Larfs
From the library I recently checked out Johnny Carson: His Favorite Moments from The Tonight Show - '70s & '80s, The Master of Laughs (whew--how's that for a title?), and I gotta tell ya: say what you will about the man, but a monkey on top of Johnny Carson's head is fucking funny.
Monday, February 21, 2005
Adieu Hunter
Some light googling turned up this archive of recent columns Hunter S. Thompson wrote for ESPN.com. I didn't know he wrote a column for ESPN.com! I've only delved in a little, but this one from Feb. 15, about a phone call he made to Bill Murray at 3:30 one morning, had me chuckling.
I'm sad he's gone! Soon I'll blog about the time I saw him speak in 1989 at Metro (then Cabaret Metro) in Chicago. It was quite a time, an author event like none other I've seen. But I've been up, crazed half the night working, and I need to rest.
Some light googling turned up this archive of recent columns Hunter S. Thompson wrote for ESPN.com. I didn't know he wrote a column for ESPN.com! I've only delved in a little, but this one from Feb. 15, about a phone call he made to Bill Murray at 3:30 one morning, had me chuckling.
I'm sad he's gone! Soon I'll blog about the time I saw him speak in 1989 at Metro (then Cabaret Metro) in Chicago. It was quite a time, an author event like none other I've seen. But I've been up, crazed half the night working, and I need to rest.
No sense of place: petty gripe du jour
Regardless of where you live, someone who's not from there has probably asked you an irksome question predicated on a trite assumption, even a false assumption, about the place. For example, I live in Wisconsin, and when people find this out they sometimes ask, "Do you like cheese?" As a matter of fact, I love cheese. But is this important? And more than once someone has learned I am from Nashville and asked, "Have you been to Graceland?" That's sort of like asking someone from Dallas if they've been to the Alamo.
And yes, I have been to the Alamo. I lived in Chicago, didn't I?
Regardless of where you live, someone who's not from there has probably asked you an irksome question predicated on a trite assumption, even a false assumption, about the place. For example, I live in Wisconsin, and when people find this out they sometimes ask, "Do you like cheese?" As a matter of fact, I love cheese. But is this important? And more than once someone has learned I am from Nashville and asked, "Have you been to Graceland?" That's sort of like asking someone from Dallas if they've been to the Alamo.
And yes, I have been to the Alamo. I lived in Chicago, didn't I?
Friday, February 18, 2005
Question
If Ereck and I went to the college wrestling match tonight at the UW Field House, would it be too obvious that we weren't necessarily there out of, you know, love for the sport?
If Ereck and I went to the college wrestling match tonight at the UW Field House, would it be too obvious that we weren't necessarily there out of, you know, love for the sport?
Jump in the line
Between the "Macarena" and "Boot Scootin' Boogie," line dancing got a very bad reputation in the 1990s. But it remains a closet fascination of mine, and nothing delights me more than when line dancing breaks out at one of my country music shows. My fondest memory of such is the time my band the Junkers was performing at the Rainbow Room, the now-defunct, ultra-sleazy gay bar in downtown Madison. We started playing "She Thinks I Still Care," and just then two drag queens, a flamboyantly gay club kid and a glittery woman stripper began line dancing--the little kicks, the turns, the whole deal. All to the saddest George Jones song in the world. It was magical.
And it happened last night. The World's Greatest Lovers were playing what may have been our last gig this winter up at Devil's Head, the ski resort, and toward the end of the show a group of women and tweenage girls came into the bar. (Seeing kids in the bar there is not uncommon; it's a resort, after all. Sometimes they're in their jammies.) We started playing "White Lightning"--something about that George Jones music--and four or five of the girls, aged about eleven, jumped up and did an elaborately choreographed line dance that looked like a cheerleading routine. I was, once again, mesmerized.
Between songs the girls would rush up and request music that we didn't know, but that actually was relatively appropriate for us: they asked for Rascal Flatts, for example, and "Cotton Eyed Joe" (had we known it, "Cotton Eyed Joe" would have been great, for sitting in with us was the brilliant fiddler Chris Wagoner of the Moon Gypsies). With these requests the girls demonstrated that they "got" us better than many of the older folk who have seen us at Devil's Head, if baffling requests are anything to go by ("You guys do any Soundgarden?").
Between the "Macarena" and "Boot Scootin' Boogie," line dancing got a very bad reputation in the 1990s. But it remains a closet fascination of mine, and nothing delights me more than when line dancing breaks out at one of my country music shows. My fondest memory of such is the time my band the Junkers was performing at the Rainbow Room, the now-defunct, ultra-sleazy gay bar in downtown Madison. We started playing "She Thinks I Still Care," and just then two drag queens, a flamboyantly gay club kid and a glittery woman stripper began line dancing--the little kicks, the turns, the whole deal. All to the saddest George Jones song in the world. It was magical.
And it happened last night. The World's Greatest Lovers were playing what may have been our last gig this winter up at Devil's Head, the ski resort, and toward the end of the show a group of women and tweenage girls came into the bar. (Seeing kids in the bar there is not uncommon; it's a resort, after all. Sometimes they're in their jammies.) We started playing "White Lightning"--something about that George Jones music--and four or five of the girls, aged about eleven, jumped up and did an elaborately choreographed line dance that looked like a cheerleading routine. I was, once again, mesmerized.
Between songs the girls would rush up and request music that we didn't know, but that actually was relatively appropriate for us: they asked for Rascal Flatts, for example, and "Cotton Eyed Joe" (had we known it, "Cotton Eyed Joe" would have been great, for sitting in with us was the brilliant fiddler Chris Wagoner of the Moon Gypsies). With these requests the girls demonstrated that they "got" us better than many of the older folk who have seen us at Devil's Head, if baffling requests are anything to go by ("You guys do any Soundgarden?").
Thursday, February 17, 2005
And turn your radio on
And you Madisonians, tune into WORT 89.9 FM tomorrow, February 18, because yours truly will be helping with the pledge drive on Dr. Dave's "Hootenanny." I'll be on for an hour or so, starting about 3:00. Dr. Dave says he wants me to sing lots of songs about abusing prescription drugs.
And you Madisonians, tune into WORT 89.9 FM tomorrow, February 18, because yours truly will be helping with the pledge drive on Dr. Dave's "Hootenanny." I'll be on for an hour or so, starting about 3:00. Dr. Dave says he wants me to sing lots of songs about abusing prescription drugs.
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