I promised a couple of weeks ago to post videos and talk with heart full of love about the ska bands that I'll be seeing in a couple of months. I'm antsy as is possible looking forward to this show, Ska Weekend, when our town hosts an easy metric shit ton of bands from all over the country and even a couple from outside our borders.
Tonight's band is one I haven't heard offline. I don't yet own any of their music, but having listened at Myspace and having camped out at YouTube, I've come to really look forward to Last Martyrs of a Lost Cause, and it's not just because the singer is kind of really hot.
I've found a number of videos of them on the Tube, and none of them are spectacular quality sound wise, but they do show you the band's style, more ska-punk than ska, and they do give one a feel for the band. I'm excited to see them, as I'm excited to see all the bands that will be playing. So click the play button, turn it up and rock the fuck out already people!
Last Martyrs of a Lost Cause, Don't Take it Personal
Sunday, June 17, 2007
ooookay
On my customized Google page I have a quote of the day (actually three) that come to me via The Quotations Page. One of today's was a bit of a doozy, assuming some amount of religious belief on the part of my readers, though I personally feel that it's one of those truths-that-can-hurt sort of situation. So without further ado, and with no more commentary from me, today's quote, which comes to us from Steven Weinberg. This is what Wikipedia has on him.
With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.
eight things
You've seen it, and you've loved it. It's taking the internet by storm, laying waste to blogs left and right. If you have a blog, then you've probably been tagged, and if you haven't yet been tagged, you may be thanking your mystical, interstellar being of choice.
Ren tagged me, which I appreciate, because I like the idea that she reads my blog. She's not not local to me, and I always enjoy reading about all the fun stuff she does with her kids. Plus, when she posts pictures, at least one of the family, Ren or a kid or both, have the greatest hair color. Don't tell her she's stealing the punk thunder by making it pretty to dye your hair a crazy color instead of it being a slap in the face of "the man."
So onward, without any prior thought as to what eight things I will include, I give you, Eight Things About Me meme.
1. I'm fairly cynical and jaded, and I really don't like people in general, but I still find myself wanting to please people to some extent. Try though I may, it seems I still almost care what people think. Plus, I don't want to be an unreasonable dick.
2. I never settled on a gender to be interested in. In fact, I don't feel that I married a woman so much as the person that woman is, and should there ever be reason for me to seek out a new relationship, I'd go back to not having picked a gender.
3. Me and my inner child both have always felt like the kid who always gets picked last to play kickball, and I was never bad at kickball, so there must be some other reason, possibly having to do with perceived dorkiness.
4. I'm an atheist, but I still love a lot of the music I grew up with. I love a lot of the stories of sacrifice, the themes of ultimate good versus ultimate evil. I can do without every single bit of religion, but songs like Amazing Grace or The Old Rugged Cross still carry a tiny sentimental weight.
5. I DJed at a titty bar for about ten months several years ago. I developed a coke problem and threatened dancers with That Smell, a Lynrd Skynrd song that is never appropriate.
6. I tried selling pot for a short time until I got mugged, even more years ago than the job in number five. Two guys got me to follow them to an area that was a little shady (in the bad way) and then proceeded to beat the shit out of me. They got most of my pot and my money, but they didn't get my MARTA card, so I was able to get a bus back home, shirt torn, face and head bloody and pounded on looking.
7. I habitually think that everything I like is the best and that people should listen to me when I tell them how great a band or a writer is and that they'd be happier if they took my advice.
8. I hate and am unaccountably afraid of calling people I don't know on the phone. It makes no sense, because there's always a purpose behind any phone call I make. The worst is at the start of a new soccer season when I have a list of seven or eight families that I don't know, and I have to go down the entire list and call them all.
And that's my list. I don't know about the tagging thing because everyone I came up with to tag would be someone that's already done this or someone that doesn't do memes. So if you haven't done the eight things meme yet, consider yourself tagged, and share the love.
Ren tagged me, which I appreciate, because I like the idea that she reads my blog. She's not not local to me, and I always enjoy reading about all the fun stuff she does with her kids. Plus, when she posts pictures, at least one of the family, Ren or a kid or both, have the greatest hair color. Don't tell her she's stealing the punk thunder by making it pretty to dye your hair a crazy color instead of it being a slap in the face of "the man."
So onward, without any prior thought as to what eight things I will include, I give you, Eight Things About Me meme.
1. I'm fairly cynical and jaded, and I really don't like people in general, but I still find myself wanting to please people to some extent. Try though I may, it seems I still almost care what people think. Plus, I don't want to be an unreasonable dick.
2. I never settled on a gender to be interested in. In fact, I don't feel that I married a woman so much as the person that woman is, and should there ever be reason for me to seek out a new relationship, I'd go back to not having picked a gender.
3. Me and my inner child both have always felt like the kid who always gets picked last to play kickball, and I was never bad at kickball, so there must be some other reason, possibly having to do with perceived dorkiness.
4. I'm an atheist, but I still love a lot of the music I grew up with. I love a lot of the stories of sacrifice, the themes of ultimate good versus ultimate evil. I can do without every single bit of religion, but songs like Amazing Grace or The Old Rugged Cross still carry a tiny sentimental weight.
5. I DJed at a titty bar for about ten months several years ago. I developed a coke problem and threatened dancers with That Smell, a Lynrd Skynrd song that is never appropriate.
6. I tried selling pot for a short time until I got mugged, even more years ago than the job in number five. Two guys got me to follow them to an area that was a little shady (in the bad way) and then proceeded to beat the shit out of me. They got most of my pot and my money, but they didn't get my MARTA card, so I was able to get a bus back home, shirt torn, face and head bloody and pounded on looking.
7. I habitually think that everything I like is the best and that people should listen to me when I tell them how great a band or a writer is and that they'd be happier if they took my advice.
8. I hate and am unaccountably afraid of calling people I don't know on the phone. It makes no sense, because there's always a purpose behind any phone call I make. The worst is at the start of a new soccer season when I have a list of seven or eight families that I don't know, and I have to go down the entire list and call them all.
And that's my list. I don't know about the tagging thing because everyone I came up with to tag would be someone that's already done this or someone that doesn't do memes. So if you haven't done the eight things meme yet, consider yourself tagged, and share the love.
my chat with ack
I have meant for at least a week to post this conversation. The incident happened at a local grocery store, in the parking lot. I had just purchased the evening's beer and cigarettes and was walking to my car. I had seen the woman I was about to meet as I was chatting with the guy that's worked at that same store since I've been going there, happened to look out into the parking lot, and she wandered past through the middle.
I had a bad feeling as soon as I saw the woman. This grocery store can be interesting and is nicknamed locally after Italian filmmaker Federico Fellini. Considering the lateness of the hour, knowing the locality, I walked a little slowly out the door, sighing with relief at seeing this woman well enough away from the car as to give me hope that I could reach the car unaccosted.
Such was not to be the case. I hadn't gotten very far before she doubled back, meeting me mere feet from the relative safety of my automobile.
She: Can you give me a ride?
Me: (cringing inside, rolling my eyes, not willing to not help but knowing this can't end well) Where do you need to go?
She: Just down the street.
Me: Down the street where?
She: Just to the end of the street?
Me: (a bit incredulous) The end of the street?
Now, understand that I am now incredulous because she is indicating Broadway, a street that becomes any number of streets and is also a US Route that's over 900 miles long, much like the Broadway in any number of towns. She's obviously not quite sure what she's talking about, and I'm not willing at this point to get involved in whatever is happening. I can tell this isn't going to end well, and I'm surprised it was a ride and not money.
Me: I'm sorry, but I can't help you.
She: (suddenly growing "frantic") But they'll kill me!
Me: What? Someone's going to kill you? I have my phone right here. I'll call the police.
At this point I reach into my pocket for my phone. I know I'm not going to be calling the police, and she confirms this for me. She's not the least bit frantic or worried or upset. She still hasn't asked for money the entire time, and I can well imagine that she's just looking for a lift. I can also tell this isn't any scenario that's going to play out with me as a cast member.
She: Oooohhh nnnnooooo! You can't call the police. They're going to kill me.
Me: Ma'am, who's going to kill you? Let me call the police, because I really can't help you. I can call the police though, and if someone is trying to kill you . . ."
She: You can't, I just need a ride or they'll kill me.
It was about this point that the nice young gentleman who has worked there for ages walks up. He asks if there is a problem at which point the woman's attention is drawn to him for a moment. I take this opportunity to open the car and put my things in. I sit down, turned toward the action as store employee and the woman are out of my hearing for a moment. I'm still willing to call the police, and I inform this woman again. She refuses the help, admonishes us that it will all be on our shoulders when she gets hurt and stumbles off toward the fast food place.
I never found out what her real deal was. Maybe she did just want a lift somewhere. Maybe she wasn't going to offer to suck me off at a reasonable rate. Maybe she wasn't high as shit on the kinds of drugs I don't do. Maybe someone was really going to kill her if she didn't get a ride.
I had a bad feeling as soon as I saw the woman. This grocery store can be interesting and is nicknamed locally after Italian filmmaker Federico Fellini. Considering the lateness of the hour, knowing the locality, I walked a little slowly out the door, sighing with relief at seeing this woman well enough away from the car as to give me hope that I could reach the car unaccosted.
Such was not to be the case. I hadn't gotten very far before she doubled back, meeting me mere feet from the relative safety of my automobile.
She: Can you give me a ride?
Me: (cringing inside, rolling my eyes, not willing to not help but knowing this can't end well) Where do you need to go?
She: Just down the street.
Me: Down the street where?
She: Just to the end of the street?
Me: (a bit incredulous) The end of the street?
Now, understand that I am now incredulous because she is indicating Broadway, a street that becomes any number of streets and is also a US Route that's over 900 miles long, much like the Broadway in any number of towns. She's obviously not quite sure what she's talking about, and I'm not willing at this point to get involved in whatever is happening. I can tell this isn't going to end well, and I'm surprised it was a ride and not money.
Me: I'm sorry, but I can't help you.
She: (suddenly growing "frantic") But they'll kill me!
Me: What? Someone's going to kill you? I have my phone right here. I'll call the police.
At this point I reach into my pocket for my phone. I know I'm not going to be calling the police, and she confirms this for me. She's not the least bit frantic or worried or upset. She still hasn't asked for money the entire time, and I can well imagine that she's just looking for a lift. I can also tell this isn't any scenario that's going to play out with me as a cast member.
She: Oooohhh nnnnooooo! You can't call the police. They're going to kill me.
Me: Ma'am, who's going to kill you? Let me call the police, because I really can't help you. I can call the police though, and if someone is trying to kill you . . ."
She: You can't, I just need a ride or they'll kill me.
It was about this point that the nice young gentleman who has worked there for ages walks up. He asks if there is a problem at which point the woman's attention is drawn to him for a moment. I take this opportunity to open the car and put my things in. I sit down, turned toward the action as store employee and the woman are out of my hearing for a moment. I'm still willing to call the police, and I inform this woman again. She refuses the help, admonishes us that it will all be on our shoulders when she gets hurt and stumbles off toward the fast food place.
I never found out what her real deal was. Maybe she did just want a lift somewhere. Maybe she wasn't going to offer to suck me off at a reasonable rate. Maybe she wasn't high as shit on the kinds of drugs I don't do. Maybe someone was really going to kill her if she didn't get a ride.
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