100% of the profit from this shirt goes directly to Rissa Watkins, wife, mother, & writer, to support her fight against Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Design courtesy of Kelly Spies. Copyright 2010 - theBarefoot
100% of the profit from this shirt goes directly to Rissa Watkins, wife, mother, & writer, to support her fight against Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Design courtesy of Kelly Spies. Copyright 2010 - theBarefoot
This is one of the tag games going around Facebook. It’s the ten questions James Lipton often asks his guest on Inside the Actor’s Studio. I thought I’d share it here since my blog feeds to Facebook as “Notes.”
What is your favorite word? —– “Dictionary.” I love words and that way I get them all.
What is your least favorite word? —– “Empty”. Empty plates, empty cups, empty people…they all make me sad.
What turns you on creatively, spiritually, or emotionally? —– Music. Good music changes your mood instantly and oils the gears of imagination.
What turns you off? —– Whining.
What is your favorite curse word? —– Fucktard.
What sound or noise do you love? —– A snoring dog.
What sound or noise do you hate? —– Whining.
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? —– Sit-down comic because stand-up comedy would be hard on my back. I could see myself teaching, too.
What profession would you not like to do? —– Any job that hurts my back.
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? —– “It’s about time you got here. We’ve been waiting a long time for you. You weren’t supposed to live for 1200 years.” But I’d settle for, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”
There are one hundred reasons I am annoying. Number 54 is, I’m an absent-minded singer. I hum. I whistle. I sing. I get a tune stuck in my head and it randomly comes out during the day. I’m sure it’s annoying, but people don’t say anything. Their silence is probably born from fear. I guess they think I’m a bit mad. If I’m uninhibited enough to just burst into song, you can’t be too sure what I might do or so the logic goes.
Distractedly singing in public can get you some funny looks, not to mention, in all sorts of trouble. Today was one of those days.
I was in a great mood and Led Zeppelin was my all-natural, rhythmic Prozac. It started innocently enough. Nobody’s Fault But Mine popped into my head on the way to work. A simple whistle escalated to full-blown, belting-’em-out-at-the-stop-light car tunes. By the time I got to work, I needed a real fix. So I slapped it up on YouTube while I read my morning email. By the second chorus, the guy who shares my office was probably fantasizing about jamming a letter-opener into my neck, but I didn’t care.
YouTube, being what it is, suggested more Led Zeppelin for my enjoyment and others annoyance. I selected Since I’ve Been Loving You from the video jukebox and prepared for my morning meeting. All prepped, I decided to grab some coffee and hit the head.
Now kids, if you’re a singer like me, what you don’t want to do is find yourself in a crowded men’s room, belly up to the bar so to speak, singing Since I’ve Been Loving You softly to yourself. It’s not a great career move to have your boss catch you with your hands full, melodically swaying to, “Lord, you know it ain’t right. Since I’ve been loving you, I’m about to lose my worried mind.” In this situation, people get all sorts of the wrong impressions about your relationship with Mr. Spanky.
Now kids, if this ever happens to you, don’t not panic. Panic leads to only one thing … quickly replacing the song with another. Panic freezes the brain and since it’s stuck on Led Zeppelin, panic makes the conspicuous transition to Whole Lotta Love, complete with guitar intro. Panic fails to obfuscate what is obvious to every suit in the vicinity. All panic can do is:
“Badantdahdandant. Badantdahdandant. You need coolin’, baby, I’m not foolin’. I’m gonna send you back to schoolin’. Way down inside honey, you need it. I’m gonna give you my love. I’m gonna give you my love.” Badantdahdandant. Shake. Badantdahdandant. Shake. Badantdahdandant. Zip. Badantdahdandant. Flush. Wash. Badantdahdandant. Hi Bob. Way, way down inside honey, you need it. I’m gonna give you my love.”
If you caught my review of Kid, You’ll Move Mountains’ CD, Loomings, you know this band is one to watch. Their calendar includes a radio interview on 91.7FM WMSE, Milwaukee, WI. The show starts around 2 P.M (Central Time) on Wednesday, 18 Feb 2009.
Like most radio stations these days, you can listen to WMSE on the internet. The radio station’s site is www.wmse.org. Tune in and give a listen. I’m sure it will be fun. The band does an awesome mime and ventriloquism show on the radio. In the meantime, you can listen to a few tunes from Looming at the Kid, You’ll Move Mountains MySpace page.
Throng is probably the wrong word. How about just that guy for now?
Until now, I’ve never inspired a song. I was blown away that my pebble in the cyber-pond rippled to resonance with Sly Hoax AKA y2kh8r. Sly captured the spirit of my written piece, My Minivan is a Chick Magnet perfectly. It was truly humbling to see Sly take the time and effort to turn it into his own video, complete with original music and lyrics.
Minivan is a joke I’ve told for a long time. For some unknown reason, the spirit of Berry White possessed me one night and I wrote it down with a little Langston Hughes flair. It’s been well received. If someone smiled and had a better day, it was worth it, but to see someone go all out and write a song about it, frankly, made my day.
Thank you, Sly. Y’all show Sly some cyber-love and give the video a view.
Visit BigBlueBabbon for more funny stuff collected by Sly.
I’ve gone all out with the Xmas decorations this year. The house is ablaze with holiday cheer. The electricity is flowing and the meter is spinning wildly. I dread the January utility bill, but it’s Xmas and it only comes once a year.
This year, the whole family is coming over for caroling. We’ll be singing the traditional tunes, but with the alternative lyrics I wrote. If you’re interested in starting a new holiday tradition like us, you can find the lyrics here. Some say these are a little obsessive, but this year they are perfect. The new Tom Cruise abortion, Valkyrie is vomiting on movie screens nationwide this Xmas Day so why shouldn’t I profit from that little trolls so-called acting skills.
Why do I loathe all things Cruise? It’s really simple. People who are so absolutely full of their own shit need a constant reminder that they are human. Tommy acts like such a pompous jackass with his I-know-better-than-you-because-I-read-Dianetics-and-forked-over-an-obscene-amount-of-cash-to-the-”church”-of-Scientology attitude, he just needs a few reminders that, indeed, his shit does stink. When he started spewing his special brand of holier-than-thou, I-got-thousands-of-children-off-medications bullshit last year, I had to throw a shoe through my television.
So, yes, I loathe Tom Cruise and Scientology and bullshit in general. You are more than welcome to join in the holiday cheer with the alternative carol lyrics. Pour some egg-nog, put on your sun glasses and I’ll fire up the stunning Xmas lights. Here’s a photo of my massive decorations this year. Prepare to be stunned.
This stunning display of holiday cheer won 2nd place in the neighborhood decoration contest
Merry Xmas to all and to all a good, Tom-Cruise-less night. Please don’t buy a ticket to Valkyrie. Your nonattendance of this film will count as your gift to me this year.
Kid, You’ll Move Mountains’ new CD has its official release on 2 Jan 2009. I got a pre-release copy thanks to Nate “The Little Drummer Boy” Lanthrum, to whom I am very grateful. The new CD, Loomings, doesn’t really have a bad track on it. You can hear a few cuts at KYMM’s MySpace page.
In the mean time, enjoy this live performance recorded at Milwaukee’s Summerfest ’07. Seems like a long time to release a CD, I know, but it has been worth the wait. Loomings is one of the best new Indie offerings I’ve heard this year.
Was down in the back yesterday? Naw. No one cares about a old, broken man’s lumbago.
Buttheads in Berkeley, CA banning the Marine recruiters? Naw. You heard that on the vast-right-wing-conspiracy, radio talk-shows.
My trip to the drug store? Naw. It was funny when I convinced the young lad at the register to card the lady behind me for her cans of Chef Boyardee. That laugh got me all the way to the car and I’ll get more mileage out of it at work tomorrow when I see my victim, Jill.
No. Today I think I will blog about the first time I saw my name in print. Yep. I’m “published,” as they say. Okay, it was only my name in the liner notes of a CD, but still, I couldn’t wait to show anyone who would look. Here’s the long and sordid tale.
In March 2007, it received and advance copy of Chris Berry and the Retrofitter’s Emerald River Project. Chris had approached me for a review and, never one to pass up free music, I gladly accepted. It turn out much better than the time I agreed to review Tubesock and the Magnificent Brass Band Rejects. Chris’ album was full of bluesy tracks with Western spices dashed in for a kick. The details are all in the original review. It’s a damn fine read, if I do say so myself.
Due to the aforementioned back problems, I didn’t waddle my fat ass to the mail box yesterday. As I pulled out for work this morning, I snagged a fat hand full of fliers, coupons, bills, and one fat, bubble-pack of blues. Chris had mailed the polished copy of the Emerald River Project with a message, “Read the liner notes.” There he thanks:
His lovely wife (Total assumption on my part. She may be a complete tramp if track 8 is auto-biographical.)
Some chick in Nebraska who is president of the band’s fan club. (Probably also a total tramp. You know how groupies are.)
A brilliant, insightful writer who loves music and reviewed the pre-release back in March.
There it was. My name as third banana in the “thank-yous” of the liner notes of a CD which you may or may not find in stores, but can always order directly from the artist by emailing chrisberryandtheretrofitters@hotmail.com. That started my day out perfectly. Nothing could touch me after that. I was bullet-proof. Twelve cups of coffee and five stupid users later, I was still smiling. Damn decent fellow that Berry.
Those are good, but, aren’t even the very best tracks. So order the CD by dropping an email to chrisberryandtheretrofitters@hotmail.com. I get no cut of the profits. In fact, all proceeds go to…um…saving babies…er…baby seals…yeah, that’s the ticket. Urban legends have it, every time you don’t buy a CD, a baby seal is clubbed to death. I don’t know if that’s true, but I have my copy and my conscience is clear.
Yield to the right is the rule when you arrive simultaneously. Yield to the cool is more like it when the guy on your right is in a matte-black, home restored Chevelle SS. Sweet ride if you can get it. With the window down and the shades on, he appeared to have the coolness factor sewn up. But I was in my mini-van.
We were at an impasse, but he knew he had the mojo of the redneck go-faster and my Korean van just didn’t impress him. That was the part that made me cooler. I let “shades” go first. He was Sparaticus after all. The things that made me cooler were that I knew I was cooler and I had my CD rockin’
Yielding the right-of-way to Shades’ SS….5 seconds.
Knowing The Clash is cranking…priceless.
Shades is not the Stig, but my mini-van will rollover in a tight turn so I must be careful. You decide which is best. I’m of the opinion that rolling around in something tight is the best thing that can possibly happen to you. Yield or don’t, just get home safely.
I was watching the show from the D.C. and fell out of my chair laughing.
First, I was uber-impressed at the 1812 semi-closing. I’ve been at the Mall in person when that was done and it is a sight to behold. Massive fireworks, cannons on queue, and applause, quite stirring.
But someone slipped something in sideways on the proceedings. 1812 ended, but the fireworks didn’t. How to fill the time? With Sousa’s Liberty Bell.
Why laugh? Because that is the theme to Monty Python’s Flying Circus. I’m conflicted. My patriotism is incensed, but my funny bone is rocking.
Dear Mr. Bush,
You pay little attention to details. Maybe you spend to much time stragerizing and the bread part of the circus formula goes unaddressed.
