Another Tiny Dream

I just dreamed that Kathy had booked a Lewis Black concert for our driveway, and had never told me. So while she was going off to work, I had to shovel and put out some folding chairs. And keep stray audience from wandering into the house.

How much should I sell hot chocolate for?

Rob

Why I Feel Like Jesus.

Not the beard, not the sandals, not the long hair I used to have, not even the talking crap to Satan. Didn't walk on water, didn't turn water into wine and walk on that, didn't cure the blind or raise anyone from the dead.

But I did start the night with 36 beers in a snowbank, give everyone plenty of drinks, and pull a full sixty beers etc. out of the snow when the party was over. That's serious loaves and fishes action.

Hey Peter. I can see your house from here.

Rob

A Dame By Any Other Name

I just read on Mark Evanier's blog that a friend of mine from college theater, Scott Mason, has won a contest and been named Dame Edna's honorary understudy for the new show All About Me. Scott's been impersonating the Dame for a while now, but this is taking it to a new level. Congratulations, Scott!

Rob

Smells Like Here Comes Your Man

Y'know, as much as I loved last night's episode of Lost (names! numbers! one awesome effing eulogy!), my favorite part of the broadcast was this Old Spice commercial.

Rob

A Lamb By Any Other Name Would Still Lie Down On Broadway

Kathy & I were in the city last night, and were looking around for things to do, and music to see. (We wound up going to Brooklyn and seeing The Growlers, a spooky-cool California band that sounds like a living breathing Lost Boys soundtrack.) But somewhere in the music listings was an all-woman klezmer band called Isle of Klezbos. Which is a legitimately great name.

It also reminded me of Lez Zepplin, an all-girl Zepplin cover band the Bastard told me about the other day. (Another great name. Other all-female cover bands include AC/DShe, Iron Maidens, and Cheap Chick.)

And it got me to thinking. If I were to start an all-woman cover band (quite a feat, considering I have neither the talent nor equipment for it), I'd be thanking my lucky stars this name isn't taken yet: Vagenesis.

If anyone wants it, it's free for the taking. 

Rob

One of Us! One of Us!

Just saw an interview with Donald Glover from the other night's Late Show with Craig Ferguson. Glover plays Troy on Community, the warm and  funny lead-off show to NBC's Thursday night comedies.

(As an aside, how did sitcoms get good again? In the 90s, they had nothing for me. Seinfeld was good, but I'd only catch is sporadically, and everything else bored my socks off. Then came Arrested Development, and things started turning around, and now I can almost always find a really great ensemble comedy to watch. Even things I had zero to no expectations for (I'm looking at you, Cougar Town) are much better than I could have ever expected.)

Anyway, Glover was on the Late Show, and he expressed an interest in magic. He mentioned that he didn't see any magicians as a kid, since he grew up as a Jehovah's Witness -- but he wasn't one anymore, so now he was digging the magic shows.

Craig is fascinated by this, and he asks: "So you're a rogue Jehovah's Witness?"

And Glover responds, "No, I'm not a 'rogue' Jehovah's Witness; I'm not hiding in shadows or anything."

And with those words, Donald Glover revealed himself to be a D&D geek. No hiding in shadows, Donald? How about sleight of hand? Sneak attack?

You just failed your save vs. geekdom, Donald. We're glad to have you!

Rob

Liner Notes

Okay, most—not all—of my friends have gotten my Christmas mix disc by now. (Yes, it's February. Why do you ask?) And I thought I’d take a look at some of the songs, since it’s been way too long since I posted any text up here.

Thin Wild Mercury. “Poor Phil Ochs, sad and low.” There’s something compelling to me—especially now—about a guy kicked out of the music fast lane as the world changes around him. Judas went electric and he never looked back.

Aramingo Take Out. What can I say? Slo-Mo (featuring Mic Wrecka) was may favorite new find at last year’s Philly Folk Fest. Yes, I said folk fest. Enjoy the rap, my fellow hippies.

Trippin’ In Montana. One side of my struggle with religion: I see it as a get-rich-quick scheme for all sorts of unsavory types. Only the levels of respectability change. In this case, it seems like the Waco story if it were reported on by Jim Thompson.

Love Dog. And here’s the flip side of the argument. Don’t we all want something out there? I know I do; I just don’t know what it is. “Nameless you above me, come lay me low and love me.”

Paranoia in B Major. What can I say? I love the Avetts, especially loose and live, like this track. The first of the love songs, which started growing all over this collection like kudzu. “But if love is a game, girl, then you’re gonna win; I’ll spend the rest of my life bringing victory in, babe if you want me to.”

Fuel. This Ani DiFranco song has gripped me for the past few years – it goes all over the place, and then ties it all back up tight. It just cranks up the tension… or rather, recognizes the tension that’s already here.

Stress. Speaking of tension, we’re not always very good at letting go of it. Plus: Sand fleas. SAND FLEAS!

Good Weekend. The first Art Brut song I ever heard, and it still makes my heart leap with joy.

Boy With a Coin. The first of two Iron & Wine songs; Sam Beam has become one of my favorite modern songwriters. I don’t always know what he’s going for, but I love how he gets there. (Again with the God, by the way: “If God made her eyes for crying at birth, and then left the ground to circle the earth.” Some people say we’re here to find happiness. But what if we’re here to find sorrow?)

The Engine Driver. Another sad love song, but there’s a resilience to it. “There are power lines in our bloodlines.” Plus, I love the bridge, about being a writer of fictions. “I’ve written pages upon pages, trying to rid you from my bones.” Wow.

Shenadoah. The oldest song on the disc, by hundreds of years. I love Richard Thompson’s collection 1,000 Years of Popular Music, and to my mind, this is the prettiest version of this song ever.

Where Is My Love? First of all, no one does longing like Lucinda Williams. Secondly, the lovers she imagines sound like the sexiest guys in existence. Who could compete?

Freedom Hangs Like Heaven. I like this bluesier Iron & Wine song, too. More upbeat than the last one, it’s a glimpse of the potential in all of us. “Ain’t nobody knows what a newborn holds, but his mama says he’ll walk on water and wander back home.”

2:19. This Tom Waits shuffle about love gone wrong always makes me want to dance. “Was that a raindrop in the corner of your eye? Were you drying your nails or waving goodbye?” I think you know, Tom.

Black Lincoln Bomb. Three girls, a night on the town, a stolen car. I’ve always liked Heather Eatman, ever since I saw her (and interviewed her) at my first folk fest fifteen years ago. (Jesus. 15 years.) She always has a way of describing a seamy evening, and the casual, languid instrumentation only adds to the effect.

Shackamaxon. This mix was a long time in the can before I realized that this song was about where to buy weed in Philly. I just liked it because it seemed like a verdant oasis in the middle of the city. “Looking for a place where the grass is green, and the smell is sweeter than it’s ever been.” (And that’s the subtle part.) What can I say? I’m dense sometimes.

Dancing Choose. “He’s a WHAT? He’s a WHAT? He’s a newspaper man.” They had me -- former newspaper man that I am -- with that, but once you throw in a sweater for a Weimaraner and a Flash tattoo, I completely fell in love with this song. In a just world, it would be the type of karaoke challenge that Barenaked Ladies’ “One Week” posed in the 90s.

Wine, Women and Song. Another song where the singer is taking stock of his life. I love the bouncy combination of lyrical playfulness and the bitter, bitter regret.

Shanty. Okay, this one I knew was about weed.

Rob

Mel Gibson Used to Be Able To Act

...but now he can't even act sincere.

 

(Make sure you watch to the end.)

Rob

No Phone Calls, Please.

Rob

BananaGram

Old friends of mine know this story, but I thought I'd set it down.

Years ago -- circa 1992, I think -- a couple friends and I were in a bar in Newark, Delaware, listening to a band that I believe was called Grinch. (If you're interested, here's their Facebook page. This story's not about them.)

Between sets, we ended up talking to this other guy in the bar, who was just starting up a local independent newspaper.There'd be comics, and band reviews, and that sort of thing. And my friends and I, writers all, were hooked. He needed writers, and we needed to get published. Win-win, right? So after regaling us with his plans for his paper, he invited us back to his place to check the thing out. We skipped the second set (sorry, Grinch!) and followed him a block or so to his apartment. Eager young writers were we.

And there, he showed us his fine publication -- an orange tabloid with a demented yellow fruit on the cover, called The Powerful Banana. Which was an odd name, but Newark's a college town. It sees odd every day.

Then we flipped the paper open and paged through it. I can honestly say, I don't recall any of the articles in the paper, if there were any. (There had to be, I guess, but they've faded from my memory. You'll see why in a moment.) I remember seeing some bar calendar advertisements, too, and later wondered if the Stone Balloon had any idea what it was paying for, and was happy with what it got. Because the main thing that caught my eye were the comics.

There were three comics strips, and only one had a punchline. And I have to admit that I remember it to this day. I don't think that's a testament to the humor (it couldn't be), but simply my brain's recognition that there are some elements of shock it wants to remember forever, as a defense mechanism against similar situations in the future.

The strip with the punchline was called "The Gassy Guru." This featured a lotus-sitting guru held aloft by his own farts, who eventually pees on one of his followers, saying "urine lightened!"

Ha!

This was the punchline.

Of the other two comic strips, one was called "Runny & Spooge," about a cat and his hairball (I don't know which was which, but really, does it matter?), and the other one was called "The Violent Pervert," which, well... it had truth in advertising going for it, at least. It was vile. Its only saving grace that it was so crudely drawn that you couldn't really see what was going on.

And my two friends and I just deflated. This guy wanted us to write for his newspaper, and until a few moments before, we'd been absolutely giddy. And then we saw the damn thing, and it was clear to each one of us that not being published anywhere, ever, would be better than even once getting published next to "The Violent Pervert." We made some polite noises about sending him some material, maybe, someday, although things are really hectic right now, and oh, look at the time! And we hightailed it out of there as soon as we could.

Somewhere, I think I still have my copy of The Powerful Banana. It later served as a prop in a short film one of those two friends made, and became such a strange artifact that I couldn't bear to throw it away. But it's followed me through a couple moves by this point, and I'm not entirely sure where in the house it is. Which is probably for the best.

Still, for some reason the other day, I was curious about The Powerful Banana, and decided to look it up online, just in case any vestige of this pre-Internet publication survived online. As far as I can tell, it hasn't. But the name lives on! A Japanese band has been playing under that name since 2001, from what I can find out. You can hear some of their music on their myspace page.

The Powerful Banana is dead. Long live the Powerful Banana.

Rob
(photo from Blobby's Blog.)

At least it wasn't a cricket.

This morning I was on the train, trying to concentrate on a little editing, when I heard a little voice.

"Rob? Rob?"

It was saying other stuff, too, but I couldn't make it out. But I heard my name, clear as day.

I'd just gotten off the phone with Kathy, so I checked my cell to make sure we weren't somehow still connected, despite my having hung up and closed the phone. No dice; it wasn't my phone.

I checked my mp3 player. I've heard voices from it before, but it's never said my name. But I'd been listening to a podcast, so it would have been speech, at least.

But, nothing.

So I thought, This is how my mind finally snaps. At least I'll have someone to talk to.

And then I heard the woman in front of me talking on her cell phone. She mentioned someone named Rob, and I realized it must have been the person she was talking to that had said my name. Twice. Miles away.

So good news! I have super hearing!

Rob

Today's Bit o' Sickness.

Good morning to you!

Rob

Blindsided

It looks like Jay Leno was trying to defuse Jimmy Kimmel's impersonation of him the other night by inviting him on the show for a 10 at 10 interview. Kimmel played along for a couple of questions -- enough for Jay to get comfortable -- and then just dismantled him. Whatever home field advantage Jay had as the interviewer just evaporated... but because of the format, he just doggedly kept going through question 10.

Wow.

Rob

"Hey! There's that guy from that Daily Show segment!"

I'm sure that's the greeting I'd hear on the streets, if I ever were to leave the house. Because among all the supporters and protesters at last Thursday's vote, there was also Wyatt Cenac, a correspondent for The Daily Show. And in between the interviews where Cenac gives the protesters enough rope to hang themselves, there's a shot of me and my friends Sharon and Andrew, standing in line waiting to get into the State House. Our appearance is at 3:18 in the vid: Sharon and Andrew are on the right side of the screen, holding up their signs for the camera. I'm next to them, in the tan coat and black hat, oblivious.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Dreaded Bliss
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Health Care Crisis

As aired on standard TVs, Andrew was cut out of the shot. He was an HD bonus, most likely because he can only be truly appreciated in hi-def.

Rob

Oh, Hell, Just Call It a Post with a Lost Link and Leave It At That*

Alan Sepinwall has liveblogged the TV press tour's Lost panel. Some of the highlights (major spolier for the season 5 finale, minor teasers for the final season):

• Terry O'Quinn didn't realize he wasn't playing Locke anymore until he got to the point where we found out ourselves. (Highlight over the space for the season 5 spoiler.)

• They're relieved that Obama's State of the Union address has moved from the day of the Lost season premiere. Lindelof: Lindelof: "What's amazing is how fickle your political affiliation... I'm a lifelong Democrat, but when I heard they were considering February 2, I was like, 'That motherf--ker!'"

•  Michael will be back... as will Libby.

Rob
*I'd been thinking of stealing a lyric from Elton John's "Island Girl" for the title to this post...until I looked up the lyrics to Island Girl. No wonder I haven't heard that song in 20-odd years!

Alma

A great little animated short film from Rodrigo Blaas. If you want to do it justice, click onto Vimeo's site and watch it on full screen in HD. 

Alma from Rodrigo Blaas on Vimeo.

Rob

Draft... from BEYOND!

There is a cold, cold, COLD spot in our house, right at the foot of the stairs, in front of the wall-mounted air conditioner.

I can only conclude this means our house is haunted... probably by someone that the air conditioner killed.

Rob

The Prune of the Future!

Courtesy of Stan Freberg and Ray Bradbury.

Rob

Forgery

When we were in Trenton yesterday, there was a preacher from Philadelphia who was brandishing a handwritten sign that said "No Gay Marriage. -- God"

I'm no handwriting analyst, but I'm willing to bet that it was written in the preacher's own handwriting, not God's. If it were so important to God to stop equal marriage, he'd pick up a friggin' sharpie Himself, y'think?

Nice forgery, dude. Next time, sign it "Epstein's Mother."


Rob

Today in Trenton

Never have I heard a "Hallelujah" sound so ugly.

We were in the overflow room of the NJ State Senate in Trenton, waiting for the vote on the marriage equality act, which would have given same-sex couples the right to marry. We'd listened to a number of speeches about the bill, some of them excellent. We'd spent the morning in the cold, holding up signs and singing. The afternoon we spent tracking one particular senator in the hope that she could be persuaded to have the courage and foresight to buck her party affiliation and vote yes (like her colleague, Bill Baroni). And then, there we were, listening to speech after speech, explaining why the senators were voting for the bill (Baroni gave an excellent one, as did Senators Ray Lesniak, Nia Gill, M. Teresa Ruiz, and my senator Barbara Buono) or against it (these speeches were uniformly wrongheaded, but the standout was Sean Kean's craven "I love the gays, everyone should have some in their neighborhoods because they really spruce them up, but I won't let them marry, and stop calling me a bigot or afraid of a primary challenge" speech, that at times had the coherence of a reading of a Scrabble board.).

As the senators for equality spoke, there were regular explosions of applause... but short bursts, as the crowd wanted to hear what was said next. There were more frequent -- and much smaller -- bursts of applause for the anti-equality Senators, from an enthusiastic contingent on the other side of the room from us. (Applauding more often wasn't a problem; there weren't enough of them to drown out the speeches they liked.)

Then came the vote. I'd been expecting a voice vote, like the white-knuckle experience I'd had watching CNN at 1 in the morning a few weeks ago to see the U.S. Senate pass healthcare reform. Instead, the vote was represented in scoreboard form. 14 to 19 in favor of the antis... and then a 20th vote against. The equality bill was defeated.

And then, upon hearing it declared that her fellow citizens would not be allowed to marry the people they love, some woman across the room shouted, "Hallelujah."

I can picture her, years from now, looking back with regret on her joy at this moment. Sitting with her grandchildren, all of whom have grown up knowing married, same-sex couples and their children. Kids who have grown up with marriage equality as the fact that it soon will be, no matter the cowardice of the senators who abstained, no matter the calculations of those who weighed their own political careers against securing rights for their fellow citizens. All of that will have faded into the past, and women and men will have long been free to marry each other, and the world will have kept turning. Change will have come, and brought countless couples into each other's arms.

And she'll think of this day, way back in 2010, when she was foolish enough to praise God for standing in the way of love.

Rob