Happy fuckn birfday to Handsome Dick Manitoba.
The Dictators - Avenue A (Live in Chicago at Empty Bottle, 1999)
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
New Feature: Answering the Unanswered Questions in SiteMeter Stats, Episode Number One
Yeah, what the title of the post says. We'll start with an easy one from today's SiteMeter stats -- the Yahoo search query, "What year did Bill Veeck install the exploding scoreboard at comiskey park?" — which led one visitor to an old CBRAT post that did not, sadly, answer the question.
Well, curious Yahoo search referral visitor person, I'm here to solve that oversight right now. Because I have done the research for you, personally, and am pleased to supply the following information —
Drum roll, please.
The answer is: 1960. Bill Veeck installed the exploding scoreboard at Comiskey Park in 1960. You can quote me on it.
As a bonus, here's a site with some nifty pix of said scoreboard.
Next question?
Well, curious Yahoo search referral visitor person, I'm here to solve that oversight right now. Because I have done the research for you, personally, and am pleased to supply the following information —
Drum roll, please.
The answer is: 1960. Bill Veeck installed the exploding scoreboard at Comiskey Park in 1960. You can quote me on it.
As a bonus, here's a site with some nifty pix of said scoreboard.
Next question?
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Bud Selig Does the Impossible and Redeems Self
Those of you who follow the baseballs probably heard that Bud Selig has signed on to remain as Commissioner of MLB until 2012. The news elicited the usual series of groans and curses from yours truly, although a piece over at Slate covers it from an unusually cheery angle:
Hah!!! Yeah, that hadn't occurred to me, but it is frickin' hilarious. The scuttlebutt about Dubya since before he was Preznit has always been that his chief ambition in life was to be Commissioner of Baseball.
I didn't realize, though, just how far back that ambition went. Apparently it was a lifelong thing. Which raises the question, What kind of fucking nerdlinger has the childhood ambition of being Commissioner of Baseball? Sheesh. I mean, I gave up on the idea of playing baseball very early in life, but then I started fantasizing about being a broadcaster. Fantasizing about being the asswipe in charge of the front office bullshit? Jesus, he should have been wedgied for eternity for that.
There are other problems with Dubya's dream. For instance, there will never be a commissioner named "George." They all have goofy first names:
OK, there are a few normal names in the bunch, a "William," a "Peter," and a "Bart," but mostly you gotta be a freakishly named eejit to be commissioner of baseball.
Yeah ... Judge Landis ... there's a hero for every red-blooded boy in America. A tyrannical, egomaniacal, racist fuckhead. If you're not familiar with the story of Judge Landis, here's a well-worn factoid (this iteration of it from Wikipedia):
Sounds like Gee Dub to me.
I'm not sure I have ever seen a Commissioner I liked. I'm not an appreciator of authority figures in general. I gotta say, though, that my admiration for the fish-lipped, corrupt, charisma-less mummy, Bud Selig, has just risen above zero for the first time.
Bush just lost the job he has always wanted much more than the one he's in.
Hah!!! Yeah, that hadn't occurred to me, but it is frickin' hilarious. The scuttlebutt about Dubya since before he was Preznit has always been that his chief ambition in life was to be Commissioner of Baseball.
I didn't realize, though, just how far back that ambition went. Apparently it was a lifelong thing. Which raises the question, What kind of fucking nerdlinger has the childhood ambition of being Commissioner of Baseball? Sheesh. I mean, I gave up on the idea of playing baseball very early in life, but then I started fantasizing about being a broadcaster. Fantasizing about being the asswipe in charge of the front office bullshit? Jesus, he should have been wedgied for eternity for that.
There are other problems with Dubya's dream. For instance, there will never be a commissioner named "George." They all have goofy first names:
- Kenesaw Mountain Landis
- Happy Chandler
- Ford Frick
- Bowie Kuhn
- Fay Vincent
- Bud Selig
OK, there are a few normal names in the bunch, a "William," a "Peter," and a "Bart," but mostly you gotta be a freakishly named eejit to be commissioner of baseball.
One of Bush's close childhood friends, Doug Hannah, told Vanity Fair's Gail Sheehy ... in 2000: "He wanted to be Kenesaw Mountain Landis,” America's first baseball commissioner, legendary for his power and dictatorial style.
Yeah ... Judge Landis ... there's a hero for every red-blooded boy in America. A tyrannical, egomaniacal, racist fuckhead. If you're not familiar with the story of Judge Landis, here's a well-worn factoid (this iteration of it from Wikipedia):
Club owner Bill Veeck claimed Landis prevented him from purchasing the Phillies when Landis learned of Veeck's plan to integrate the team.
Sounds like Gee Dub to me.
I'm not sure I have ever seen a Commissioner I liked. I'm not an appreciator of authority figures in general. I gotta say, though, that my admiration for the fish-lipped, corrupt, charisma-less mummy, Bud Selig, has just risen above zero for the first time.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Marching Band Music Strikes Back
This morning on the way to work, for no particular reason at all, a one-syllable word popped into my head, and all the assumptions and assertions of the previous few weeks, vis a vis marching bands, was called into controversy, doubt, and confusion. That word was, "Tusk."
When this video first aired on "Solid Gold," I definitely thought the Trojan marching band was hella cool. Of course, I was a complete geekun dorkmus at the time, but I think I was in sixth or seventh grade. Give me a break. I got worse later.
Nice old footage of Dodger Stadium, by the way, with the original yellow seats, before they switched to blue seats ... and then back to yellow seats in the last couple of years. But I digress.
Oh yeah, and then a little farther up the Edens Expressway this morning, I remembered an even shorter word in favor of marching bands, in terms of personal code words -- "Bud." That one isn't as self-explanatory.
When I was a kid in my frickin' wholesome Illinois small town, parades were a big deal. There wasn't really a lot of spectacle going on most of the time, so the occasional long line of fire trucks, clowns, soldiers, baton twirlers, and candy-throwing politicians winding down the main street was pretty exciting. An added attraction was the fact that our street lay along the set-up zone -- or whatever the hell I should call it -- for all the parades, so the different units would be gathering and lining up all over the neighborhood early in the morning on parade days. I love to get the backstage, behind-the-scenes perspective whenever I can ... I guess that's where I developed that affinity.
Anyway, marching band music was, of course, a big part of the whole parade burgoo. My favorite part of the marching band segment of the parade was the drum cadence they'd march to when they weren't playing a song. I'd feel the rumble of the beat in my chest before I could really hear it, as they approached from the left (parades always went east to west in my home town, and I always stood on the north side of the main street ... I guess because that was the side we lived on).
I wasn't so in love with the music itself, which they'd fire up when they got to the reviewing stand by the park in what passed for "downtown." Except I did love -- and in fact considered it the highlight of the parade -- to listen to the junior high (Viking School, yes, home of the Viking Vikings, I shit you not) band during the three or so years in the mid-1970s when they were run by a particular band director with a pretty good sense of humor. Viking School's colors were (and still are) red and white -- which happen to be the colors featured in Anheuser-Busch's trade dress for its Budweiser® brand beer-like-beverage-product. So, this band director adopted, as a band theme song, Budweiser's theme song, "Here Comes the King," also popularly known as "When You Say Bud."
I vaguely recall that a few eyebrows were raised at the band director's putting up a bunch of 6th, 7th, and 8th graders to playing a beer company's commercial jingle on their dewy, tender, practically virginal musical instruments, but if the owners of those eyebrows said anything, they were brushed off. I'm pretty sure the song remained the Viking School Marching Band theme song until that particular band diretor retired, which unfortunately happened a year or two before I got to junior high age, so that era was strickly an awe from below deal, a young punk admiring the older kids thing.
Just as well. I quit band after about four weeks of struggling with a french horn in 4th grade. I never have quite gotten over it. Goddamn french horn. Pretty sure it's still back at the old house -- it was my mom's horn from her school days in the 1950s. Next time I go home, I'm gonna find it, and kick it right in the back end of the case. That'll teach it to reveal my lack of musical aptitude!
POSTSCRIPT: Apparently it's a marching band tradition at Georgia Tech games to play the Budweiser song at some point in the Saturday stupidity. Marching bands might be OK in some contexts, but in college, they are evil. Eeeeville.
When this video first aired on "Solid Gold," I definitely thought the Trojan marching band was hella cool. Of course, I was a complete geekun dorkmus at the time, but I think I was in sixth or seventh grade. Give me a break. I got worse later.
Nice old footage of Dodger Stadium, by the way, with the original yellow seats, before they switched to blue seats ... and then back to yellow seats in the last couple of years. But I digress.
Oh yeah, and then a little farther up the Edens Expressway this morning, I remembered an even shorter word in favor of marching bands, in terms of personal code words -- "Bud." That one isn't as self-explanatory.
When I was a kid in my frickin' wholesome Illinois small town, parades were a big deal. There wasn't really a lot of spectacle going on most of the time, so the occasional long line of fire trucks, clowns, soldiers, baton twirlers, and candy-throwing politicians winding down the main street was pretty exciting. An added attraction was the fact that our street lay along the set-up zone -- or whatever the hell I should call it -- for all the parades, so the different units would be gathering and lining up all over the neighborhood early in the morning on parade days. I love to get the backstage, behind-the-scenes perspective whenever I can ... I guess that's where I developed that affinity.
Anyway, marching band music was, of course, a big part of the whole parade burgoo. My favorite part of the marching band segment of the parade was the drum cadence they'd march to when they weren't playing a song. I'd feel the rumble of the beat in my chest before I could really hear it, as they approached from the left (parades always went east to west in my home town, and I always stood on the north side of the main street ... I guess because that was the side we lived on).
I wasn't so in love with the music itself, which they'd fire up when they got to the reviewing stand by the park in what passed for "downtown." Except I did love -- and in fact considered it the highlight of the parade -- to listen to the junior high (Viking School, yes, home of the Viking Vikings, I shit you not) band during the three or so years in the mid-1970s when they were run by a particular band director with a pretty good sense of humor. Viking School's colors were (and still are) red and white -- which happen to be the colors featured in Anheuser-Busch's trade dress for its Budweiser® brand beer-like-beverage-product. So, this band director adopted, as a band theme song, Budweiser's theme song, "Here Comes the King," also popularly known as "When You Say Bud."
I vaguely recall that a few eyebrows were raised at the band director's putting up a bunch of 6th, 7th, and 8th graders to playing a beer company's commercial jingle on their dewy, tender, practically virginal musical instruments, but if the owners of those eyebrows said anything, they were brushed off. I'm pretty sure the song remained the Viking School Marching Band theme song until that particular band diretor retired, which unfortunately happened a year or two before I got to junior high age, so that era was strickly an awe from below deal, a young punk admiring the older kids thing.
Just as well. I quit band after about four weeks of struggling with a french horn in 4th grade. I never have quite gotten over it. Goddamn french horn. Pretty sure it's still back at the old house -- it was my mom's horn from her school days in the 1950s. Next time I go home, I'm gonna find it, and kick it right in the back end of the case. That'll teach it to reveal my lack of musical aptitude!
POSTSCRIPT: Apparently it's a marching band tradition at Georgia Tech games to play the Budweiser song at some point in the Saturday stupidity. Marching bands might be OK in some contexts, but in college, they are evil. Eeeeville.
Muhammad Ali -- The Greatest of All Time
Happy birthday, Champ.
Johnny Wakelin and the Kinshasa Band - Black Superman
Johnny Wakelin and the Kinshasa Band - Black Superman
Saturday, January 12, 2008
The 2007 CBRAT YouTube Veddeo Awards -- Best Song
The CBRAT YouTube Veddeo Award for best song of 2007 ... is a tie. I just can't pick between these two, from the outstanding album, "We'll Never Turn Back." So they both win.
Mavis Staples - Down in Mississippi
Mavis Staples - 99 and 1/2
Mavis Staples - Down in Mississippi
Mavis Staples - 99 and 1/2
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Happy birthday, Elvis, wherever you are
Friends, I don't care who you are or what you may be, but if you can't agree that the world would be at least a little bit more fun of a place to live in today if we'd have been blessed to have a 73-year-old Elvis Presley alive among us on Earth right now and blowing out some candles on a big old birthday cake, well, then I don't know what.
Polk Salad Annie
Polk Salad Annie
Monday, January 07, 2008
Seventy-six trombones ... would be seventy-five more than it would take to make me jump off a cliff
It seems like the hideous, tedious, seemingly endless college bowl season is going to come to a close, at long last, after tonight's championship game ... please, God. The BCS system has more bowls than the world's biggest head shop. And, this season, despite a few half-hearted attempts, I have succeeded in watching more than two minutes of none. Nor did I watch more than a few minutes of any college football game during the regular season. So, tonight's my last chance until autumn to do something I really hate doing -- watch college football!
I don't think I'll last more than another few seconds. The pre-game show itself, obnoxiously bleating in the background, made me finally realize why I can't get into college football, even slightly.
It's because I fucking hate marching band music. I never quite realized how much I hated it before now, but the urge to throw myself outside into the thunderstorming night and under a lightning bolt is giving me a clue as to how deep and broad my despisementition of this awful noise goes. I apologize to anyone who was a band nerd ... Wait. No. No, I don't. YOU apologize to ME.
Jesus Christ, it sounds like a column of fascists torturing cats. Farting cats. And farting fascists. With farting cats in their assholes. Actually, I take that back. What I've just described would probably sound pretty damn cool. Marching band music, on the other hand, is just bombastic, shrill, assaultive, and ugly.
Ach. It almost makes me wish they'd start running that goddamn They Might Be Giants "That's FrItalian" Dunkin Donuts commercial again during every break (sometimes twice in a row), just to wash the stink of brass and valve-drained spit out of my brain. Almost.
I don't think I'll last more than another few seconds. The pre-game show itself, obnoxiously bleating in the background, made me finally realize why I can't get into college football, even slightly.
It's because I fucking hate marching band music. I never quite realized how much I hated it before now, but the urge to throw myself outside into the thunderstorming night and under a lightning bolt is giving me a clue as to how deep and broad my despisementition of this awful noise goes. I apologize to anyone who was a band nerd ... Wait. No. No, I don't. YOU apologize to ME.
Jesus Christ, it sounds like a column of fascists torturing cats. Farting cats. And farting fascists. With farting cats in their assholes. Actually, I take that back. What I've just described would probably sound pretty damn cool. Marching band music, on the other hand, is just bombastic, shrill, assaultive, and ugly.
Ach. It almost makes me wish they'd start running that goddamn They Might Be Giants "That's FrItalian" Dunkin Donuts commercial again during every break (sometimes twice in a row), just to wash the stink of brass and valve-drained spit out of my brain. Almost.
Friday, January 04, 2008
If Ken Williams can wake up long enough to make a trade, I guess I can wake up long enough to blog about it
I like the Nick Swisher trade. Prospects be fucked. Prospects are like the first pancake in a batch -- you never know how they're gonna turn out -- fluffy, delicious, and VORPy, or torn, overcooked, and disgusting. Swisher is going to work out well for the Sox. Hey, I'm the guy who correctly predicted how much the Sox would suck last season, so you can trust me. Yes! I know everything before it's gonna happen! Spooky, huh?
Jesus Christ, a lot of Sox fans are whiny ass titty babies. You'd think they were Cubs fans, for crying out loud.
"Boo hoo! Kenny traded De los dos del los las dis dat deez doze Santos! He traded Geo Metro ... or whatever his name is!"
Yup, two minor league pitchers in their early 20s who may or may not end up being any good at all. (Also traded: a minor league outfielder whom we already know is for crap.) Two days ago they were kvetching about how he hadn't made enough deals this off-season.
"But we meant that he should get somebody awesome without giving up anybody at all!!! WAAAHHH!!! We got pwnzored by Billy Beane again!!!!!!"
Uh ... I think you got off the Red Line at the wrong stop. I think you meant to exit at Addison. You whining pussy of a straw-man pretend fan.
Granted, Kenny has been assfucked in the ass time and again by Beane, anorectally in the butt. And this deal, by itself, does not put the White Sox in a position where they're going to do better than 4th place in 2008 (you heard it here, folks -- the Sox are going to stink to high heaven again) -- nor does it do anything to improve their future outlook.
But ... and here comes one more crazy prediction, folks ... after the creaky and aging Paulie Konerko gets traded along with with injury- and Boras-representation-plagued Joe Crede to the O.C. Angels of Anaheim, Aztlan, y California (or whatever their name is this year) for Chone Figgins and a mint-condition Farrah Fawcett poster, Kenny and the White Sox are going to look much better.
After, that is, torch-and-pitchfork-wielding South Siders tantrum themselves out and collapse into an "Oh, aren't they cute when they sleep?" state of exhaustion due to what will surely be a highly unpopular move, Paulie being as irrationally beloved as he is among the White Sox District. (No "Nation" for you, small-market fans!)
Yeah. So the followings are goings to happens: Nick Swisher is going to get on base a lot, hit a respectable number of home runs in home-run-friendly Sox Park, and get a nice tally of RBIs and runs scored and OBP and yippa yappa, etc. He will be serviceable at first base -- which position will be open because Paulie will be outta hyah. And Chone Figgins is going to kick ass at shortstop after -- thank yeeee, Baby Jesus -- Juan Uribe is fie-nuh-lee gotten rid of (for a can of wasabi peanuts and a half-hearted neck rub, I'm guessing). And Josh Fields is gonna be decent at third base and people are gonna like him.
And the White Sox will be lucky to finish in third place.
Meanwhile, on the North Side, the Cubs will look like strong contenders for at least three days this season, before they fold like skillfully prepared omelets that are much less delicious than actual non-baseball-team versions of said breakfast treats and ... win the division anyway, cuz their division looks like it's gonna suck. But they will lose dismally in the playoffs again. Granted, that's a blue chip prediction, but I don't have any outlandish ones to make about the Cubbies. Except that Mark Cuban will not be buying them ... which, come to think of it, is not exactly going out on a limb either.
In other (i.e., non-baseball) news, here we are in 2008. I hope it doesn't suck as much as 2007 did, but I'm pretty sure it's going to be even worse. Much, much worse. My crystal ball contains images of health worries, professional miseries, and continued increases in extreme alienation levels dominating the timescape this year -- and those are the good things in store. And 2009? Good God, I don't even wanna think about it. If I'm still alive, ask me then.
But on the bright side, it's only 40 days till pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training.
Jesus Christ, a lot of Sox fans are whiny ass titty babies. You'd think they were Cubs fans, for crying out loud.
"Boo hoo! Kenny traded De los dos del los las dis dat deez doze Santos! He traded Geo Metro ... or whatever his name is!"
Yup, two minor league pitchers in their early 20s who may or may not end up being any good at all. (Also traded: a minor league outfielder whom we already know is for crap.) Two days ago they were kvetching about how he hadn't made enough deals this off-season.
"But we meant that he should get somebody awesome without giving up anybody at all!!! WAAAHHH!!! We got pwnzored by Billy Beane again!!!!!!"
Uh ... I think you got off the Red Line at the wrong stop. I think you meant to exit at Addison. You whining pussy of a straw-man pretend fan.
Granted, Kenny has been assfucked in the ass time and again by Beane, anorectally in the butt. And this deal, by itself, does not put the White Sox in a position where they're going to do better than 4th place in 2008 (you heard it here, folks -- the Sox are going to stink to high heaven again) -- nor does it do anything to improve their future outlook.
But ... and here comes one more crazy prediction, folks ... after the creaky and aging Paulie Konerko gets traded along with with injury- and Boras-representation-plagued Joe Crede to the O.C. Angels of Anaheim, Aztlan, y California (or whatever their name is this year) for Chone Figgins and a mint-condition Farrah Fawcett poster, Kenny and the White Sox are going to look much better.
After, that is, torch-and-pitchfork-wielding South Siders tantrum themselves out and collapse into an "Oh, aren't they cute when they sleep?" state of exhaustion due to what will surely be a highly unpopular move, Paulie being as irrationally beloved as he is among the White Sox District. (No "Nation" for you, small-market fans!)
Yeah. So the followings are goings to happens: Nick Swisher is going to get on base a lot, hit a respectable number of home runs in home-run-friendly Sox Park, and get a nice tally of RBIs and runs scored and OBP and yippa yappa, etc. He will be serviceable at first base -- which position will be open because Paulie will be outta hyah. And Chone Figgins is going to kick ass at shortstop after -- thank yeeee, Baby Jesus -- Juan Uribe is fie-nuh-lee gotten rid of (for a can of wasabi peanuts and a half-hearted neck rub, I'm guessing). And Josh Fields is gonna be decent at third base and people are gonna like him.
And the White Sox will be lucky to finish in third place.
Meanwhile, on the North Side, the Cubs will look like strong contenders for at least three days this season, before they fold like skillfully prepared omelets that are much less delicious than actual non-baseball-team versions of said breakfast treats and ... win the division anyway, cuz their division looks like it's gonna suck. But they will lose dismally in the playoffs again. Granted, that's a blue chip prediction, but I don't have any outlandish ones to make about the Cubbies. Except that Mark Cuban will not be buying them ... which, come to think of it, is not exactly going out on a limb either.
In other (i.e., non-baseball) news, here we are in 2008. I hope it doesn't suck as much as 2007 did, but I'm pretty sure it's going to be even worse. Much, much worse. My crystal ball contains images of health worries, professional miseries, and continued increases in extreme alienation levels dominating the timescape this year -- and those are the good things in store. And 2009? Good God, I don't even wanna think about it. If I'm still alive, ask me then.
But on the bright side, it's only 40 days till pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
And YouTube Xmas comes early for STDPM
I've been waiting for someone to repost the higher-rez version of this rare vocal performance by Link Wray, and finally somebody did.
Trying to Find Your Love
BONUS:
LINCOLN HIGHWAY DEKALB illinois: Link Wray High Way
Trying to Find Your Love
BONUS:
LINCOLN HIGHWAY DEKALB illinois: Link Wray High Way
Saturday, December 22, 2007
"Isn't there ANYONE who knows what Christmas is all ABOUT!?!"
Hey, this is pretty damn fancy, and kudos to the dude that frickita frakked that thing together, but ... something doesn't seem right.
"I have over 45,000 lights synchronized to music using 216 channels of Light-O-Rama [and synched to Linus and Lucy, man ... can you feel my might?]"
Compare and contrast.
Colicky Christmas, everyone!
"I have over 45,000 lights synchronized to music using 216 channels of Light-O-Rama [and synched to Linus and Lucy, man ... can you feel my might?]"
Compare and contrast.
Colicky Christmas, everyone!
Thursday, December 20, 2007
"And on the continent of North America, winter became very, very unhappy. Decided to stay."
-- Gil Scott-Heron
Winter in America (1990)
Winter in America & Whitey on the Moon (vintage unknown)
A Lovely Day (SNL, December 13, 1975)
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
David Eckstein is not scrappy -- but I am
While whiling away these gray and wintry days of winter, I have been enjoying the multi-post discourse about the alleged and vaunted, and allegedly vaunted, and vauntedly alleged "scrappiness" of Mr. David Eckstein (most notably in recent years, the very short shortstop for the St Louis base-ball Cardinals of Missouri, and next season to be a hyperbolically overpaid [and still underheighted] shortstop for the Toronto base-ball Blue Jays of Oh, Canada, blah blah blah, true patriot love in all thy sons command [repeat en français, s'il vous plait]) at the most excellent and hilarious skewerer of bad sports journalism (and particularly bad baseball journalism), Fire Joe Morgan.
Over there lately there has some good fun made of a crappy sportswriter's ado-making about a Google search on the assertion, "David Eckstein is scrappy," and the gnipgnopulously huge number of hits that result from that string. (Subsequently, a reader pointed out that many hits also result from googling "David Eckstein is crappy," which amused me a great deal ... so now you know just how easy to amuse I am.)
In connection with all of that, there's a thing I have just discovered that could be relevant to the analysis (but probably not). To wit:
If you Google the string, in quotes, "David Eckstein is not scrappy", you get ZERO hits. None. Nada. Bupkis, non-etc.
Therefore, there is nobody in the Internet that affirmatively affirms that this particular itty bitty ball player is "not scrappy." They either think he's scrappy, or they have held their tongues ... er, keyboard fingers.
What that means is nobody's guess, because nobody cares. Not that I'm letting that stop me. Because this is a scrappy blog, and I am a scrappy blogger. Scrappier than Dirt, even. Too small for the game, but scrappy to the finish.
Over there lately there has some good fun made of a crappy sportswriter's ado-making about a Google search on the assertion, "David Eckstein is scrappy," and the gnipgnopulously huge number of hits that result from that string. (Subsequently, a reader pointed out that many hits also result from googling "David Eckstein is crappy," which amused me a great deal ... so now you know just how easy to amuse I am.)
In connection with all of that, there's a thing I have just discovered that could be relevant to the analysis (but probably not). To wit:
If you Google the string, in quotes, "David Eckstein is not scrappy", you get ZERO hits. None. Nada. Bupkis, non-etc.
Therefore, there is nobody in the Internet that affirmatively affirms that this particular itty bitty ball player is "not scrappy." They either think he's scrappy, or they have held their tongues ... er, keyboard fingers.
What that means is nobody's guess, because nobody cares. Not that I'm letting that stop me. Because this is a scrappy blog, and I am a scrappy blogger. Scrappier than Dirt, even. Too small for the game, but scrappy to the finish.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Ess ayy tee yoo arr, dee ayy why ... NIGHT! YouTube Veddeos -- "Work Song" Edition
Music by Nat Adderley; lyrics by Oscar Brown, Jr.
Bobby Darin
Nina Simone
Ventures - Medley
Abluesados
Good Wood plays at The Coast Bastion Hotel in Nanaimo British Columbia
Shuffle Republic playing Work Song live at the Coogee Bay Hotel
Some dude wailing on a harp doing something along the lines of the Paul Butterfield version, which I can't find a better rendition of on these damns YouTubes, but I kind of like this one, and he sings the words, so it's copacetic, baby
Some other dude wailing on a harp and explaining himself
How many dudes wailing on a harp to "Work Song" are there on the Internet?
Cannonball Adderley
Bobby Darin
Nina Simone
Ventures - Medley
Abluesados
Good Wood plays at The Coast Bastion Hotel in Nanaimo British Columbia
Shuffle Republic playing Work Song live at the Coogee Bay Hotel
Some dude wailing on a harp doing something along the lines of the Paul Butterfield version, which I can't find a better rendition of on these damns YouTubes, but I kind of like this one, and he sings the words, so it's copacetic, baby
Some other dude wailing on a harp and explaining himself
How many dudes wailing on a harp to "Work Song" are there on the Internet?
Cannonball Adderley
Friday, December 14, 2007
Just needs to work on the jowlage a little bit
In this pic cribbed from the NY Post, here's one David Letterman doing a pretty good impersonation of yours truly, Stronger Than Dirt Pete Moss. Welcome to the fraternity of the weird beards, Dave.
In other news, the electric baseboard heater in the war room here at CBRAT Central shorted out last night -- with a very loud buzz and a pop, sparks, burning wire insulation, acrid smoke -- all very adrenaline-pumping excitement indeed. I've shut off the relevant circuit breaker to keep the fire risk at CBRAT Central down to a minimum, but that means the other, nonbroken heater is also out of commission -- so it's cold in here. Colder than a witch's saline implant. Which, due to the salt content, has a freezing point well below 32 Fahrenheit, so you know that can get pretty cold. It's the same basic principle employed in yer old-fashioned ice cream makers. Yup.
Typing is not facilitated by these conditions. In a couple hours, when crocktrail hour rolls around, maybe that'll help. It won't hurt, I don't think. Later on, maybe I'll pretend I'm in an episode of my new favorite show, "Everest: Beyond The Limits," bloggically. So stay tuned, fellow Eskimos and Eskimixes. Frostbite and cerebral edema reports to follow.
UPDATE: The building manager came and fixed the heater, so now the only reason it's cold in here is because of my usual crazy old-man miserliness. Huzzah.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Karlheinz Stockhausen
The composer Karlheinz Stockhausen has died. I would be completely out of my league to try to talk about him. I don't really know anything about music. Or art, for that matter.
But back in 2000, I gave it a shot and tried to say something about that stuff in a piece for my old xerox zine, HUBRIS, and here are some jpegs comprising a piece I did for that zine using some Stockhausen polemics as text, superimposed over flatbed scans of a kitchen mishap involving hard boiled eggs that boiled to depravity during a absent-mindedness-inducing binge of the game "Sims," which I was into at the time.
But back in 2000, I gave it a shot and tried to say something about that stuff in a piece for my old xerox zine, HUBRIS, and here are some jpegs comprising a piece I did for that zine using some Stockhausen polemics as text, superimposed over flatbed scans of a kitchen mishap involving hard boiled eggs that boiled to depravity during a absent-mindedness-inducing binge of the game "Sims," which I was into at the time.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
"People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring." -- Rogers Hornsby
Tommy Skilling didn't lie. He said, chance of precipitation, 100%. And here it is, a goddamn veritable winter wonderland.
In anticipation thereof, yesterday, my hoarding instinct kicked in full-force and I collected enough food at "The Jewel's" (over by dere) to make myself spherical. My little fridge, she is full to overflowing. I did venture out into the "winter cocktail" this afternoon to get beer ... and that was enough for me. I think I'll skip the Iditarod® training yet again this year. Ribbie and Roobarb nod their inanimate stuffed agreements.
Hey, how many days till pitchers and catchers report?
Harry Caray
"Fear Strikes Out" (Jimmy Piersall Story) - Breakdown Scene
Bill Veeck Interview
POSTSCRIPT: To those who periodically chastise me for refusing to admire one Chicago major league ballclub to the exclusion of the other, I have a two-word reply: Bill Veeck. You can hardly get more iconographically "White Sox" than Bill Veeck. Yet, here he is in this video hoisting a beer cup adorned with a Cubs logo, apparently voluntarily. He planted the fucking ivy at Wrigley Field, for crying out loud. I'm sick of this shit where it's a mandatory Manichean duality. That horseshit is fucking bush league. Yeah, I know, why don't I tell you how I reeeeeeeally feeel??
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Let's have an asynchronous cosmic moment together
Oh. This is good.
Rahsaan Roland Kirk - Volunteered Slavery
Rahsaan Roland Kirk - Volunteered Slavery
Uptown, Chicago is where I live
I love this neighborhood.
Visions of Uptown, featuring The Uptown Broadway Building
Visions of Uptown, featuring The Uptown Broadway Building
Friday, November 23, 2007
Fri Nit Veds: What’s round on the ends, high in the middle? The Oh!o Take
The McCoys – Hang on Sloopy
Joe Walsh’s Barnstorm – Turn to Stone
Raspberries – Tonight
Tin Huey – Man Don’t Come
Dead Boys – Sonic Reducer
Pere Ubu – Breath
Ohio Players – Love Rollercoaster
DEVO - Girl U Want / Gates of Steel (Fridays 1980)
Pretenders – Tattooed Love Boys
Brainiac – Hot Metal Dobermans
GBV (reunited) - Cut-Out Witch
Screamin’ Jay Hawkins – Ole Man River
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