Why hello there Crasstalk. Hope you have had a wonderful day and are gearing up for the weekend. Here’s some School House Rock to enlighten you this evening.
Herewith, p_mouse, raconteur extraordinaire, presents his candidate for “The Most Literate Joke in the World.”
His entry is fully prepared to take on all comers, of which he hopes there will be many.
One bibulous evening in the ’20s, not long before they were all sent down for one transgression or another, four young Oxonians were strolling through Christ Church Meadow lost in idle discussion of collective nouns: a pod of whales, a murder of crows, an exaltation of larks, et cetera et cetera and so forth.
As they left that bucolic Arcadia behind and reentered the streets of Oxford Town, they were approached and propositioned by a quartet of ladies of the night. Being of another persuasion altogether, the lads politely declined the offer and went on their way.
“A propos collectives,” said the first, Sebastian, a charming youth for whom the world was his oyster, “I think I should describe those wenches as ‘a bed of trollops’.”
“Bravo,” said the second, by birth Aloysius but known to all and sundry as Pooh-Bear, “Yet dare I say my whimsical taste runs more to ‘a jam of tarts.'”
“Of course,” said the third, blanching at the very idea of heterosex but determined to outdo his peers, “the correct terminology must needs be ‘a flourish of strumpets.'”
“Oh bugger it, Anthony,” said Charles, the last, a quietly observant sort of chap who had never in life come less than Double-First, “what else could they possibly be but An Anthology of English Pros??
It’s no secret that state budgets across the United States are ‘in crisis’. The tumbling tax revenues resulting from a combination of high unemployment rates and tax cuts for corporations and wealthy individuals, coupled with the expiration of federal stimulus funds, has left states in the unenviable position of closing significant budget gaps.
In fits of ignorance rage, voters in several states have tasked Republicans with the arduous task of filling their budget holes. Across the country, right-wing governors and GOP-led legislatures are looking for private sector solutions to public sector problems, and looking to operate the government in a more business-like fashion.
Like any good business, the answer? Fire sale, motherfucker! Eliminate those long term revenue streams in exchange for a lump sum payment up front, increased cost of services to your citizens, and a likelihood of decreased wages for the workers providing those services. In the case of selling an asset, like Ohio governor John Kasich plans to do with its prisons or Scott Walker’s plan to pay back Koch Industries with no-bid power plant sales, that asset is GONE. Off the balance sheet. No longer an asset to the state.
The money up front, of course, is nice. Lump sums help close holes in 1 and 2-year budgets. However, two years from now, when a new budget is due to the state, and these governors are still in charge (barring a recall, which, sadly, in Ohio, doesn’t exist), similar gaps will need filled again. What to sell then? Roads? Parks? The Lottery?
Well, in Ohio, those things are slated to be leased out to private companies. The parks for natural gas drilling, the turnpike to get the maintenance costs off the state’s back, and the lottery? Well, there’s just a lot of money to be made that could be much better utilized by someone who’s already rich than the schools it was originally intended to support. If you’re already leasing out a car, you can’t exactly turn around and sell it to someone else. So, close that door.
Nope, you’ll either have to raise taxes on folks who can afford it (HA!), or cut more services. Schools in the Midwest don’t need heat, do they? If we cram 60 kids into a classroom meant for 30, the body heat alone should be enough, right? I’m not a scientist, but that sounds right.
Admittedly, I haven’t seen some of the numbers associated with these efforts yet. Like any good used car salesman, the politicians associated with these actions like to wait until the last minute to disclose the details of the sale.
However, I’m having trouble with the math on some of these things. In the case of the turnpike, it’s likely that the company that leases it from the state will lay-off and reduce the wages of toll and maintenance workers, raise tolls (see Indiana), and possibly scrimp on certain aspects of maintenance/safety. Wait, that never happens, right?
So, what you likely have: Reductions in tax revenue from workers, a further erosion of the middle class way of life, an increase in real costs to the citizens and businesses that use those resources, and a share of revenue that could go directly to state coffers redirected as profit to a private firm (whose taxes your state probably just cut, helping to exacerbate said budget deficit).
But, those are only leases right? If they don’t work out, the state can always just take back control and operation of the asset.
Sure, except, your state has now disbanded the departments, cut those costs from the budget, and would have to re-create the infrastructure needed to resume operation of the asset in question. That costs money. Real money. Who’s going to pay for that?
Not guys like Kasich, Walker, or their friends and supporters. Believe that.
Gather round, chickens and I will tell you of the time that the Idols were handed the iconic music of Motown. Motown is some of the most singable music and yet, there are definitely some tracks of tears from the Idol stage all the way back to Hitsville, U.S.A. from some of our hopefuls. We are down to eleven, which means that not only will one unlucky Idolette will get the boot from the show tomorrow, but also from the tour and the planet. We all knew that this was going to be the equivalent of the triple jump at the Olympics for our Country Crooner, but for the rest of them, this should be easy, breezy cover band, right? Let’s just see about that.
The Good:
Thia Megia brought on a “Heat Wave” worthy of the Arizona summer. The youngin’ made it hotter than The Old Lady’s crotch in that Cache jumpsuit. Her rich tone and youth was perfectly suited for this Martha and the Vandellas ditty. Too bad it seemed like a magician cut her body in three because her head, torso and legs seemed to be separate from each other. All in all, Pochahontas redeemed herself.
That little Southern firecracker Lauren just keeps on hanging on. She is so very Kelly Clarkson that it is uncanny, even at this stage in the game. Her raspy voice and sassafrass did The Supremes well and she looked cute, too.
Jacob sang a duet with himself which is perfect on so many levels. Does he really need anyone else when he is making so much love to the audience and his own voice. You just can’t sing a DUET with your ego. I discovered, however, after watching for the show for the second time (yes, this is what I do for you, chickens. I watch the show twice to make sure there’s something I don’t miss), that if you don’t watch Jacob, he sounds better. So, after my initial angry typing of HATE HATE HATE, if you just listen to him and block out all the bunny impressions, he did well.
We knew this was going to happen but why oh why oh WHY did Country Crooner Edward E. Newman take on Stevie Wonder? I need brain bleach. It’s not that it was bad, but it made me want to cry because only Stevie should be able to “For Once in My Life.” I think they are going to make single out of that song and I bet it will do really well. Because he’s an American. A real American. Anyone want to bet me that it will be a certain Alaskan politician’s campaign song on 2012?
It pains me, PAINS me to put Paul McCreepster in on this side of the dividing line but he didn’t make me grab my rape whistle. He (thankfully) stood in one place and strummed his gee-tar and sang well enough. So there you go.
The Unacceptable:
Fozzie Wozzie is no Joe Cocker. Fozzie Wozzie was terrible – shocker! Fozzie is mad about something. Maybe it was all that Teen Spirit he was smelling last week. He scrunted “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” while performing that perilous trick of singing and walking at the same time. Not only did he look like a chicken searching for food, he sounded like he was being chased by the farmer at dinner time. Fozzie Galifianakis is too big for his beard. Time to knock him down a few pegs.
Did Stephano screw up the words colossally or did someone actually choose that arrangement? Lionel Richie should be rolling over in his grave. Don’t tell me he’s alive because he died last night hearing that jumble of words that was once his song. We really need to re-visit this video. It’s just the funniest, oddest concept. He’s a professor stalking his student – his blind student – and he asks “is it me you’re looking for?”
But I digress. Stefano, dear, you’re in trouble.
The thing about that girl you never liked in high school is that there really isn’t one thing you can point to that makes you dislike her. Well, except that time she made a play for your boyfriend. It seems that she just tries too hard all the time. All the time. And she made The Old Lady start screeching in her seat. Was Simon under there somewhere?
You know what’s not fair? Idol. You can be on top one week, and the bottom the next. I told Pia. I told her not to do this. She sang well enough but zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Yes, it was so Miss America – so pretty, so perfect. Too perfect. Better pick up the pace, picante.
That’s it. No more chances for African Earth Mother Naima. She tries to hard to be different and tonight was just silliness. She finally sang mostly on key but then she went and felt the need to really “connect to her ancestors” so she threw in some African dance. Um yeah no. Miss Ross never did that and neither should you, Naima.
Overgrown Baby Gay Kurt apparently thinks that “Living for the City” is a song about a man named Stefan who reviews the club scene for tourists visiting New York. Well, New York’s hottest club is called NO. It has Lambasters (Adam Lambert impersonators), screeching Seacretins, and babies wearing chain-covered leather jackets dancing on the bar. It’s not a place anyone should visit.
Me too, Paula. Me too.
Bottom Three: Hailey (her name is written on one of the seats), Stephano, Naima.
UPDATE: So America put Thia, Stefano and Casey in the bottom three. Each deserving of it (despite my blind spot with Thia). Casey was going home until enough bleeped out moments lead to him being saved by the judges and then more bleeped out moments followed. Good job, Idol. Congrats, America. This is your 2011 Taylor Hicks.
Aren’t we done with these people yet? No? Well then, Snooki found my bathing suit from 1993 and it fits her only slightly worse than it did me. (The Superficial)
There’s been some discussion on the open threads of the site where we all met and fell in love, currently known as The Place That Shall Not Be Named (TPTSNBN).
(TPTSNBN) really isn’t a sexy acronym, is it? It needs some Don Draper spin, something easy to type, easy to remember, and of course it must reflect seventh-level black belt snarkitude, for which this site’s commenters are renowned far and wide.
Now that the gauntlet has been thrown down, let’s get to the serious business of renaming the old place. Some ideas to get us started:
Dancing has been called many things – sex with your clothes on is one. But that doesn’t explain why you can still do it with your parents or a friend or your sister and it’s not weird. What does explain that is that dancing is one of the most fun things people ever concocted.
WASPs ain’t inclined to boogaloo. Or boogie. For us, a boogie something for which you need a tissue. We’re not wired in such a manner. We waltz or two-step and that’s kind of it. Fortunately, I’m half a guido. So I do have a few good moves. Most of them are featured in the video above.
Let’s start with Madonna’s “Holiday”. I’ve never been at a family function where this was played and Mom Crocker didn’t come over, grab me, and proceed to Tear. It. Up. Neither of us gets through it without hysterical giggles. And there’s history there.
In 1983, I was 16 and the proud owner of Madonna’s first album. On vinyl! I hosted my own birthday party, and convinced Mom and Dad to go out. But, like all smart parents, they left late and came home early. My friends were – are – nice people, so there were no real worries. I found out more about this later.
Seeing Mom and Dad come downstairs in their going-out finery was nice. Mom had on this gorgeous pink silk suit with a cream-colored blouse and pink linen stilettos, and her hair was up in an amazing chignon with a marcasite barrette, and she looked like a lovely Dynasty Mom. Dad was in a Mad Men-era navy suit with shiny shoes, and had stolen one of my skinny ties from my closet. That should have been my clue. This Dad was a much-changed Dad from the Saturday- morning- with- a plate- of- waffles version.
A dinner comprised of all hors d’ouvres is The WASPy Way, and an East Williston tradition. So, at 8 or so, about 30 nicely-dressed kids showed up. No one was going home hungry. The horror unfolded shortly after. Mom and Dad greeted everyone and swept off into the foyer.
But there’s a lot of house, and once you see someone in the foyer, it’s kind of not always clear to a busy teenaged host that they’ve actually gone. I was pouring drinks and passing little party dogs in pastry and in general having a blast.
My friend Devin told me “Your folks are outré”, about 10 minutes in. The living room had gotten quiet, I noticed. Everyone seemed to be watching something hilarious unfolding in the kitchen.
Madonna’s “Holiday” was on the stereo, and my parents were dancing.In front of the dishwasher.
For some reason, my parents LOVE Madonna’s first effort. This has survived nearly 30 years. I’ll never know why and I’m not sure I want to. This was obvious as they shook it before the KitchenAid. There were 14 people peeking in from the butler’s pantry and 10 more from the foyer. Mom’s skirt, in the fashion of the time, was narrow at the knees, so she hiked it up a bit and every girl yelled “WOO!” Dad did a THING called The Bristol Stomp. I was afraid he was having a stroke.
“Holiday-ay!” yelled Mom.
“Cele-BRAY-ayte!”, said Dad.
“We need a holi-DAY-ay!” they sang together.
I about died of red roaring shame. Because the one thing worse than having overbearing parents is having cool ones. Or ones who think they’re cool and are kind of a little off. My friends were laughing, some with them, some at them.
But every time we’re all together at a family event, Mom fiddles with the music, pops in a Madonna CD – she must wedge three copies into her bag right after she puts her earrings on. Then she finds me – she can always find me no matter how I hide – sashays over and asks me to dance while my father points and laughs. I pretend to be annoyed. She knows I’m not. She’ll be doing this when she needs a walker to ambulatory.
Leave your funny, tragic, wardrobe-malfunctioning stories in the comments, but I just remembered one more.
++++++
2004. My college friend Dominic was marrying his beloved and asked me to be an usher. After the short ceremony, we piled into the limo for the long trip to the ersatz Water Mill catering hall. (Ever been to one of those on LI? They ALL look like The Sopranos’ abode. Marble tile! Brass n’glass! Flowers tormented into out-of-season blooming!)
There were seven guys in the limo, including a big, burly guido who I didn’t know. I promptly forgot all about the fact that my own beloved was on his way to the reception in his own car, and commenced a mental affairette in my head with the burly guido man.
Kiss me, you fool!
Let’s call him Big Joe. A LOT of drinkin’ was going on in that limo! Big Joe put away about a fifth of scotch himself. But he was so big and hot I overlooked it. Some nugget of genius had brought Doritos. Dorito orange cheez paste is tough on a tuxedo. Big Joe ate a whole bag, and I got to dab at his shirt and lapels with seltzer water to remove said orange cheez paste. At this point I was looking at him and chewing ice cubes.
At the reception, I collected myself, calmed down, and acted like a good usher should. This involves working the room for lonely ladies and asking them to dance. So, I’m on the dance floor with Dominck’s cousin Francine. The bass is loud, as it always is. The song was a favorite classic: Jamiroquai’s “You Give Me Something”. Francine’s really into it, and so am I, and we’re doing a little waltzy thing I learned in high school.
Then I spot Big Joe and he’s looking a bit worse for wear. And at a moment of quiet… he FARTS. It was a blast like the trumpet of a horny elephant with a little wet squeak at the end. Francine grabbed my hand. “Did you just hear…”
Well, everyone did and there was no dog to blame it on. Then came the stench. Low tide. Dorito cheez, scotch fumes, eggs, maybe a soupcon of rotten meat.
The dance floor cleared like the upper class decks on the Titanic, leaving Big Joe swaying at its center. That’s pretty much a confession in my book. His erstwhile dance partner was in parts unknown, probably Kalamazoo. People were muttering some pretty terrible things about Big Joe.
Francine looked like she might barf, until I started laughing with actual tears, which got her started. The hapless DJ segued into KC And The Sunshine Band’s “That’s The Way I Like It”. Francine was laughing so hard she cried off her makeup. The oblivious bride wandered by and said “You two are sure having fun…” I said “Oh honey, we’re having a BLAST!” Francine pulled me to a now-empty table where we sat so she could convulse in peace. We watched as the reek spread to people who hadn’t heard the actual Trumpet Of Doom.
Every song lyric became a double-entendre.
“Yowza, yowza, fuckin’ yowza!” she howled. “I thing Big Joe just pooed!”
“You can feel it! It’s electric!” I gasped when they played The Electric Slide.
“I bet he’s in the can, Shaking His Groove Thing!”
“Pardon me boys? Was that the Chattanooga choo-choo?” More tears.
This went on for 20 minutes, until our respective spouses teamed up to find us. Mr. Francine was none too happy to be abandoned at a wedding where he didn’t know anyone and finding his wife yukking it up with a Gay. My own Cap’n had heard what happened from the bride herself, who was so angry she wanted him to accompany her as she asked Big Joe to sober up in the bridal suite. None of them thought this was funny at all.
I walked Francine to the lobby restrooms so she could fix her makeup, followed by our husbands and the still annoyed bride, who had dispatched the maitre’d to the still-empty dance floor with a can of Glade.
“Just a second.” I said. Paused by the table in the lobby, I wrote in the Guest Book: “BIG JOE’S ASS”.
Last night Richard Lewis had a strange, rambling interview on The Daily Show and it got me thinking about what he might be on. Watch and make a guess about what’s going on inside Richard’s head.
1998 was a pretty great year. I got my first car (a seafoam green ’93 Pontiac LeMans), I had stopped going through “the change” and I performed with the Minneapolis Pops Orchestra for the first time. Looking back on it, it was a great year in music as well – rocking out to intergalactic on the way to parties; smoking herb with a little Marcy Playground in the background…
My First Car - I added the KOSS CD player myself
Below are my most-listened to songs that year – a veritable trip down memory lane. Please share any seminal years in your life and the music associated in the comments!
Marcy Playground – Sex and Candy: The one-hit wonder of 1998. A Minneapolis band, I lived next to Marcy Playground in College
Eve 6 – Inside Out: Not much to say about this one, I just couldn’t get away from it.
Semisonic – Closing Time: Another Minnesota band – how many times did you hear this at the bar at 2 am?
Liz Phair – Polyester Bride: The theme song for our AP US History class – I’m not quite sure why. I think we all thought we were cool and indie by listening to Liz Phair. Many of my friends that liked this song later moved into the McKibbin Lofts in Williamsburg, go figure.
Natalie Imbruglia – Torn: I washed dishes on Sundays at a restaurant and this was always on Casey Kasem’s top 40 countdown
Air – Sexy Boy:We listened to this in French IV all the time because it’s a French band and we didn’t want to do any actual schoolwork
Madonna – Ray of Light: Bitchin’ song, bitchin’ video – showed everyone that Madge still had it goin’ on after Britney and all the other sluts starting to make the rounds
Massive Attack – Angel:I heard it BEFORE it was in The Matrix – which by the way was the first DVD I ever watched
Garbage – Paranoid: My uncle went to high school with Butch Vig, so I got to go backstage at the “Zone for the holidays” concert with Garbage, Beck, Semisonic, Soul Coughing, and Goo Goo Dolls. Pretty sweet!
The Smashing Pumpkins – Ava Adore: Billy Corgan as a young Uncle Fester
Hole – Celebrity Skin: Courtney is a train-wreck, but this album was the tits – maybe because Billy Corgan wrote it?
Soul Coughing – Circles: Wasn’t this in a VW ad?
Cake – Never There: My parents were pretty “with it” (I stole my first Beck album from them) but they never quite got the appeal of Cake
Fatboy Slim – Praise You: This song wore out its welcome after about 3 weeks
New Radicals – You Get What You Give: I had this album – I thought the guy on the cover with the big floppy hat looked pretty cool
Alanis Morissette – Thank You: No – Thank You, Alanis!
Beastie Boys – Intergalactic: The manager at the restaurant I worked at got me this album for my 16th birthday. Thanks, Theresa!
Third Eye Blind – Jumper: One of many great songs on this album
There you have it – my life in music for the year 1998.
If you’re a serious music fan, you likely have a few — or more than a few — bands or artists where you’d love to see them receive more attention beyond the small hive of fans. While listening to some music last night, I thought about some of my favorite bands that fit in this category.
Now, my definition of “bigger” doesn’t necessarily mean a band gets so huge they can only play arenas. Instead, it’s more along the lines of “here are some bands that I really love where it would have been great to have at least one other person know who they were…” Of course, some of you may know all of these bands, but if you don’t, consider it an opportunity to check them out and toss a few bucks their way by purchasing their music.
Last, but not least, you’ll probably notice my picks are pretty much a rock music sausage fest. Simple reason for this: I love boys with guitars.
Failure
Just about everyone in this band has gone on to be in a band you probably have heard of — Queens of the Stone Age, Guns ‘N’ Roses, or starting side projects with members of TOOL — yet Failure didn’t really receive a lot of attention. Perhaps it’s a matter of a band being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but their shoegazey sound with sweeping melodies should have been heard by many more people. (Song Recommendation: “Stuck on You“)
The Afghan Whigs
Of course, I have to include my all-time favorite band on this list. Despite being around for over a decade and touring like madmen, The Afghan Whigs’ music — part old-school R&B, part rock, and all swagger — seemed to remain on the perimeter of getting a bigger audience and moving beyond the “critically-acclaimed” label. (Song Recommendation: “Going to Town“)
Superdrag
Chances are you may have heard “Sucked Out” in the 90s on MTV, but there is so much more power-pop goodness from this Knoxville, Tennessee-based band. After a hiatus that included lead singer John Davis finding Jesus, the band has returned to play a few shows here and there in recent years. Still, some of their best music has not been heard by enough people. In the Valley of Dying Stars is a classic album. (Song Recommendation: “Keep It Close to Me“)
The Sheila Divine
Though their roots are in the Northeastern U.S. (particularly Buffalo and Boston), this band was pretty big in Belgium, yet virtually unknown in the States. Initially signed to the hard rock/metal label Roadrunner Records, this decidedly not metal band had quite a following, but didn’t really break it big. Their last EP, Secret Society, saw them on Arena Rock Records, which was also home to Superdrag for a spell. Unfortunately, people change, the music scene changed, and the band called it a day in the early 2000s. Lead singer Aaron Perrino’s voice has to be heard to be believed. (Song Recommendation: “Sideways“)
Whiskeytown
Yes, you’ve probably heard of their lead singer. He’s a favorite of mine, too. Still, the band that would lead to Ryan Adams’ successful solo career should have been bigger. When I was starting to get into the alt-country scene, this was one of the bands introduced to me and I’ve been a fan since. The vocal harmonies between Adams and Caitlin Cary are sublime. (Song Recommendation: “16 Days“)
Grandaddy
I was introduced to this band thanks to Pete Yorn. The Modesto, California-based band opened for him during a 2003 tour, where I got to see them perform several times. Grandaddy’s music is unique, which is probably why their tech-spacey sounds didn’t catch on, but there’s an audience for all kinds of music and I wish theirs would have grown more. (Song Recommendation: “AM 180“)
