“It seems funny to you that [Giancarlo] Stanton might want to come to the Giants. This is because you actually spent time — time you will never, ever, ever get back — watching this horrible team as it spun around the toilet and mercifully went down, never to resurface.”
Since I had nothing better to do, I bought a 12-er of Bud Light (the official beer of Tucson) and toddled on over to one of my neighbor’s places tonight.
His two 80-or-90 pound mutts threatened me when I walked through the gate, until I said, “Knock off the shit, motherfuckers” and put my hand down toward them, fingers curled back, so they could sniff me. They were fine after that.
There were only the three of us tonight — yours truly, my neighbor, and his gay nephew — a really nice guy I’ve known for years.
This is how much things have been changing: my neighbor’s nephew (early 40s) is very open about being gay, and that ain’t all that unusual around here anymore. It’s “fine, whatever…” Nobody gives a shit.
But his boyfriend, from Hermosillo, keeps it all a secret. Up here, not so much. Down there, yeah, a secret. A shameful secret.
One hopes that the more tolerant attitudes up here along the border will seep down. Maybe. Probably.
One other really weird thing we talked about was one of my ex-GFs, a Texan from Houston. She’s a barely disguised racist — against Mexicans — not that she’ll admit it — but is fine with black people.
Weird, yeah. I know.
I think my neighbors were kind of disgusted that I’d have anything to do with — let alone have sex with — such an asshole, but didn’t want to say anything about it.
Go figure. Needless to say, that’s over with.
And this is over with for now: another tale from the hood.
Stay tuned.
(More utterly depressing pictures from out my front door shortly.)
Yep, what Louis C.k. did was pretty gross. Pretty obnoxious. And it leaves you wondering, WHY? What on earth why did he do it? He had all the money and fame in the world, and could have gotten laid any time he wanted. (Don’t deny it — a lot of women will flock to fame and fortune. As an early episode of the best sci-fi comedy ever, Red Dwarf, put it, “”With that kind of money, anybody will spread their legs.”)
How could that type of degradation possibly gratify anyone? Especially a progressive type like Louis C.K., who seems to take delight in skewering that type of sickness, and in being ruthlessly honest about male-female relationships?.
(Trump’s golden showers at least seem to have the point of being grossly misogynistic, grossly degrading to women, allowing him to feel like the alpha male — a species which should be shot on sight, or preferably gelded.)
Well, the explanation is pretty damn straight forward: Louis had power. It changed him. And hence he abused it.
He’s admitted what he did. There was little if any coercion, and he misbehaved horribly. He’s admitted it. That’s much better than “pussy grabber” Trump. And it’s way better than pedophile “Christian Conservative” Roy Moore. At least Louis is honest.
Once Louis apologizes to the women he offended — still waiting for that–it”ll be time to forgive and forget. but not until he apologizes; and I think he’s big enough to do this
In the meantime, nothing will change as long as some people have power over others.
Male, female, it doesn’t matter. As long as some have power over others, they’ll abuse them.
Police state on the rise
By the same old guys
With the same old lies
Comes as no surprise
Well it’s very plain to see
They want your liberty
Police state
Police state
Police state
Police state . . . . .
We’re trying to get Willie down here (from Vermont) to do some live performing and to record a new album later this winter.
We’ll keep you posted about the new label.
The band is back up, and we’re doing a bunch of mostly (so far) unrecorded blistering political blues, most prominently “Private Prison Blues,” and will record two new full CDs of original material — some political, some just funny and self-mocking — over the next few months. It’ll mostly be blues, but also blues-rock, latin rock, blues-jazz, straight jazz, New Orleans funk-blues, country rock, funk rock, straight country, and western swing. In other words, it’ll be what Gatemouth Brown, refusing to be pigeonholed, called “American Music.”
We hope to get Willie Edwards down here to record at least one new CD, and maybe two, as a way to launch the new label, along with new CDs by the Pinche Blues Band, Al Perry, Brian Hullfish, and one or two other local bands.
For now, check out the Pinche Blues Band site where we have all of the songs from the first two EPs up as free mp3s.
Enjoy. And stay tuned.
“Perhaps, if the existence of an evil being were allowed, who, in the allegorical language of scripture, went about seeking whom he could devour, he could not more effectually degrade the human character than by giving a man absolute power.
“. . . birth, riches, and every extrinsic advantage that exalt a man above his fellows without any mental exertion sink him in reality below them. In proportion to his weakness, he is played upon by designing men, till the bloated monster has lost all traces of humanity.”
–Mary Wollstonecroft, A Vindication of the Rights of Women
One of my recent musical projects crashed and burned because one of the other band members (a great guy and great player, who I consider a friend) wanted to do what the rest of us considered pointless, time-wasting rehearsals on needlessly complex versions of covers.
(Covers? I mean come on. Give me a break! Unless you’re doing something as brilliant as Devo’s cover of “Satisfaction,” why even bother?)
For example, take the Junior Parker tune “Mystery Train,” that Elvis made famous.
Standard 12-bar blues done in straight time.
Well, why on earth do it as a 14-bar tune and then drop back to 12-bar form for _one_ of the solos? No point as far as yours truly and the rest of the guys could see. A needlessly complex time waste (in rehearsal) that no one would ever notice.
How useless and pointless.
Then we get to the complex shit that makes sense.
Let’s take probably the most complex tune time-wise ever recorded: “The Dance of Maya,” by the Mahavishnu Orchestra, on the “Inner Mounting Flame” album. (I could be, and probably am, wrong about some of the particulars — hey! I’m a guitar player, not a drummer!)
It starts out in a straightforward compound meter 10/4 time (3+3+4), then goes to a straightforward swung 20/8 time (1… a 2 … a 3… a 4… a 5… 6…7 and), then goes double time on it, then drops back to the relaxed 20/8 time, and then superimposes the 20/8 on the 10/4.) Over and out. It’s unimaginable in any other form.
Absolutely brilliant. It just works. Blows you (at least me) away.
Pointless complexity is useless. True complexity can be beautiful.
“Well, I’m 34 now. If I don’t make it by the time I’m 60, I’m just going to give myself 10 more years.”
