Now THAT Is A Friend

I'm out at the beach with Scottish Lass attempting to get over the cold that everybody in the country seems to have gotten this week.  A few minutes ago, there was a knock at the door and a delivery man holding two bags.

It was a Christmas gift from my good friend Grubzilla, who sent me a metric fuckton of my favorite gin in the world, Hendricks.  Grubzilla rules!

More Proof of Neurological Damage from Viral Infection

The Misanthrope has had a fairly stressful last few weeks and he has responded in his usual style - by getting very sick.  I put up a fight yesterday to keep working, but by the end of the day I was done in by a sore throat, fever, aches, chills and some pretty evil congestion in my chest.  Making matters worse, sleep was nearly impossible as I would wake up every time I (a) swallowed or (b) turned over.  So today was spent mostly asleep in a bundle of warm blankets.

At any rate, I rebounded this afternoon and was trying to get some work done when I was overcome by a desire so evil, so inexplicable, so taboo that I shudder to disclose it on this blog.  For, you see, about midway through the afternoon I became obsessed with the desire to listen to It's Hard, the last album released by The Who in their Kenney Jones configuration.  For years, I have echoed Roger Daltrey's comment that this should be called the "contractual obligation album" as it was pretty much delivered only because the band owed Warner Brothers another record.

The desire grew out of a bizarre dream I had in my feverish sleep.  I had placed an ad on Craigslist to start a Who cover band that would only play material from the two Kenney Jones albums (Face Dances and It's Hard).  We were holding auditions, but the horn section hadn't learned any of their parts...wait.  Maybe that last part actually happened to me.

At any rate, I gave the record a spin today and confirmed my diagnosis of neurological damage from viral infection.  For the first time in my life, I listened and thought, "There's a great record in here, struggling to break out from horrible drumming and terrible production choices."

If anybody needs me, I'll be checking myself into the psych ward at Bellevue tonight.

Puppies...Is There Anything They Can't Do?

Puppies save small child from freezing to death.

The Best and the Brightest

I'm not usually a fan of Frank Rich, who really should have stayed in the Arts section of the paper.  In today's Times, however, he has a long Op-Ed that really strikes at the the heart of my concern over Obama and his coming Administration.  In a nutshell, Rich reminds readers that David Halberstam was not being complimentary when he described the brilliant young minds that got us into Vietnam as "The Best and the Brightest."  It's very appealing to imagine an Administration filled with wunderkinder, but sometimes these very bright folks lack the wisdom that comes with real experience.

That's always been my gripe with Obama.  No question he is a bright guy (although I doubt he is any brighter than any number of people I know and I don't want them to be President either).  But he's never run anything and he has no record on which we can judge his wisdom or lack thereof.  Just being bright is not enough.

People made much of the fact that Abraham Lincoln was similarly inexperienced when he became President in a time of national crisis.  What most people forget is that Lincoln's first few years in office were almost unmitigated disasters.  The much-vaunted Team of Rivals was mostly a Team of Annoying, Back-stabbing Distractions that ate up much of Abe's time.  His management of the Civil War was horrible and Union armies were getting their asses kicked all over the place as Lincoln dithered with a succession of generals who did nothing but bring disaster.  It was not until Vicksburg and Gettysburg that Union fortunes began to change.  And if Sherman had not delivered Atlanta in 1864, it seems pretty certain that Lincoln would have been a one-termer.

Revenge of the Nerds

Joe Satriani is suing Coldplay for copyright infringement. 

Frankly, I can't stand either of them.  Satriani is among the biggest offenders from the Guitar for Practicing Musician wank culture of the 1980s and Coldplay writes songs that are so dull they make me want to go on a three state killing spree.

Still, I just love the idea of Chris Martin secretly listening to Satriani somewhere, probably on a cassette in his old car.

This Is Awesome

You Tube finds its purpose.