I just came into a bootleg Led Zeppelin concert from 1977 in Cleveland. The sound quality is pretty good. A good acoustic set and plenty from Physical Graffiti. There’s an especially hot version of Ten Years Gone.
Disc 1 :
The Song Remains the Same
The Rover
Nobody's Fault But Mine
In My Time of Dying
Since I've Been Loving You
No Quarter
Ten Years Gone
Disc 2 :
Battle of Evermore
Going to California
Black Country Woman
Bron Y Aur Stomp
White Summer/Black Mountain Side
Kashmir
Jimmy Page Guitar Solo
Stairway to Heaven
Rock n' Roll
Trampled Under Foot
I fully realize that most people couldn’t give a shit about this because it’s not some breathy thin-bearded boy band or a group of depressed, post modern indy songwriters, but, in the off chance that someone out there has taste, be aware that this thing is making the rounds.
Licking nipples is a sexual act. Kissing boobies is simply an appreciation of the female form.
Some people simply cannot cook, and I am one of those people. Lord knows that over the years I have tried. I had always figured that any fool can follow a recipe. Hell, that’s just like following assembly instructions and putting together a bicycle, but over time I learned that that wasn’t really the case.
Recipes had ‘keywords’ that were pertinent to the outcome. Sauté. Sift. Fold. Blanch. Words that held no meaning for me in that context. And even if I did manage to follow a recipe, when it got down to the actual cooking with heat part, I royally fucked it up. I burned shit. Even worse, I’d burn things on the outside and they would be raw on the inside. I couldn’t even grill a steak. It didn’t help that I only wanted to cook masterpieces. I never tried meatloaf or pot roast. Every time I tried to cook it was always some extremely complicated thing with reduction sauces and very expensive ingredients which I summarily ruined. I wanted to cook a spectacular meal or nothing at all. In the end, of course, it was nothing.
Hey, hey, hey, it's muthafuckin' Friday! All across America, people are fleeing the workplace as the five o'clock whistle blows. In Miami, they're probably heading out the beachfront for drinks and dinner. In LA, they're trying to kill eachother in rush hour traffic. In Duluth, some lonely farmhand is picking out his ewe for the night. Hey, everyone celebrates in their own little way. Me personally? Went to Blockbuster (Oh yeah baby, we still rent DVD's the old fashioned way around here) and rented "The Aristocrats", "Transporter 2", and "Dark Water". A nice bit of mindless entertainment that will mix well with the American lager, the bottle of zinfandel, or the pinot grigio we got at the store. Mmm-Mmm. See, no matter how bad your week was, you're almost always glad when Friday comes around.
Unless, maybe - you're this poor little bastard...
shank being The King of Curious is wondering what ever happened to that lost lonely girl who's heart he broke back in high school. He then invited contributors to submit a profile of what my old classmate's love muffin's life is like now.
I gotta tell ya folks, the truth is stranger than fiction and after a bit of digging there are some N-V-T-S nuts out there. I found shank's long lost love on one of the interweb dating sites. Her profile is of course presented in the extended entry for your viewing pleasure.
Today is Mozart’s 250th birthday. I’m a fan. I even went to the Salzburg Festival once.
And even though a talent like that is extremely rare, I offer you another, of equal greatness. He never became as famous as Mozart, but I consider him to be his equal.
Ladies and gentleman, I give you, Le Pétomane.
For some reason, this line made me laugh out loud…it just seems so out of place.
“Later he opened a biscuit factory in Toulon.”
Rob tagged us with the Gang of Four thing.
Four jobs I’ve had in my life
• Marketing Director
• Sales & Marketing Director
• Pizza Delivery Twerp
• Dishwasher
Four movies I can watch over and over
• Blue Velvet
• Reservoir Dogs
• Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure
• The Godfather 1 & 2
Four places I have lived
• The OC
• NYC
• Miami
• Philadelphia
Four TV shows I love to watch
• Seinfeld
• Ali G
• The Sopranos
• Entourage
Four places I have been on vacation
• Oberammergau, Germany
• Tokyo, Japan
• Napa Valley, California
• San Sebastian, Spain
Four of my favorite dishes
• Sicilian Pizza
• Bouillabaisse
• Fois Gras (no searing, please)
• Subs (on really good bread)
Four websites I visit daily
• Imagine life without Google?
• SBD
• I really hate to admit it…Drudge
• Pretty much everybody on the blogroll
Four places I would rather be right now
• Ireland
• Lake Tahoe
• Bordeaux
• Las Vegas
Four bloggers I am tagging
None. Bloggers get all the glory. I’m tagging regular people without blogs…do it in the comments. Go ahead, let’s have some fun.
Tiffani, we’re waiting.
Remember this?
Okay, Rob gets five points for a recipe way worse than mine. Our own Jim gets five points for possibly the most disgusting recipe on planet earth. The rest weren’t real recipes. However…
Phin managed to make me throw up in mouth and that ought to be worth something. Let’s call it three points.
I'm a super-curious dude. When I was a kid, the best thing about Christmas was the hunt for the cache of presents. Maybe they were in the walk-in, maybe in the attic; I always found them because I couldn't stand waiting. Even now, when someone says "Hey! I got your Christmas present todaaaay!" I'm like, "Well, you already paid for it, you might as well just let me open it." I just can't stand it.
Delay of gratification is part of the problem to. When I have to eat, I eat. When I have to piss, I piss. Even if it means pissing in the sink or out a window. One time, I was in the bathroom and I pissed out a window. I can't explain it, I just had to go. Well, there were people standing outside; so I guess there was a little incentive there. But anyways, when I need something or my curiosity is piqued, I just have to know.
Having been a military brat, and moved hither and yon across this great nation of ours, I have all these unfinished stories. What ever happend to so-and-so from Woodbridge? Or whoosie-frumps in Miami? Sometimes I'll toss an old pals name into a search engine just to see what pops up.
Well, yesterday I Googled an old acquaintance. She was a girl I knew during sophmore and junior year of highschool. I guess I had a crush on her, but we never had a relationship or anything. I think the closest we ever got was sharing a dance at prom. Oh, and I called her the Christmas after I left, because she'd given me her phone number.
At any rate, I haven't spoken to this person or seen her in...8 years. Upon Googling her name, I was directed to a website run by her employer, and it had a photo. I laughed at how similar she looked, and then started wondering what she was doing these days. From the info on the webpage, I could tell she still lived in the area we went to school in, and she still had her last name, so I assume she wasn't married. Then I saw her contact info; a phone number and an email address.
Now, don't get me wrong here. I'm no stalker, nor do I wish to stir any embers. I think moving just creates such a rift in the narrative, and I'm just so damn curious as to what she's up to these days. I wonder if she still keeps up with any of the kids we hung out with. I wonder if maybe she's gone all ultra-conservative. Or maybe she's a closet wingnut. I'm absolutely dying of curiosty.
Of course, there's nothing I can do about it. I can't send her an email out of the blue; that would be a little weird:
Hey! This is shank from Shermer High School. How ya been? I was just Googling your name the other day and...
Yeah, that doesn't trip any alarms. Anyways, here I am stuck with my curiosity. I considered coming up with a fake story, but what if it backfired? Then I'd really look regoddamndiculous.
So I've decided on a solution. We've got some pretty talented and creative minds that come through this old shanty we call SBD; and I think now is a good opportunity to tap those vessels of untold wealth. For each contributor who submits a profile of what my old classmate's life is like now, I will give five points. Now, when I say 'profile' I mean complete; more than just a few sentances. Go crazy. For the winning profile, I'll award seven or eight points. These can be as long as a short story if you like, or they can be historical, starting at the time I left town up through the current year. Just submit them via email to my link on the right there.
I'm a Porsche 911!
You have a classic style, but you're up-to-date with the latest technology. You're ambitious, competitive, and you love to win. Performance, precision, and prestige - you're one of the elite,and you know it.
Take the Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.
Via Bane
“Larry, stop pointin' that fuckin' gun at my Dad!”
….Nice Guy Eddie
Reservoir Dogs (1992)
As some of you may be able to tell, I'm not one of those people that gets off on finery. Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate many fine things (a Monet, a glass of Johnny Walker Blue, a Carrera GT), but I have a low threshold for truly senseless opulence.
My parents love fine dining. I think they always have, because my dad used to say that before he had kids, mom would make him all kinds of gourmet dishes. Since we've all moved out, I've also noticed a change in the cuisine over there - it's much more delicate cuisine than it used to be. At any rate, they've taken to going out and eating at all these fancy local places. Some are good, some are great (one place had this awesome shrimp and grits - fucking stellar), and some...well, some are so horrible they're blogworthy.
Yesterday someone pointed out this story about a man who went missing on a Royal Caribbean cruise. Nothing strange about that really, it seems to happen once a month or so, and if I were an aspiring mobster I couldn’t think of a more cost-effective, low risk method of offing someone than taking them on a cruise and going for a midnight stroll.
But it gets better. It’s now been pointed out that absinthe, an illegal drink in many countries, was being consumed by everyone involved.
First of all, let’s talk about absinthe, which is all the rage these days. Absinthe is a vile tasting liquor that is illegal in America and many other locals because it contains wormwood, an herb that can cause hallucinations. Back in the day, absinthe was a favorite drink of Vincent Van Gogh, Oscar Wilde, Edgar Allen Poe and countless other artistic types.
"In large amounts it would certainly make people see strange things and behave in a strange manner," said Jad Adams, author of the book, "Hideous Absinthe: A History of the Devil in a Bottle." "It gives people different, unusual ideas which they wouldn't have had on their own accord because of its stimulative effect on the mind."
Not unlike vodka, Jägermeister, or shots of Patron Silver tequila.
“Oscar Wilde, one of many 19th-century artists and writers who enjoyed the drink, thought the floor was covered with flowers while drinking absinthe, Adams said.”
Fair enough, I suppose, but still nothing a good grain alcohol buzz couldn’t conjure at freshman mixer.
Anyway, you can buy absinthe today in England and many other places, but the laws require that they limit the amount of Wormwood that’s in the stuff, so essentially, it’s so pussified that it’s not really even absinthe anymore. In London bars they limit you to two shots, just in case. I guess they don’t want anybody pulling a Van Gogh or a Tell-Tale Heart episode.
But back to the cruise ship.
“Witnesses say Smith and his bride, Jennifer Hagel Smith, were heavily intoxicated and argued in the ship's bar the night Smith disappeared. Passengers say Smith called his wife names, and she responded by kicking him in the groin hard enough to double him over.”
It gets complicated after that, but the absinthe plays heavily into things.
"They drank the whole bottle," said Victorio Jove, a 25-year-old passenger from Mexico.”
So there’s the theory. The butler did it in the library with a bottle of shitty booze. I think it’s shite, personally. Shots of yacker-meister could easily provide the same effect as this watered-down version of absinthe only it wouldn’t be mysterious or newsworthy.
But back to the cruise. Today someone points me to this story about the same missing man and the same boat.
“Imagine boarding a pricey, 11-day cruise to sail around the Caribbean and into the Panama Canal only to find a small squadron of criminalists in navy-blue jump suits - "Forensic Lab" emblazoned in yellow on their backs - inching their way across a metal canopy over a stack of lifeboats. Yellow harnesses adorned their crime scene uniforms, to save them from a fall.”
Well, I hope that’s romantic enough for you. If not, here’s some more:
“Several balconies above, forensic lighting was beamed down from what had been the Smiths' stateroom in a search for latent blood and other evidence. From multiple balconies above, cruise patrons leaned over railings and took photographs of a vacation bonus that was by no means highlighted by Royal Caribbean.”
This is even better:
“Lee, wearing latex gloves, could be seen spraying a chemical that enhances the presence of bloodstains to the undersides of the stateroom balcony rail.”
I don't know what I'm getting at here, but can you imagine being a passenger on this fucking love boat of death?
I don’t know, but five points to anyone who can produce an actual recipe (for edible food) more vile than this one.
Ingredients
1 sheep heart
1 sheep stomach
1 sheep's lung
1 sheep liver
1/2 lb fresh suet
1/2 cup oats
3 onions, chopped
2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1/2 teaspoon cayenne
3/4 cup stock beef broth
Lungs are illegal in the United States, so you may have to do without that delicious part.
Wash lungs and stomach and remove membranes. Soak in cold saltwater for four hours.
Turn stomach inside out for stuffing purposes.
Cover heart and liver with cold. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover and simmer for 30 minutes. Chop heart and coarsely grate liver. Toast oats in a pan, stirring frequently.
Combine all ingredients and mix well. Stuff the mixture into the stomach, about two-thirds full.
Press any air out of stomach and tie well. Put into boiling water to cover. Simmer for 3 hours, uncovered, adding more water as needed to maintain water level. Prick stomach several times with a sharp needle when it begins to swell; this keeps the bag from bursting. Place on a hot platter and serve.
###
Personally, I can’t think of anything more disgusting, but I’m sure someone else will. All that was missing is “garnish with bashed in sheep’s head.”
Decision of the judges (me) are final.
Here's the way I figure it. Hot PETA chicks* stage naked protests** against killing animals. If we stop killing animals, they won't get naked any more. Conversely, the more animals we kill, the more chicks there will be protesting in naked fury.
I'm off to get me a fur coat and a Big Mac.
* There's some man ass in there too for the ladies.
**The answer to the lead naked chick's question is "It depends ... are we talking bush babies or bengal tigers?".
I’ve never been a big fan of Stephen King. No reason, really, other than much of it is horror and generally don’t read genre fiction. Anyway, aside from The Green Mile and The Shawshank Redemption I haven’t read a lot of his stuff.
My problem, however, is my serious addiction to reading. I must read any time I’m not actually speaking or listening. The other day I was desperately looking for a book in the house, having read every magazine, newspaper and cereal box I could find. I went through my wife’s pile and came across a book called The Stand so I started reading it.
I don’t know if any of you folks have ever read this or not but I’m three hundred pages into it and I really like it. Except for the fact that every time anyone around me coughs I break into a panic. Every time someone sneezes my spine straightens and I start sweating.
Last night I had a dream that everyone around me was dropping dead from this virus or whatever the hell it is. Very realistic. I woke up in the middle of the night and was looking for duct tape to try and seal off the windows and doors to my house.
It's amazing how I got on in life without ever having read this book, what with my track record of swallowing novels by the boxload.
Last night I ried to watch the Masterpiece Theater version of Dicken's Bleak House but I had to turn it off after a few minutes. Having read the book a couple of times I couldn't reconcile the screen version wth what my mind had already generated over the years.
I understand there's a mini-series or something based on The Stand. Is it any good?
Margi is home after freeing the Peanut from captivity. The little fella has already made his bloggy debut!
Head on over there and gush a bit.
Why is it so hard to get a doctor’s appointment? When you’re sick, you’re sick. You need to see a doctor right away, not in two fucking weeks. Christ, by then whatever you’ve got is either gone or has killed you. Most of them now have about six offices they run between when they’re not out cashing checks and playing golf.
Dramatization
“Good morning, Dr. Robert’s office.”
“I need to make an appointment with Dr. Roberts.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Yes.”
“When would you like to come in?”
“As soon as possible.”
“How about the 12th?”
“Of February?”
“Yes, we have a morning and an afternoon.”
“I was hoping to see him today…can’t you squeeze me in?”
“No, sir. February is the earliest appointment we have.”
“You don’t understand. I’m in horrible pain! I have shooting pains in my side and I can’t eat anything because of the vomiting.”
“I can call you if we have a cancellation before then…”
“But my pee is black!”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but—“
“Lady, I’ve got the goddamned plague! Don’t you understand…I feel like I’ve been fucking SHOT in the side. My pee is black! I’ve been coughing up shit that looks like tripe!”
“Would you like to take the appointment on the 12th or not, sir?”
It seems like a very long time ago.
I’ve gone my entire life without ever seeing the word Sudoku in print or heard it spoken, and in the last week it’s everywhere I look. I have no idea what it is, nor do I want to know.
In other news, can too much cranberry juice turn your poop yellow? A friend wants to know.
They’re playing every episode of The Sopranos in order on HBO, one episode per night. It’s pretty much the only thing I’ve got going for me right now. Big Pussy has it coming to him any day now.
Here’s an interesting fact. I have never seen any of the Lord of the Rings movies. For some reason the whole thing never really appealed to me. Now it seems daunting to try and catch up. I feel like if I don’t have all the DVDs in my possession along with three days off work it will be a disjointed hassle. I probably have some serious mental health issues.
Today’s lucky number is 29.
I’m going to do you folks a favor. I know it won’t be recognized as such, seeing as how I’m still the interloper around here. The red-headed stepchild. The poor relation. The fucking “Cousin Eddy” of National Lampoon fame.
Nonetheless, I’m forging ahead because frankly, I think the shoe is on the other foot. I’m quite sure you people could stand to read a great book or two that hasn’t been recommended by some lard-assed, tenured dickhole.
Once a month I’ll recommend a book or two that may dramatically change your life. Or not.
Post Office, by Charles Bukowski.
This book actually did change my life. After years of reading classic literature (and loving it) I stumbled upon this book and read it in a single afternoon. It was like leaving a church picnic to go get drunk and fuck. The raw characters, simple sentence construction and brutal honesty reach out and slap your face.
It’s the largely autobiographical story of Bukowski himself (best known as the real-life model for Barfly) under the guise of Henry Chinaski, a ne’er do well who takes a temporary job as a mail carrier over the holidays. It’s a walking route filled with untold pitfalls like steep hills, mean dogs and people who belong in the madhouse. Things progress at a rapid pace from there. This book pretty much launched Bukowski’s career.
This is a quick read and is absolutely hilarious.
Journey to the End of the Night, by Louis-Ferdinand Celine.
This book is somewhat harder to describe. Just as funny (almost) as Post Office, but there are some fairly dark spots.
From the editorial review:
When it was published in 1932, this then-shocking and revolutionary first fiction redefined the art of the novel with its black humor, its nihilism, and its irreverent, explosive writing style, and made Louis-Ferdinand Celine one of France's--and literature's--most important 20th-Century writers. The picaresque adventures of Bardamu, the sarcastic and brilliant antihero of Journey to the End of the Night move from the battlefields of World War I (complete with buffoonish officers and cowardly soldiers), to French West Africa, the United States, and back to France in a style of prose that's lyrical, hallucinatory, and hilariously scathing toward nearly everybody and everything. Yet, beneath it all one can detect a gentle core of idealism.
I’ve been recommending these books for years and I can’t tell you how many people of thanked me profusely. Trust your Cousin Eddy. I know you’re reading this.
Did you know that Martin Luther King Jr. was heavily invested in making New Orleans a majority black city? Or that his central focus was hurricane recovery? And I bet that you didn't know how he lobbied tirelessly for reparations.
I have to confess that I missed all of that in my studies of the man. I could have sworn that he was all about equality but I guess I'm wrong. I mean it's like this - either I'm wrong or some of the most prominent black leaders of our time are sticking their feet up MLK's ass to promote their own causes on the very day we've set aside to remember him and his works and they wouldn't do that.
Would they?
An old man sits at a large oak desk. A roaring fire blazes away, drying his greatcoat which hangs nearby. His mind is focused on a portrait hanging over the fireplace. He glances around the room, his eyes falling on other portraits that hang against the dark wood paneling. He takes a sip of brandy and his thoughts return to his letter.
Working by candle light he dips his quill and in magnificent script signs his name on the bottom of the thick heavy parchment. After blotting his work, he folds the letter, places it in a large envelope and drips the aromatic wax across the fold. Finding his large seal, he firmly stamps his crest into the wax. Knowing that the letter may take months to arrive at its destination, he sighs and rings for his valet to hasten it to post.
###
And here I sit with a little plastic machine, almost instantly receiving hate mail from cowardly little pricks who can’t spell.
The contrast is depressing.
###
The above post was written a few years ago on my first blog. In fact, it was one of the first things I’d ever posted. It was then and continues to be a pretty accurate portrayal of my feelings. I found this yesterday whilst going over some of my stuff and decided to write a short story around it. I’m giving myself until Friday, so long as things don’t get too crazy.
Option B is the overwhelming favorite with ~6 votes. Write in candidate E had ~2 votes and loathsome option D finished third with a single vote.
Victor and Phin will spend the year in an unholy embrace at second place on the 2005 winner's board.
Speach! Speach!
Lovely Wife: You're being so good today! What's up with that?
Bacon: My brain isn't working right.