July 5, 2008

My Morning Jacket

To all the folks that suggested I check out My Morning Jacket, especially Evan and Ben, I say thank you.  I’m three years late on this “Z” album, but it’s off the meat rack.

Given that most of the music I listen to these days is 30+ years old, I figured I should share something I wasn’t up on with the folk.

July 5, 2008

If there’s anything I hate…

…it’s a beggin’ ass pizza man.

I understand that delivering pizzas isn’t the greatest job, especially now that gas is $4 a gallon.  Honestly, I don’t know how you can turn a profit if you’re not driving a hybrid?  And, if you can afford a hybrid, why are you delivering pizzas?

Anyway, there’s this one pizza chain I patronize.  I like their pizza.  I order it.

Only thing is that they hit you with a delivery charge.  If that’s what the man wants to do, he can do that.  So, I pay the delivery charge.

The man that loses in this battle is the pizza man.  See, when I see “delivery charge,” I think “tip.”  After all, that’s what an extra buck and change on a pizza is, right?  Well, Papa takes the tip as tax.  There goes my tip money.  I don’t have any left for the pizza man.  The pizza ain’t that good to be putting all that money on it.

But invariably, this chain has some beggin’ ass pizza man come to my door.  They don’t seem to understand that a tip is a courtesy.  It is not owed to you.  Strippers sometimes leave the stage with nary single.  You think somebody owes you money because you brought them some food?  You were out bringing the next man his food!  I was just on the way.

And today, they sent the beggin’ ass pizza man.  I told him why I couldn’t tip, because of the delivery charge.  He then told me that he and his brethren don’t see anything from the delivery charge.

Hey there — instead of complaining to me about this, shouldn’t you be taking this up with your manager?  That’s who’s taking your money.  Why are you coming to me about it?  I ain’t got it.  Do y’all need to start a union or something?

Just know this — gas is kicking my ass, too.  Unfortunately, that’s why I can’t put something on your tank.  That’s not on me, playboy.  That’s on your job.

In other words — take that beggin’ somewhere else.

June 30, 2008

So I’m watching this Nelson Mandela concert…

…and Amy Winehouse just came on.  Between her, just ugh, style thing she’s got going and the pair of Negro backup singers enthusiastically stepping and clapping and playing tambourines, this is positively disturbing.

Like, really…I have no idea what to make of this.  She doesn’t look like she knows the words to the songs. Not that it seems like she can’t remember them.  I mean, she looks like there’s no way in hell she can memorize anything.

She can sing, however.  Very well.  And she’s definitely selling that whole “Rehab” thing.

(They just showed a shot of Mandela, and he seemed to be looking at her like “who is that peculiar thing on the stage?  I thought you said the Spice Girls would be here.”)

June 21, 2008

The funniest thing I’ve seen in ages

Thanks, Bol.  Definitely NSFW on the sound, so just put on some headphones.

Here’s the funniest part — this dude must have been deep in the country, cuz it ain’t like he just moved to town from New York City.  Once that bug got in his mouth, he started talking like Bundini Brown’s cousin from Down South.  I just wonder what else happened that day, for this explosion had built.  This was not spontaneous combustion.

June 20, 2008

A little Johnny for your body…

In these times, the words of Johnny Guitar Watson often come in handy.

Enjoy.

 

June 19, 2008

Fret not…

…I didn’t get the crocs.  The biggest reason I was going to was because, well, they’re cheap, and I can’t be investing but so much into this golf.  It’s already becoming an obsession, but I ain’t got the money to be a golfer.  I can just afford to play golf.  There’s a difference.

Anyway, at the suggestion of my man BG, I went with some Footjoys.  And, I must say, I don’t feel like so much of an amateur at the range.  Granted, golf shoes don’t change the fact that I usually swing in a beater and hooping shorts, but thems the breaks.  To tell the truth, I can’t figure out why they don’t play golf in hooping shorts already.  It’s hot as hell out there.

(Random note — Max asked where I’m writing these days.  Right now, nowhere.  I’ve been meaning to freelance more, but it’s been hectic with the radio stuff.  I’ll do a longer post on that later, but know this — I write.  That’s what I do.  No matter how deep I get in this radio thing, I’ll always be a writer doing radio, even if people I ever wrote in the first place.  Times are just a little hard for writers, though.)

June 15, 2008

Your opinion is needed

I’m one of those people that sees the value of comfortable shoes.  Feet are the most underappreciated things out there, when you think about it.  Well, feet and latex.  Nobody likes to talk about either in public, but where would you be without them?  Probably the ground, in two different manners of speaking.

That said — how much of a doofus would I look like in these?  They’re really economical, too, based on my golf shoe research.

June 11, 2008

And another thing…

So I, ummm, came across a “complete” Stevie Wonder discography somewhere.  High quality, too.  Anyway, I get into it, and I’m thrilled.  Lots of albums I hadn’t gotten the chance to listen to yet, a handful of live albums…the works, man.

That said, I must put “complete” in quotes.  Because, in my world, a “complete” Stevie discography has Innervisions on it.  Noticing that omission must be what it would feel like if you the doctor told you your baby was the most beautiful child ever, with everything a child should have, only to find out the kid doesn’t have a big toe on his left foot.

June 11, 2008

Ready…set…

…click here…

and go.

June 3, 2008

‘Tis a historic night indeed

If you told me five years ago that a black man could make it to the final presidential ballot, I would have said you were crazy.  I suppose I would be wrong, seeing how Barack Obama has earned the Democratic nomination for President.

Wow.

Now, I’m the wet blanket on this Obama thing.  I’ve paid attention to the way that Obama got slaughtered on white voters vs. Hillary Clinton, even in states he won.  It’s not encouraging at all.  And that was with Hillary’s simpleminded, halfassed attempt to grasp at straws as the nomination she felt was ordained to her.

The GOP is now in the building.  Get ready for Willie Horton ‘08.

So I was pee-peeing on my buddy’s parade about that when I got an e-mail from an esteemed member of the media.  I’ll just hit you with a paragraph.

Regardless of whether or not you supported, or support, Senator Obama, I think we can all agree that this is a momentous evening. One that so many of our ancestors died for. One that my 80-year-old father is seeing, and one that has him weeping.

Then it hit me — if Obama wins this thing, he’ll be the first black person that this country has to listen to.  Sure, America has listened to plenty of black folks, but only if they wanted to.  Never before has there been a black man this country was obligated to listen to, one whose opinion could not be dismissed no matter what.

We, as black folks, are a marginalized people.  We have been disregarded and patronized since our arrival on this continent, and we’ve had to hope someone hears what he have to say.  Whispering hasn’t done it.  Hinting hasn’t done it.  Screaming was only effective for a time.

Now, there’s a black man that can speak to the world with flash cards if he wants to, and folks will have to read every word.  Even a pessimist like me can see the beauty of that.

I’m not weeping.  I’m not even smiling.  But I’m not going to pretend for a second — well, another second — that this isn’t a big deal.