Things That Chafe Me

Cover versions where the cover artist gets the lyrics wrong. And I don't mean when they change the lyrics intentionally, I mean when the cover artist obliviously sings the wrong words.

Exhibit One in the Parade of Horrors: Nouvelle Vague does a version of the Smith's "Sweet and Tender Hooligan", a great song, and they fluff "In the midst of life we are in debt, etc." by singing "In the midst of life we are in death etc." Which would be a neat trick.

As for artists who sing the wrong words intentionally? I think that Linda Ronstadt has to be the worst offender. And her worst offense? That's a tough one. I think I'll nominate two songs.

(1) "After The Gold Rush" by Neil "Shakey" Young. Now this song just must be tough on cover artists, as the group Prelude back in 1974 covered this and changed the line "Look at Mother Nature on the run in the 1970s" by singing "Look at Mother Nature on the run in the 1917." I mean, that's just weird.

But what Frau Ronstadt sang was even worse. She substituted "and I felt like I could cry" for "and I felt like getting high." I mean, WHERE'S YOUR SENSE OF COMMITMENT? At least actually cry. Or get high. Or both.

(2) The more egregious example of song-neutering has to be in her recently released version of "Jesus Was A Cross-Maker" by the late, great Judee Sill. Now, Judee allegedly wrote this song about onetime paramour J.D. Souther back in 1971 or 1972, in the heyday of the Troubadour. And Linda covered it in the 90s sometime, I believe. Could be more recent. So in her infinite creative wisdom, she omits the title of the song from the song, and merely repeats the preceding line twice, as in:

"He's a bandit and a heartbreaker, He's a bandit and a heartbreaker" instead of "He's a bandit and a heartbreaker, oh my Jesus was a cross-maker."

Which renders the song nonsensical, as it tells the story of these two opposing forces, the man [or men] who have wronged our heroine, and the opposing force of good, Jesus. So, without the Jesus half of the song, I would think that the listener would be vastly confused.

But not Linda.

Be Careful: Writers at Work

I'm reading Susan Cheever's book on the Transcendentalists, called "American Bloomsbury." It's about midcentury Concord, Massachusetts and the group of writers who orbited around Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Besides the somewhat flip tone of the book [and its many factual errors], it is fascinating to read about this group of perpetually unemployed egotistical losers Thoreau, Alcott, Emerson, Hawthorne, Fuller and assorted hangers-on. Yes, they hated materialism! Because they had no money! They had no marketable skills and no taste for competition. So they whined their days away extolling the virtue of ... whining one's days away. Seem a mite convenient?

Whilst all around them, the industrial revolution, mass immigration from Europe and Asia, inevitable social progress and reform took seed in pre-Civil War America. While they were busy doin' nothin'. The original hippies.

And, in some fashion, it was all made possible - Bronson Alcott's many failed Utopian schools, Thoreau's Walden retreat, Hawthorne being saved from poverty so that he could meet Margaret Fuller and then write "Scarlet Letter" based on her - by the fact that Emerson sued his first wife's family so that he could gain her share of the inheritance, as the first Mrs. Emerson died about one year after their marriage. So, if you read "Walden" and enjoy it, remember to thank a Plaintiff's lawyer.

Peace.

The Best Piece of Writing on the Internet Ever

The following piece was written by Lisa Rea in November of 1997, and I probably first read it in 1998 when I was living in San Francisco. To this day, it is my favorite piece of writing from the Internet. So I will share it now with you all:

So, a couple of weeks ago, I am sitting outside at work, and there is this woman who is eating her lunch nearby. She is also talking to some of her friends. She is talking about pork. She is saying that she buys pork tenderloin sometimes and then she is saying she buys pork chops and breads them and cooks them and makes some mashed potatoes and some pan gravy from the pork. She says "Pork cooks tender. Beef cooks tough." She says, "Pork." She says, "Pork pork pork." Other words jumble together. Pork is loud. Pork is clear. Pork is pork. Pork pork pork. She never stops talking about pork. Pork never pork porking about pork.

Pork pork. Pork. Pork pork pork.

I am wearing my sunglasses. I am mesmerized. I cannot blink. "Pork. Pork. Pork pork."

I am better. I am smarter. I will not talk about Pork. No. I am not that Pork woman. I will not say, "Pork pork. Pork. PORK!" No, I will say, "Feeling love we've never felt! Smelling love we've never PORK. Pork. Pork. Pork."

She is probably talking about something else now. I am talking about pork now. I am listening to people talk about pork, and I am telling other people that I heard someone talk about pork.

What's Your Sign?

I was driving home yesterday, and there was a red Volvo wagon in front of me that had eight bumper stickers on it.

They were:

• COEXIST
• War Is Not the Answer
• Humankind: Be Both
• The Constitution is a Shield, Not a Sword
• Fundamentalism Closes An Open Mind
• We Are Family
• Good Planets Are Hard to Find
• [I can't read my handwriting on my notes, once I do, I'll plug it in here.]

I think they really missed out on the Teach Peace, Visualize World Peace and War Is Not Healthy for Children and Other Living Things stickers. Surely there was room.

And of course, they pulled into Trader Joe's, probably to buy some organic food.

At some point, you are no longer living the dream. You're living the cliché.

44 Years Young

Today is in fact my birthday. Thank you to all the posters who, at the behest of Ms Stapler, came over to wish me well, and more vocally, remind me that my girlfriend is one lovely lady. Thanks, gals!

I once spent my birthday in the emergency room in Fairfield, California having had a vasal vagel attack at about 2 in the morning. Later that day, I met Ms Stapler in person for the first time [what a cutie!].

I once dated a girl with the same birthday [different year by 2 or 3 years, if I remember correctly.]

I used to go to Denny's on my birthday, as you would get a free meal. I am pretty certain I did this on my 30th birthday in 1993 when I lived in Davis, California. I became a lawyer that week. Lucky me! Lucky world!

The best birthday present I ever got was tickets to see Rosanne Cash [this would have been around 1988]. The worst present I ever got was a space heater [around 1979.]

I did in fact get some cool stuff this year ... gf gave me a hair dryer [my waggish friends would say "what for? the dog?], some man-grooming products, and a book. My brother gave me the aforementioned [earlier blog] gift card for LL Bean. My dad gave me the gift card for Home Depot. My sister gave me a DVD of "The Cable Guy" which is not the same thing as a DVD of this guy, thank God. So, pretty neat birthday. I certainly appreciate all the swag.

But what I really like is to see everyone, especially all the folks who rarely come around [Et tu, Joe C?] So I have a yearly birthday get-together where we go out to Louisa's and then off to my favorite evening activity, other than rifling through strangers' possessions, the Groundlings.

I could go on and on and on and on, and then on a little more about how much I love and admire the Groundlings. So many wonderfully conceptualized skits come to mind. Steve Little and Kent Sublette doing a gay-casting couch skit, with Steve literally bawling hysterically as he realizes that the audition is not going as planned [while stripping down to his tighty-whiteys]. Anything with the delightful and devious Mitch Silpa in it. Nat Faxon and Hugh Davidson as two guys in a pick-up bar; Nat's costume moustache falls off accidentally, Hugh points it out, and Nat recovers perfectly by deadpanning "I wore it because I thought it made me look older." Jim Rash's brilliant "Run, Needleman, Run" where a petty criminal uproots his family due constantly due to his inability to leave the coffee fund alone.

In short, when you see these people perform these skits, you gain an appreciation for the artistry of comedy. The brilliant mix of bravery, subversiveness, intelligence and just a fascinating esteem for humanity that comes through. These people are my heroes [Not to be confused with Stephen Colbert's "the heroes."]

What I'm saying is ... if you are ever in LA, you must see the Groundlings. It will improve your life.

For a taste of their genius, see the work of Mitch Silpa [as creepy street magician David Blaine] here.

He Don't Look Back

I just finished watching the Bob Dylan press conference from December of 1965 [41 years ago, kiddies!]. Fascinating stuff and I recommend it. It's on YouTube, it is in 8 parts and it has annoying breaks for Dylan song/photo montages that the poster thinks helps him evade copyright restrictions [good try, fella!]. The questions range from the ridiculous to the nonsensical, but it's a hoot watching him try to be polite.

Every single YouTube post involving a musical celebrity from the 60s or 70s has the following comment after it: "Boy, was he/she HIGH!" I just like the consistency of that comment.

I broke the little toe on my right foot yesterday. This little piggy is black, swollen and hurts like hell. My dog is pissed because no walkies for 2 days. Why must she suffer too?

It's my birthday on Sunday. My brother, kindly, sent me an online Gift Card for LL Bean. Ah, I suppose I could get some attire from their "Me no want any sex" collection. I spent literally 45 minutes looking at their website and just trying to envision the circumstance under which I would want to wear any of their stuff.

My brother used to always borrow my clothes, particularly my shirts, back in the 80s, when we both lived in Orange County. The exchange never went the other direction. Although, if I could go back to 1975 and get some of his Cat Stevens/Seals & Croft hippie wear, that would be cool. I was ordering out of the Ron Burgandy Junior Collection back then. Although I did have some kickin' velour shirts with zipper fronts and collars. Don't get me started about Levi Movin' On Jeans, especially the beige twin tracks that I so adored.

On a sad note, the only child of Angie Dickinson and Burt Bacharach committed suicide yesterday here in Thousand Oaks. Her name was Nikki, and I will post a link to a snippet of the great song that BB wrote for her back in the 1960s when she was just a child. As I listen to it now, it seems like such a sad little [great] song.

I have visitors this weekend. Where is the vacuum?

Think and Think Again

There was a children's clothing store in my fair berg, a kinda sorta upscale area, in a strip mall. And the name of the place was "Once Upon A Child." True story. Did infamous child-twiddler Michael Jackson frequent the store? I know not.

I'm doing my bills and so forth this evening. Did I tell you I am unemployed? So, these little forays are an adventure.

I know this is true for guys, I suppose it is true but less so for the ladies out there. Guys always assume other guys are LOADED with money. It has to do with the competitive-envy gene. I have a certain friend, really good guy. Whenever I mention anything related to my house, job, so forth, he will always interject some comment to the effect that I sleep upon spun gold, and wash my face with Evian and so forth. Because he has 4 kids, I have none ... I make more money [when employed] than he does ... and he does fairly well. So I must be exfoliating gold dust.

The truth is so far from that reality, but I've stopped explaining how financially screwed I am. Which, of course, is relative. I mean, I don't owe loan sharks, so I'm better than some. And my income potential is, in theory, pretty damn good.

But as they say, potential means you ain't done it yet.

I Didn't Lose It At the Movies

But I was fully expecting to.

I went and saw "We Are Marshall" last night, and expected to get at least a little man-weepy. But the movie TRIED SO HARD to drain every little bit of emotion from every scene it could that it failed.

And this, from a movie that used every cliche in the book.

In other words, the director lacked both skill and self-confidence, the latter being the unforgivable crime. Such as: one scene has the team leader assembling a group of people outside the regents closed meeting at a specific time. Initially, they starkly stand there, like statues or trees. Powerful scene. The crowd has assembled to demonstrate that the school body wants the football program to continue, despite the board's desire to suspend the program for a while so that the school and town can properly grieve and regroup [not an unreasonable idea. They'd just lost 95% of the starters, most of the coaches, many boosters and the broadcaster in a horrible plane crash.] So this assembled throng stands there, like a barren forest ... but that's not enough for McG, the director. They start barking "We ... Are ... Marshall" in the sort of unison that would make Chinese placard wavers proud. And it ruins the moment.

The "We Are Marshall" chant was not even used at the college at the time.

Another scene, this one actually has some truth in it. Bobby Bowden, the coach at West Virginia in 1971, actually did put the Marshall University initials and a cross on the back of his teams' helmets that season. In the movie, this is revealed by having a couple of players come in with their helmets, as they leave this is revealed when they turn to leave. Bowden mentions it, and the Marshall coach, played by flat-stomached and flat-affected Matthew McConaughey, says something like "First class, Coach", like they were just treated to a steak dinner. Dumb dialogue. Silence again would have served the scene so much better.

And the national consciousness of the event was much greater than hinted at in the movie [There was a nationally televised benefit with Bill Cosby, Kate Smith and others for example.]

And really, the movie felt like an unset omelette: threads of ideas not connected to other ideas, story lines that petered out, scenes whose impact was diluted by being out of context with the emotional tone of the movie.

I wanted to like the movie, despite the presence of non-actor McConaughey. To be fair, even though he stunk as usual, he was given some of the worst dialogue ever for a movie lead. You'd have to look to a Steven Seagal movie for better bad dialogue.

But I liked the supporting actors, and the look/feel of the movie was very good.

The real highlights were the football scenes, which - oddly - McG has a real feel for. He paced them, shot them and edited them with the kind of skill that was lacking in the dramatic scenes. Not dwelling too long on each play, catching the action without making it cartoonish. It felt real.

So it was a kind of a C+ movie, and I was hoping for a B.