Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Monday, December 8, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
This is a box of Obama O's with Katie Perry's handwritten lyrics of "I Kissed a Girl". Obviously an unforeseen collision of worlds. I'm not quite sure what to make of it...
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
But evidence of such practices literally appeared on the beaches of northern Somalia when the tsunami of 2004 hit the country.
The UN Environment Programme (UNEP) reported the tsunami had washed up rusting containers of toxic waste on the shores of Puntland.
Click here to read the full story.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
I don't know how this stuff happens. Are they just in the ultrabackstage at Glastonbury and J is like, "Yo C. Let me lace one of your tracks!" and Chris Martin is all like, "Why thank you Jay, Old Chap. I must say that would be most delightful." Or do managers call one another and have talks about reaching new demographics? I really hope that it's the first scenario (but I doubt it).
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
This is my boss. He took me fishing out on the Caney Fork last Saturday night. He was in a hell of a mood at first cause his wife had been chewing his ass cause she wanted him to stay home and not go fishing cause their daughter was in labor. Hell Nah. He already missed the ACC football game of the day. Randy just flat told his Old Lady he was fishing. We really need to get back to The Time When Men Were Men.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Normally, I'm not much of a fan of Friday mornings. Most often they're Thursday night's awkward, fuzzy-headed curtain call. But this Friday morning was a different affair.
I'd just hung up the phone with a good friend of mine. And Like most mornings, I proceeded to peddle my bike across the Shelby Street Pedestrian Bridge. As I reached the part where the going up starts to go down, a man without either a home or a shirt stood, looking down toward the water. The tattooed head of a black panther screeched on his chest.
"Morning." I said.
"How high you think it is?" he asked.
He asked again.
I touched the brakes and slowed a bit and responded, "I don't know man-- 70, 80 feet. Pretty high."
"I can do it," The Panther spat back confidently.
I pulled hard on both brakes and whipped the bike around. "You can do what?"
"Jump it." said The Panther.
"Yeah, you could but you'd die."
"Maybe... I could do it."
"Nah man. You'll die"
"I could make it."
"OK," I said.
"You smoke?" The Panther asked.
"Don't do it man. I mean you could... that's your thing, but you'll die."
He just stood looking out over the water.
"I mean if you don't die, that shit'll hurt."
"Yeah." He thought for a few seconds and I stood straddling my bike looking at him. "Maybe I'll base jump it. I base jumped a 90 foot rock once. Shoot opened so hard, I ripped my asshole." With both hands he gestured toward his grundel reminding himself of the harness.
"You ripped your asshole?" I queried.
"Yeah, and my pants"
"Yeah man. I wish you had a cigarette. You don't smoke"
I shook my head.
"If you can do 90 I bet you can do 70. I'm gonna wait till the Titans are playing really good and walk out here. Light a cigarette and throw my shoot. And swim over there and drink a Bud Light on that dock," The Panther mused.
"Well, I mean they are 5-0. That's pretty good. I don't think they have ever started this good," I said. He looked back at me, so I carried on. "You'll be on TV. Probably nationally, maybe Sports Center."
"Yeah, I'll wait. You have a good one brother." The Panther looked out over the Cumberland with a fire in his eye.
"You too man."
I couldn't say that I talked him down from the bridge. Cause either way it would have made for a good story. And there's a part of me that'd like to know what a grown man hitting water after jumping such a long way would look like and sound like, and he probably wouldn't have died-- it's not that tall. It was the way he went about it. He didn't seem particularly sad or hopeless or forlorn, he just seemed like he didn't have anything better or more interesting to do today than jump from a bridge.
Scoring a parachute for an NFL game day proved the trump card and might have made life seem like there was something down the road worth planning for. I hope The Panther finds his parachute.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Weezy is 26.
I think i made $8K the entire 26th year of my life.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
And maybe there's a kernel of some answer, some hope in these words from a failed soldier and house-painter from Mississippi.
Our tragedy today is a general and universal physical fear so long sustained by now that we can even bear it. There are no longer problems of the spirit. There is only the question: When will I be blown up? Because of this, the young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Read more here
Look at Carly Fiorina, John McCain's top economic surrogate - if you can find her this week, after the news and her narrative fused in a negative way. Dismissed as head of Hewlett-Packard after the company's stock plunged and nearly 20,000 workers were let go, she was rewarded with $44 million in compensation. Sweet!
Thank God McCain wants to appoint a commission to study the practice that enriched his chief economic adviser. On the campaign trail this week, McCain and Palin pledged to "stop multimillion dollar payouts to C.E.O.'s" of failed companies. Good. Go talk to Fiorina at your next strategy session.
click here to get more pissed off
Monday, September 22, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
From Joe Biden
In an interview on ABC's "Good Morning America," Biden said wealthier taxpayers would indeed pay more under the proposals of. Under his plan, people earning more than $250,000 a year would pay more in taxes while those earning less — the vast majority of taxpayers — would receive a tax cut.
"We want to take money and put it back in the pocket of middle-class people," Biden said. Of those who would pay more, he said: "It's time to be patriotic ... time to jump in, time to be part of the deal, time to help get America out of the rut."
for more click here
Thursday, September 18, 2008
some doozies on offnotesnotes.tumblr today
sorry i didn't get your call last night
was at Sigur Ros concert
new post on the blog about health care
i don't think anyone is going to read that blog. i really was hoping mom would show it to teachers at school and your mom would show it to her co-workers, and so on
i was calling to ask who made that dish called "the chronic" in greer and what it was.
it was Calabash Express
it was this straight up nasty delicious fried chicken sandwich
i can't remember what all was on it, but it had some sort of hot, buffalo style sauce on it
haha, it's hit or miss sometimes the onion is genius
didnt scotty have a funny one as well
scotty had chicken fries
and this was WAY before burger king had chicken fries
they were just little chicken strips that were like french fries
i felt silly typing both of those out
Monday, September 15, 2008
So, weird things happen. I don't know much about Richard Marx. I know he is a good songwriter, I know that a girl that set in front of me in 7th grade English wore his shirt about three times a week, I know he wrote with Vandross, and I love me some LV.
But apparently Richard (that's Mr. MarXXX if you're nasty) is a big fan of Sigur Ros. Such a fan that when he realized he wasn't going to be able to attend the Chicago show for which he had tickets, he bought tickets to the NY date and decided to auction the Chicago Tix off for Cystic Fibrosis which you can bid on here: http://www.richardmarxauction.com/cgi-bin/auction.cgi?action=BuyerViewProductDetail&ProductID=1000000000324724
Certain to be a night worth holding onto...
After Friday's disappointing turn out for Egon Alapatt's (Stones Throw Records / former WRVU boss / General Purveyor of Things Good) world-class Turk-Hop DJ set at City Hall, Next Big Nashville righted itself with the help of the young, go-getters from Lake Fever Productions.
I have no idea what the fellows in How I Became the Bomb were wearing, but nevertheless they played a great set mostly of new material from their new record which I think is finally finished-- Nashville's very own Chinese Democracy. Black and metallic purple WTF suits notwithstanding, How I Became the Bomb remain the band I'd have open for the Super Furry Animals at my "Wow, I am rich and this is the kind of Birthday Party I throw myself" Brithday party.
Big Shout outs to Jeff the Brotherhood and Skyblazer for what might be some of the most interesting anything, going on anywhere. I even threw a bottle (a plastic one, tossed gently) on the stage. I wish I had pictures but i was too busy dancing.
Monday, July 14, 2008
I was three when I bought a hermit crab from you. It was at the Pet Store at Greenville Mall which has now been torn down. You probably don’t remember me as it’s been twenty-eight years since I made the purchase or since my mom made the purchase of the crab that I had chosen. I probably also bought a container for them and some sand and food but I can’t recall that.
When we were checking out, you showed me, in a particularly off-handed fashion, how to hold the crab. You demonstrated that you did not need to take care and grab the shell between the tips of your fingers, but that the proper way was to cup your entire hand over the shell of the crab using your palm to stop up the opening.
I tended to the crab for a few months and it wasn’t very entertaining: it was more like a pet rock that occasionally showed mobility and emitted a foul but unique smell. I was also disappointed to find out that my abilities to communicate with animals through words and telepathy were not effective with the hermit crab. Until that point, I had communicated with horses, dogs, cats, squirrels, blue-gill bream, and the occasional robin. I suppose this lack of communication or any sort of relationship at all was the reason that when after months of getting my nerve up, I adopted your method of handling hermit crabs.
It worked it was amazing and I walked quickly to show my mother the miracle of the crab. As I walked through the dining room, the crab (I do not remember his name) probably frightened or suffocated by my gently cupping hand that he (or she) reacted and pinched the palm of my hand. I was startled and in pain and I flung the crab down like a detached yo-yo. The crab hit the wooden floor and his shell cracked perfectly in half. He was naked and injured and if you don’t think hermit crabs are very attractive in there shell then you should see one in the nude—it is not a pretty sight. The crab died and I cried and I felt guilty and I always have until yesterday when I was thinking about the incident and I realized that it in no small part had a lot to do with you and your rather irresponsible method of teaching a child, a small child the proper way to hold a hermit crab.
You should have been more careful, even if hermit crabs are shit pets.
Friday, July 11, 2008
The Raconteurs are a real band. Not a side project and not a vehicle for White's undeniable ability as an entertainer, he is, afterall, a real live Rock Star in this age of no-hit wonders. A few months ago, at a Bob Dylan show at The Ryman Auditorium, he graciously accepted a crown from our wise old man of man of American music when he received the largest applause of the night-- three times in a row. This is the thing that makes The Raconteurs so special. They stand on stage as equals. Brenden Benson matches Jack's tight-wound energy with a quiet cool that Levon Helm might even admire. Four part harmonies, a cracking rhythm section, fiddles and warm, warm tube amps. They play music that we've all heard before but never this way, folded into each other and new.
The music walks that imaginary line between the ancient and the modern, the familiar and the exotic. Like confederate campfire music played by The Electric Light Orchestra with Sly and Robbie putting down the groove. Its plywood and duct tape and apple pie. And that is beautiful. I'm going again tomorrow night at, and the only thing I wish was the John Peel was around to see this new thing Jack was up to.