Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Month: March 2016 (Page 23 of 25)

Whoopee Wednesday: Part Two, The Definining

March 2, 2016 / / 5 Comments

All The Sexy:

  • The sound of rain hitting the roof on a dark morning.
  • Machinery with a lot of pistons.
  • 1974 Viking beard Phil.
  • Boot-cut jeans.
  • Noses that have been broken two or three times.
  • Lizzy Caplan.
  • Warm, gentle breezes.
  • Plaid skirts.
  • Peregrine falcons.
  • Typewritten letters that smell of the sender.

None Of The Sexy

  • The sound of rain on the roof of your car during your commute.
  • Air conditioners. (Least sexy technology ever.)
  • 1984 sloppy drunk Phil.
  • Skinny jeans.
  • Gabe Kaplan.
  • Icy, stinging gales.
  • Plaid trousers, especially when worn with suspenders and a T-shirt with a ska band on it.
  • Atlanta Falcons
  • Inspirational Instagram posts.

Whoopee Wednesday: Part One

March 2, 2016 / / 3 Comments

Dontcha love when TotD gets a little wine in him? Fires up the YouTube and blasts those ol’ New Jersey Blues and feels sorry for himself directly at you?

I always did enjoy weaponizing my Pity Parties.

But no more of that. One maudlin day is acceptable, two in a row is an unfollow, and three is a Smiths record. Today is for life, liberty, and the pursuit of some nice-nice.

Today will be for The Sexy: songs that have it, Dead members that remembered to pack it, and–perhaps later–an epistemological and socio-ontologic dissection of what The Sexy is.

We start with a song that has so much Sexy it verges on parody. It was written for a James Bond film, and not one of the new ones where Bond is only allowed to have sex once a movie; one of the old flicks where 007 barely has time to put his dick back in his pants.

Plus, it was written by Marvin Hamlisch, who never forgot to bring his Sexy to whatever award show he had been invited to.

Steve

March 1, 2016 / / 2 Comments

What are little boys made of? Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, I’ve been told. And little girls? Sugar. Spice. Other things, I’ve been told.

And what are men made of? Puke and shit. Poetry at dawn and free verse at midnight. Obligations and deadlines. Aches you can’t explain. Sometimes the truth, and other times not: depends on the situation, doesn’t it?

You really want to know what men are made of? Their father’s funerals.

One of these days I’m gonna dig you up, you cocksucker, and tell you that you were right about everything. And then I’ll bury you again.

I Know A Place Where The Dancing’s Free

March 1, 2016 / / 12 Comments

[embedyt] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWoTfcaqZU4[/embedyt]

I forgot to fall in love.

You put things off ’til tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, but it never turns tomorrow and you wake up at 40 and the house is empty. You put things down and they stay in the same place until you move them. Piles form.

Some things got done. I remembered to stick needles in my arm. I remembered that I was the only person that mattered. I remembered to steal and lie and cheat and skip town in the middle of the night.

Forgot to fall in love.

Maybe next time. Too late now.

Well, Aren’t You Special?

March 1, 2016 / / 0 Comments

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Here-at this final hour, in this quiet place—Marin County has come to bid farewell to one of its brightest hopes—extinguished now, and gone from us forever.

For Marin is where he worked and where he struggled and fought—his home of homes, where his heart was, and where his people are-and it is, therefore, most fitting that we meet once again—in Marin-to share these last moments with him.

And we will answer and say unto them: Did you ever talk to Brother Jerry? Did you ever touch, or have him smile at you? Did you ever really listen to him? Did he ever do a mean thing? Was he ever himself associated with violence or any public disturbance? For if you did you would know him. And if you knew him you would know why we must honor him: Jerry was our manhood, our living, hippie manhood! This was his meaning to his people. And in honoring him we honor the best in ourselves.

…

…

…

Right?

Sure.

Us Against Them

March 1, 2016 / / 2 Comments

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I used to be in a band; we weren’t good, but we were loud and we had a basement all to ourselves. We didn’t win the Battle of the Bands. Never got any chicks, man.

But, Jesus, we were loud.

Me and the drummer never got along, which is typical, but we were both teenagers and teenagers are fucking typical. If you had mean-mugged him, I would have cold-cocked you. He was my drummer and being in a band means something. It’s a tribe and you have to pick sides and I picked the side playing The Ramones, poorly, loudly.

We didn’t play Soldier Field for our 50th Anniversary. Singer’s in Louisiana, he’s an entomologist. Guitar player’s in Boston and he works in a recording studio. Drummer’s still a drummer.

And I’m here.

But I used to be in a band.

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