramatic.
Most likely he’s a veteran, perhaps from the Iraqi war, with not much in the way of hope or plans or (probably) social support. I would like to feel sorry for him, but he’s rather acting like a dick.
Well, I hope he gets his shit figured out and puts his life back in order. Alternatively, I hope he finds a path to suicide which doesn’t co-opt the lives of others into his scheme.
So, on my phone I received some text spam from biz@msn.com asking that I call 888-599-2127.
Is it wrong to have everyone use that e-mail address for porn mailing lists and to have everyone call that number from pay phones?
Let me know what you think in the comments.
Well, I have been saying this for a long time now and I may as well put it in print (mostly so that my friends will have something to talk about when making fun of my predictions). I am saying that tonight we are going to see a remarkable landslide victory for Barack Obama. I’m thinking of something unprecidented, a record breaker. Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing remains to be seen, but that is my prediction.
This will come as a surprise to anyone who has heard me talk about politics in the past. I was quite certain that the Republicans would be the first to get a minority/woman into the white house. I reasoned that the Democrats showed a history of choosing a candidate who had some particular minority status over another candidate who was the best candidate. In other words the Democrats had in the past selected a minority or female candidate precisely because they were a minority or a woman. It seemed to me that the Republicans would make that choice on more conservative grounds, namely that the best candidate they had to offer happened to be a minority or a woman.
History has proved this prediction of mine so incredibly wrong! The Democrats have put forward the best candidate they have run in the primaries since Brown. And he happens to have some minority status. So be it. Great. Then the Republicans selected a VP running-mate for McCain purely on the basis that she was a she. Holy Carp! How do these things happen? Where was the wisdom?
That’s dumber’an W.
So there you have my two scents worth.
Get thee to the poles, Ophelia.
As humans we have only a handful of distinctions which separate us from the other animals on this planet. One of the most fundamental of those is our ability to judge and thereby to choose. I am regularly confronted with the choice between Cherry Garcia and Mint Chocolate Chip. These can be difficult moments. Forces are at play working to make my choices more difficult.
At times our choices seem impossible or it seems that we are choosing against the most powerful forces in the world. It is my view that these are the most critical times to continue our choosing.
There are dozens of matters every year which ask that I check a box or punch a hole. I will rise to that challenge.