My favorite music of any past year is the stuff I'm still listening to the next year and the one after that, long after all the year end lists and taking account is past. Sharon Van Etten's epic has been on lots of "best" lists for the last two years, and her spanking brand new Tramp is already making waves.
epic's "One Day" is one of those songs that always sounds brand new, even after a couple years:
My riff earlier today about how Latin voting groups have nothing in common lodged this wonderful duet between Frank Sinatra and Keely Smith in my cabeza. Not a bad earworm, y'all:
I'm in for yet another week from h-e-double hockey sticks so I thought I'd go the quick blurb route. I also decided to pander to all the ice people out there by making a hockey reference. Guess I'm still capable of some puckishness.
The No Harbaugh Bowl Blues: I was pulling for the Harbaugh brother coached Ravens and Niners yesterday and we know how that went. I didn't watch either game but it sounded like the heartbreak of psoriasis for those who did since nobody but their own fans root for either the Foxboro Bradys or the Jersey Elis. The good news is that I can skip the Stupor Bowl this year.
NOLA Crime Report: Murder and mayhem are off to a fast start in 2012. It usually doesn't heat up until it, uh, heats up. BUT the crime on everyone's mind was the wasted Bama fan who teabagged a wasted LSU fan after the BCS Championship. I nearly made the aforementioned teabagger, Brian Downing, malaka of the week but the story moved too fast: it broke in Deadspin a week after the game and within a few days the Tide teabagger was identified and surrendered to the NOPD. He's charged with sexual battery, gross malakatude and egregious idiocy. Me, I was just relieved that it wasn't the Brian Downing who played for the ChiSox, Angels and Rangers back in the day.
One may be able to get away with murder in the Crescent City but not dragging one's microscopic sized testicles across a drunk's face. We have standards in NOLA albeit low ones...
Why Is Anyone Shocked? There's some consternation around the interwebs over Aerosmith's Steven Tyler's rendition of the national anthem before the Foxboro Bradys game. Tyler sounded like he was being strangled with one of his own scarves, which is how he *always* sounds.
Newtmentum: Finally, a political note. In the immortal words of Mitt Haircut I was delighted by his loss and Newt's win. Like Bill Clinton, Barack Obama is lucky in his enemies but who thought it would be the same enemy? Newt has been wildly unpopular for at least 15 years and only has a shot at this thing because the GOP has a bad case of rabies. It's time for Mittbot to reboot in the wake of these Newtastic developments. Btw, there's a great piece online by the author of Nixonland, Rick Perlstein, about *why* Mitt Romney became such a slippery, unprincipled douchebag: it's because his father was too candid and too principled.
A Girl Scout troop on the north shore has collapsed after parents withdrew their children in the wake of a decision by a Colorado troop to admit a 7-year-old transgendered child. That's a move they saw as an objectionable leftward drift in Girl Scouting.
Louisiana Girl Scouts have never been asked to admit a transgendered child, said Marianne Addy, the spokeswoman for Girl Scouts Louisiana East, which provides scouting activities for 17,000 girls. And soon after the Colorado decision last fall, Louisiana Scouting directors, who are free to set local policy, decided transgendered children would not be allowed should one ever apply.
The policy is now posted on the group's website.
But Susan Cramond, a troop leader who had two children in the group that met at Northlake Christian School in Covington, said she and other like-minded parents felt Louisiana Scouting policy-makers should never have had to discuss the transgender issue in the first place. Cramond said when she first contacted Louisiana’s Scouting leaders to ask whether a transgendered child could be accepted into a local troop, she didn’t get the quick and unequivocal “no” she was hoping for.
So Cramond and fellow troop leader Susan Bryant-Snure, a Lacombe doctor, informed other parents. She said they collectively decided to abandon the Girl Scouts and seek affiliation with American Heritage Girls, a similar organization that describes itself as a “Christ-centered leadership and character development ministry.”
Bryant-Snure said by banning transgendered children, the Louisiana board eventually made the “right decision; they just made it in a way that made us nervous.”
Ain't bigotry grand? Guess they're afraid that a transgendered Girl Scout might whip it out and roast their weenie over the old camp fire or some such shit.
My friend Kevin who is Allman directed me to the most obnoxious comment at NOLA.com, which is notorious for its nasty right wing commentariat:
Surely a red flag went up for me when it was revealed that the Girl Scouts is a platform for promoting sexual promiscuity, contraception and abortion.
So, eat a Samoa and promote decadence? Cool. I'll take samoa right here on the floor. Holy Dinah-Moe Humm, Batman:
He was one of the few successful Greek-Americans that my late father never claimed as a distant relative. He was best known for writing Willie and the Hand Jive so here it goes:
December is a very foggy month in New Orleans. This year has been no exception. When I think fog, I think Candlestick Park, 221-B Baker Street and George Harrison's marvelous tune, Blue Jay Way:
For many good reasons, I've been a Grinch/Scrooge this year. But even in my Bah Humbuggery mood, I can still enjoy the Pogues and Kirsty MacColl. Dig Shane MacGowan's diction. Oops, wrong Mac:
Pretty sure I've posted this one before but I thought a repeat was in order after yesterday's shitty holiday tune question. This is my favorite Christmas song:
We've all gotten used to seeing people doing remarkably stupid things with their smart phones. Criminals have noticed so the latest NOLA crime wave is a high tech variation on the old snatch and grab: there has been a wave of smart phone robberies/muggings in the last few months. Some of them have even happened in broad daylight on busy streets. I wondered if we were on the cutting edge of this trend but it seems to be commonplace in big cities around the globe.
So, the next time you're walking down the street texting or tweeting just remember to pay attention so some bozo won't snatch your device. In short, be smart when using your smart phone because muggers have the hots for the smarts:
It's the 96th anniversary of Frank Sinatra's birth. Sinatra called himself a saloon singer. Here's the ultimate saloon song, written by the short-lived but brilliant team of Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer:
This is more of a suburban note but I prefer to confuse y'all whenever it tickles my fancy. Kenner is a rather benighted suburb of New Orleans whose sole claims to fame are that they have drive through Daiquiri stands and it's the location of Louis Armstrong/Moisant Airport.
Pretty much everyone here pronounces this dreary burg's name "Kenna." It's even turned up on some t-shirts made by two local companies. The one at the top of the post is made by Dirty Coast and the one below is a Fleurty Girl production:
Kenner Mayor Mike Yenni is not amused. Some shops that carry T-shirts with slogans of New Orleans-area neighborhoods have been selling shirts misspelling Kenner and including the slang term for "bro." Some T-shirts say "Kenna bra" or "Kenna Brah."
"It's Kenner, not Kenna," Yenni, a native of the city, said Friday, at a meeting of his Economic Development Committee.
The city was established in 1855 and first called Kennerville, after the Kenner family who owned sugar plantations on land that is now south Kenner.
Yenni chastised people who end the city's name with a vowel as well as the T-shirts that poke fun at the city, some including an image of a woman's brassiere. Any way you spell it, Yenni said, it's got to end. "This is Kenner with an e and an r on the end of it," he said.
Such precision from a man who changed his last name to that of his politically powerful Grandfather and Uncle both of whom were the President of Jefferson Parish. I had a Yenni to name him malaka of the week but preferred trotting out this XTC classic to mock his humorlessness:
I ran into Coco from time to time over the years but didn't know him very well. My friend Sam Jasper, however, did her share of drinking and hanging out with Coco so here's alink to her beautifully written tribute.
Here's a sample of that hoodoo that Coco did so well:
I've had Cole Porter on my mind and his music in my ear so I'll be throwing some Porter tunes at you by various artists this week. Let's start with one of my favorites, At Long Last Love. How can you go wrong with Porter, Sinatra and Riddle?
It's Armistice/Remembrance Day in the United Kingdom. Their day focuses on the end of the Great War. In honor of those who died in that gruesome war, people wear red poppies. Everything is poppy red:
I saw the above image on Facebook via progressives that kick conservative ass and decided to not be a Halloweenie and share it with y'all. I'm having my annual autumnal cold and having to work through it so my Halloween spirit is de minimus. All I got is my annual posting of Sister Madly from the <ahem> "farewell to the world" show at the Sidney Opera House in 1996:
Marketing is everything these days. I recall when rockers were disdainful of lending their names to various products. That has changed. I guess we can blame Gene fucking Simmons for that: Kiss pioneered "extending its brand" by sticking its imagery on almost anything you could imagine.
I was interested to learn, however, that the ultimate first generation hippie band, the Grateful Dead, has licensed its name and Steal Your Face logo to a winery. I'm less surprised to see Rolling Stones and Police related brands. When you open the latter, the voice of Sting tells you how great it is.
The Dead wine is steal you face red and I'm only marginally interested in trying it. It's gotta be better than a touch of grey reisling or even worse, the wine the Dead are kinda sorta tied to via the title of this classic tune:
We're having our first cold snap of the fall. The weather this October has been great but we haven't had a blast of Northern air until last night. The high today is 30 degrees less than Monday. It may not be much for our readers from the frozen North but I quite enjoyed breaking out my jeans jacket for the bus ride to the shop.
It's easy to tell, on a semi-chilly day like today, who lives here: New Orleanians go OTT clothingwise when it cools off. I saw heavy fleece hoodies, wool sweaters, overcoats and boots galore on my way in. It's not really that cold but some people insist on breaking out their winterware at the earliest opportunity.
I was punked by one of our readers the other day. He also follows my twitter stream whereon I natter on about the weird shit that happens to French Quarter merchants. Anyway, this rather tall gent entered and made a crack about the astonishingly low doorknob and then asked "Where do I catch the ferry to Mexico?" I immediately smelled a rat but thought he'd been sent by my friend Chef Mars whose life isn't complete without messing with me. He runs a pretty classy eatery, Louisiana Bistro, so I've never retaliated in kind but I've been sorely tempted. As Bela Lugosi said in Glen Or Glenda: "Beware, take care." That means you, Mars.
Louisiana is currently having the dullest statewide election in recent memory. The state Democratic party collapsed post-K and it has gotten worse in 2011: there are no major Democrats running for Gret Stetwide office. As recently as 2003, the Democrats were dominant. This weekend, Gov. PBJ will be re-elected and the only interesting race is for Lt. Gov. It's a relatively powerless office but since PBJ is widely expected to skedaddle outta here as soon as he can it's a more important contest than usual.
The Lt. Gov race features the old school semi-moderate Republican incumbent, Jay Dardenne, versus Plaquemines Parish President Billy Nungesser. You may have seen Mr. Fat Fuck during the BP disaster, he spent the entire time chasing cameras and publicity. Anderson Cooper called him "America's Bubba" but I call him a malaka. He's supported by Bitter Vitter, which is appropriate because Nungesser was also a client of the Canal Street madam. And a cheap one: she swears that she had to go to his father to get paid.
Nungesser's campaign has been relentlessly negative and teabagger oriented. His opponent's main flaw is that he's NOT insane. Since in some ways this is a shadow campaign for Governor in 2015, I'm planning to sigh deeply and vote for Dardenne. He's not really my cup of political tea BUT in this climate, he's the least bad Governor in waiting that we could have. He also won the vile puns category in the Bulwer bad writing contest in 2005 and rumor has it that I like puns. I haven't a clue as to where that rumor started. I've never taken in roomers so it can't be that...
Okay, time to circle back to the weather and post two of my favorite change of seasons tunes by two of my favorite bands, the Kinks and Squeeze:
Tiny Arrows is one of the centerpieces of their new album, Mockingbird Time. It's a stone gorgeous tune with the Louris and Olson harmonies that many of us pined for lo these many years. Sheesh, how fanboyish is that?
Herman Cain is one of the zaniest semi-major Presidential candidates ever. He's a laugh a minute jokester: didja hear the one about the 'lectrical fence that'll fry Meskins? It was a sidebuster I tell ya. My innards are still burnin' from laughin' my ass off...
Cain's latest weirdo moment is an oldie but goodie. I learned today via Dave Weigel that Herman is a poet and he knows it. Well, maybe not a poet but he's a parody lyricist, ladies and gentleman, I give you the Lennon-Cain composition, Imagine There's No Pizza.Cain's intro appears at 2:01 and he belts out his ode to peace-n-pizza at the 3:50 mark. Imagine that:
I have a confession: I have no idea if Cain himself wrote these ridiculous lyrics but it was funnier to imagine that he had done so. I have yet another confession: Imagine is perhaps my least favorite John Lennon numbah so I kinda enjoy seeing its bubble popped by Cain who sounds a bit like a low rent Billy Ecsktine.
I'd like to thank Dave Weigel for digging up this wacky nugget as well as posting the lyrics, which were probably written by one of Cain's flacks or one of the Keebler Elves:
Imagine there's no pizza I couldn't if I tried Eating only tacos Or Kentucky Fried Imagine only burgers It's frightening and sad
You're lucky you have pizza To feed for kids for you Only frosting or cookies And no dishes you must do Imagine eating pizza Each and every day
You may say that it's junk food But to me it's so much more It gives my life its meaning And it makes a lot of dough
Imagine mozzarella Anchovies on the side And maybe, pepperoni Rounds out your pizza pie Imagine getting pizza Delivered to your door
You don't have to give up now On my skateboard I will go I'll be back in 30 minutes I just bought Dominoes
All I am saying Is give pizza a chance All I am saying Give pizza a chance All I am saying Is give pizza a chance All I am saying You've got to, got to give pizza a chance
For 8 years, Neil Finn was one of the best pop-rock songwriters ever. He's kind of settled into a middle aged mid-tempo rut but at his best, he can still bring it, as he did with this tune:
In between demanding that Dr A and I feed her, Della Street spends a lot of time demanding that Oscar groom her. The poor boy doesn't know if he's coming or going sometimes. Of course, that's partially because he's not the brightest bulb in the lamp but he compensates by being so damn cute:
Why did I call this post Together Alone? Because I wanted to post a fine but lesser known Crowded House tune, that's why.
I spent too much time today thinking about Chris Christie. (For too much time read: any) I'm sick of him. So, let's turn our attention to the best of Jersey:
One of the first blog-based books, the anthology Special Plans examines Feith's role in misleading America into war. Buy from Amazon and William, James & Co.
These are stills captured from video shot March 2006 in the Lower 9th Ward of New Orleans specifically the area between N. Claiborne, Florida Ave, Tupelo and Tennessee.
These are photos and stills captured from video taken August 2006 of the Lower 9th Ward specifically the area between N. Claiborne, Florida Ave, Tupelo and Tennessee.