To Michael Gibson for the CD lot: The Gram Parsons Anthology, Uncle Tupelo’s No Depression, Son Volt’s Wide Swing Tremolo, and John Prine’s John Prine.
My iPod, it runneth over.
Incidentally, I brought an iPod dock speaker system and a bunch of music with me to the YAF convention, but I never got to use it publicly — specifically, because it dawned on me at some point that much of the music I listen to might not go over very well with many of the student attendees, who seemed more the John Philips Souza types than adepts of, say, the Drive-by Truckers or Black Sabbath.
I mean, what if I had blasted a bit of “War Pigs” around a group of political activists from Liberty University? Would the YAF have billed me for the cost of flying in a Baptist minister on a weekend to perform the 6 or 7 necessary exorcisms?
I honestly can’t say, but I wasn’t willing to chance it.
— Although I did break the iPod out at the Reagan Ranch. But that was only because I’ve had a life-long dream of wandering around Reagan’s house while listening to Loggins and Messina.
Which, if you want to get technical, might even resolve as some kind of fetish.
But that’s my business.
Thanks, too, to the pw readers who made their way in to Santa Barbara. Kibbey, a self-proclaimed lurker, was kind enough to buy my wife and I a round of drinks, and we spent a pleasant time chatting about how my “arch-conservatism” seems to drive certain folks on the opposite side of the political aisle apoplectic.
And by “arch conservatism,” we meant, of course, my support for the war, and my fidelity to separation of powers and the Constitution as a fixed document. The “libertarian” portion of my worldview we decided to bracket, because it didn’t fit well with the characterization of me that my detractors tend to rely upon to ink me up in big bold cartoon outlines.
And finally, thanks to Steve, another lurker and recent convert to pw, for his generous gift. My wife and I went to dinner at Brophy Brothers on Steve’s dime, and I had some superb clam chowder — as well as the dozen or so oysters that, in time, led to a little bit of the old inny-outy.
I just wish my wife had eaten some, as well. Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to bang a washcloth.
I predict Liz will now be bringing her own washcloths with her on the road.
Re: the old “in-out” : Dude.
You have a pre-nup, I presume, Mr. de Large? Or were you planning on using the old “PLEEEEEASE don’t kill me!” routine with the lovely wife? Should I plan on attending the funeral?
‘Cause I gotta tell ya, from here it looks like you don’t have a snowball’s chance of pulling that shit off.
I just wish my wife had eaten some, as well. Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to bang a washcloth.
It’s hard getting all the fucking stars to line up at once, ain’t it. Speaking as a man who will celebrate his 25th anni next month by paying $8500 for my oldest to atttend college in the spring, while my wife gently weeps because we don’t have enough money left to celebrate #25 in the Carribean, I can honestly say that it doesn’t get any better.
Anyway, thanks for a good laugh.
Washcloth? In-n-Out Burgers are an option.
Obviously, the chowder made you repulsive. Clams…think about it.
Details, J.
Details.
Point of information: Baptists generally don’t do exorcisms although those poor Liberty believers you irradiated might be forcibly dunked.
Or not.
However, they might fly in the charismatics to pray for healing over them but getting the snakes on board the planes is a flaming paperwork bitch.
Hopefully, I can come up with some more amusing Christofascist stereotypes later today.
Welcome back!
One additional note: Being from the south, I can confirm that Baptists do not do exorcisms.
They burn you at the stake.
“I’m sick of these mothe…”
Oh, I just can’t do it.
“War Pigs” is overrated anyway.
Now, “Symptom of the Universe” or “Supernaut”, that’s another matter.
Yup, Rob, “Snakes on a Plane” was a charismatic junket gone bad.
wishbone: HSSSST! They don’t like it when you talk about urning-bay ake-stay.
Sticky B,
It gets
betterdifferent. Like when you find out it takes five years to graduate from a four year school. That is another half of the new car I am not driving.On the bright side, the youngest is in her last year. I’ve run out of kids and money at the same time!
A washcloth? Dude, there are some things we really don’t need to know. Really.
I hope you enjoy the Prine, he’s one of my all-time favorite performers and that’s his best album. I saw him perform once, so drunk he had to be helped on stage. Never missed a note. Unfortunately, he seems to have lost his muse when he quit drinking and I’ve always wondered if he didn’t do most of his song writing while hanging over brutally. Whatever the reason, his early stuff is great.
Could have brought in the Lutherans. They don’t do exorcisms either, but they pray over you while feeding you lutefisk and gallons of weak coffee until you wish they’d just burn you at the stake and be done with it.
BTW, JD, my dad tells me he just went to a lutefisk dinner up in Kalispell and insists they still have the real sHiT. They must make it locally because I’m pretty sure the Interstate Commerce Commission wouldn’t allow it to be shipped. They don’t have a hazardous materials rating high enough for it.
Dammit. I was going to ask if you could talk him into shipping me some.
Wide Swing Tremelo is a great, great album and I love Farrar’s work, but he’s such a knee-jerk lefty. A great example of shut up and sing.
I know Baptists who are into the exorcism thing (excuse me: deliverance). But by “Baptist,” I mean “charismatic, fundie-leaning, call myself a Baptist because it sounds bland/nonthreatening” sort of thing.
Guys, you’ve got to understand Jeff’s situation: His wife is totally smokin’ — and I can say that now, because we’re separated by 2/3 of a continent and there’s very little likelihood he’ll hunt me down and brutalize me for saying that.
So, it ain’t Jeff’s dealing with getting turned down by an average, ordinary sort of wife. It’s the brutal frustration of striking out with a chick who’s actually hot.