Sunday, April 29, 2007

Guess the Mystery Ailment!

After nine years, this occupational hazard strikes.

Guess what it is and I'll flip off a latte-clutching soccer mom in your honor.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

People with Placards

People with placards
All over this town
People with placards
Bring me down

Come buy the leather
Sofa that must go
This is the final week
For the twelfth week in a row

Every item 6 dollars
And splotched all with flowers
Every item 6 dollars
And it lasts 6 hours

Hire someone desperate
Forty-nine bucks a pop
To stand in a cow suit
On the corner block

Ousting the unborn
Out of the womb
I'll never do it
Do I have to look?

If I didn't think
Getting saved was required
Is one verse on a poster
Going to save me from fire?

People with placards
All over this town
People with placards
Bring me down

Sunday, April 15, 2007

The Way It Goes

Sometimes I get ideas for posts and I just save them as drafts and forget. Today I was digging around here in the blog closet and found this darkly sparkly scrap, originally thought of back in November 2005 and languishing here until now. Enjoy.

God makes trent reznor in his dark angelic glory
trent experiences a life of woe enough so that he becomes an artist
trent toils for years, distilling anger and pride and self-loathing into this:

there is a game I play
try to make myself okay
try so hard to make the pieces all fit
smash it apart
just for the fuck of it

it works its way down to me
this distilled darkness allows me to go on another day
I say thanks, God. thanks, trent
I go on and have woe of my own
I post here
you read it
maybe you don't feel so bad

art will save us all.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

It's Lovely

I've already been pimping this guy all over the place, but I have to do it officially: Aqueduct, is, in fact, good music. Written and sung entirely (and sometimes performed!) by this one man, David Terry, it's a collection of indie confections, sweet and sinister all at once.

What's it like? He claims the Beach Boys! as a big influence but I think I hear Beck and Cake, too. There's lots of Moog-y synth stuff. There are dark storylines of romantic intrigue woven throughout with syrupy, irresistible hooks (and one song based on The Princess Bride). It's often sad, jaded, and even violent, but little bundles of hilarity and hope are interspersed throughout (just like some gunslinger tales I know). His voice sounds like some 70's singer whom I can't place. You can listen to his complete latest record, Or Give Me Death, at the link above, but buy it if you can, because we should all support self-made musical innovation out of a bedroom in Oklahoma.

This loveliness is unique and thus is probably a love it/hate it type thing.

Yet I urge you to decide which side you're on.

I need your love... Given that I have none to give, I need your love.
-- see above

Monday, April 09, 2007

Who Makes America Go Round?

Here in Dallas, many people are from other places.

Make no mistake, I have no problem with people immigrating -- if I did, I wouldn't be here, I'd be on the slopes of Ireland or Scotland paying the UK's exorbitant 40% taxes, digging potatoes from the soil, and dancing jigs and reels without moving my arms. If there were no immigrants, I'd be out of a job, as many of my students' parents came here from Mexico. Furthermore, I don't believe for a moment that anyone is taking any job that any native-born American wants. But I digress...

Not that long ago, a protest called "Day Without An Immigrant" was staged in which immigrants stayed home one day from work to show people the value of immigrants working in our society, and that they provide vital services that the country can't run well without.

Well, I don't dispute that, but I think that the day-to-day life of upwardly mobile 30 somethings like me is run from hidden centers of power not by immigrants, but by teenagers.

Such a thought is sobering, but stop and consider:

Did you buy fast food today?
Go to Wal-Mart or Target and purchase something?
Get the car washed?
Go to Chili's for a burger?
Buy movie tickets?
Shop at any store in the mall?
Go out for ice cream?

How many people below the age of 21 (sorry kids, you're a teenager until at LEAST that long -- 40 is the new 30) did you encounter?

Sometimes, and it gives me a funny feeling when I realize this, you go to a place and find that the ENTIRE PLACE, from the manager down to the lowest employee are ALL people who are 15-20 years younger than you. Oddly, these places usually do a great job or a horrible job, seldom in between.

The scary thought is this:
What if all these employees slacked from their jobs at the same time?????

The impact could be astounding. The nation could, nay, WOULD! grind to a halt.

Forget "Day Without An Immigrant."

I fear "Teenager Skip Day" far more.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

P - Bomb

Think that's my rapper name? Well, let me tell you a little story.

En route to Saturday School on Saturday, I became involved in the backwash from this. When two people are killed by a drunk driver, it really bungs up Central Expressway, as well it should, I suppose.

The ensuing traffic glut took THREE hours to get out of. Not only did I have to navigate the jam with my carpooling matey, but our battery also died in the middle of it. Thank God I live in Texas, where you can always count on a truck-drivin' bubba to come along momentarily and rescue you. And, bless him, one did and had the car jumped within about a minute.

But on we sat. And inched up. And sat. And inched up. And watched people drive the wrong way up the on ramp to get out of it. And watched people look at their watches time and again. And called our bosses to say we weren't going to be in. And sat. And it occurred to me that I had to go.

So I thought I'd try to wait. But on we sat. And inched up. And sat. And remained motionless. And felt the warmth of the sun. And inhaled the exhaust. And sat. And noticed that the underside of the foliage which spills over the concrete walls had no leaves. And that there was a lot of trash caught in it. And that it was too far and too dangerous to walk up the offramp to Ken's Shocks and Mufflers, which has an old-fashioned rotating sign atop the head of some Huckleberry Finn looking dude, to use the loo. And that doing it on the side of the highway, with an audience of hundreds, was also unattractive.

By and by, it was noted that action must be taken. Swift, effective, action.

Regrettably, a quick and dirty solution was found. A solution that hearkened back to the days of childhood road trips, when stops were not allowed, and when half-gallon milk containers were defiled. Necessity is a mother.

A plastic coffee cup with a screw-on lid that we generally use for coffee on our morning drives was located. It was decided that this would be its last valiant act of service. Taking care to keep hidden and again thanking the Lord that this was a van with tinted windows, and that I more than likely would not end up on YouTube, I completed the required task, screwed the lid back on, and locked it down.

So as if we weren't in enough of a mess, from that moment until we finally got out of the jam about an hour later, we had to transport hazardous materials, in the form of the P - Bomb. We almost used it on an asshole who cut us off, but thought better of it (and the possibility of backsplash).

We got out of the jam relatively unscathed and harmlessly disposed of the sealed bomb in a marked waste container at an undisclosed location (sorry, Racetrac guy).

The moral of this ordeal?

PLEASE: Don't drink and drive.


I heard the world up, late night.
Holding my breath tight, trying to keep my head on right.
There's a chill in the air, nobody could care.
How you're caught up in the fight of your life.
-- O.A.R.
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