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Tryin’ To Make It Real Compared To What?! (Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in I Heart My Love-Tribe, Music & Life & Sundays, politics, punk rock, Rock & Roll, Spirituality & Religion, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 27, 2010 by alphabetfiend

Where’s that bee and where’s that honey? Where’s my God and where’s my money?

This was one “Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel” that almost didn’t happen.  After the busiest of weeks and hours of off-line frustration in the Mississippi country-side, I said screw it all to hell and collapsed into bed with weary bones. Maybe it’ll be a Monday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel, I thought as I drifted into a deep air-conditioned slumber. Two hours later, at 4am, I awoke with a jolt to the spectres of Eddie Harris and Les McCaan. This is our Sunday, they insisted, so I reached with drowsy digits for my discarded laptop and whaddaya know?!  We suddenly (miraculously?) made contact. Now, fueled by caffeine & cigarettes, and a crazy lovely love for this song, I’m gonna knock this sucker out.

This week will be less wordy that usual, partly due to my fried-egg sunny-side up brain, but mostly because this song sings for itself.

How to introduce “Tryin’ To Make It Real Compared To What” ???

What can possibly be said about one of the greatest songs of all time?

All I can do is tell you what it means to me and urge you to form your own fibrous connection. And you will. You will. It’s that damn good.

When I was 15, my Dad and I took a long dusk-to-dark ride through the New Mexico mountains. Our headlights guided us around treacherous curves which my father — an expert driver and Motor City son — took smoothly, sweetly, safely. The moon was fat and the stars glittered like sugared candies. It was the kind of memory that sticks to your ribs; the kind of living that gives life texture, taste and deliciousness. It was the kind of  time that carves into your soul and (RE)MAKES you into a new configuration (concoction?) of your self. It was there, in that cushy comfy night, that I first heard “Tryin’ To Make It Real Compared To What.” It was also the second, third, fourth and fiftieth time. We played it over and over and over while reveling in the troubled beauty of the world.

Ten years later, my Dad was dead.

There would be no more moonlight rock-out rides; no more trading barbs over breakfast until he broke into a grin over my writerly wit; no more mounting our motorcycles at dawn and VVROOM-VVROOMing into the rising sun. 

There was no one to call when I needed to remember who it was that did that amazing fucking song. 

After all, that crazy beautiful fucker had turned me onto so many songs over the years and I figgered he’d always be around to help me keep ’em straight.

What was the song we used to play on the pontoon as we floated lazily down the Maumee River? Right. Take 5. Dave Brubeck. I remember now.

Who was it we were listening to that 3am by the fire? Ah! Buddy Holly. Duh.  

Who was it that did that kick-ass cool song that we couldn’t get enough of that night in your Lincoln, with the fat moon and her spilled candy?

Huh? Who? Hello? Dad? Where the hell you’d go? Hello?…hello…hey…hello? Daddy?

Damn that silence sucks.

Fortunately, there’s now such a thing as google. I typed in “tryin to make it real compared to what,” and was led to youtube, where Eddie Harris & Les McCaan broke my heart all over again. Then fixed it. Then broke it. It was awesome. I hit replay at least a dozen times. Oh. Such goodness. Such beauty. Such power.

My body flooded with rock & roll relief.

The song returned to me, like a gift, an act of cyber kindness, and now in the spirit of punk rock gospel, I am passing it on to you. I hope it breaks your heart and blows your mind. I hope it carves into you and sticks to your ribs. I hope it stays with you forever.

Is that too much to ask? No, I really don’t think so. Listen to it, see for yourself. Then go buy the record, download it onto your ipod, add the song to a playlist — spend some quality time with it. Let it add taste and texture to your memories… all the while striving to make it real while asking “Real?… Compared to what?”

Like a Buddhist koan, there’s really no answer but the question props your mind open.

TRYING TO MAKE IT REAL COMPARED TO WHAT

I love the lie and lie the love
A-Hangin’ on, with push and shove
Possession is the motivation
that is hangin’ up the God-damn nation
Looks like we always end up in a rut (everybody now!)
Tryin’ to make it real — compared to what? C’mon baby!

Slaughterhouse is killin’ hogs
Twisted children killin’ frogs
Poor dumb rednecks rollin’ logs
Tired old lady kissin’ dogs
I hate the human love of that stinking mutt (I can’t use it!)
Try to make it real — compared to what? C’mon baby now!

The President, he’s got his war
Folks don’t know just what it’s for
Nobody gives us rhyme or reason
Have one doubt, they call it treason
We’re chicken-feathers, all without one nut. God damn it!
Tryin’ to make it real — compared to what? (Sock it to me)

Church on Sunday, sleep and nod
Tryin’ to duck the wrath of God
Preacher’s fillin’ us with fright
They all tryin’ to teach us what they think is right
They really got to be some kind of nut (I can’t use it!)
Tryin’ to make it real — compared to what?

Where’s that bee and where’s that honey?
Where’s my God and where’s my money?
Unreal values, crass distortion
Unwed mothers need abortion
Kind of brings to mind ol’ young King Tut (He did it now)
Tried to make it real — compared to what?!

(Music break)

Tryin’ to make it real — compared to what?

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Black Man In the White House! Finally.

Posted in politics with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 5, 2008 by alphabetfiend

I’m bouncing around the room!

I’m tearing up every five minutes.

It feels so damn good to see those barriers blown to bits.

barack-obama-bw

This is how change happens.

This is the world doing the right thing. It’s a human rights issue and it’s huge and beautiful and glorious and about damn time.

Sarah Palin’s Haunted White House

Posted in SPOOKY KABUKI with tags , , , , , on October 24, 2008 by alphabetfiend

Whew! Thank Goof, the polls are lookin’ good because Palin’s Oval Office is CREEPY!

If you haven’t seen Palin’s Haunted White House yet, let SPOOKY KABUKI take you to the hallowed halls of “Ahhhhh! NO!”  Be sure to click on the door at least 3 times, also the globe, the curtains, the red phone. And, hey, what the hell is happening beneath that sofa cushion?

Carabou Barbie aka Sarah Palin on SNL (October 18)

Posted in I Heart Funny Femmes, politics, TV with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 19, 2008 by alphabetfiend
Palin was bland and Fey was better-than-OK but the night belonged to Poehler.
 
 

This mediocre but much-anticipated SNL episode had the highest overnight ratings since Bill was smoking that infamous cigar in The White House. Back in the day-aye. They probably should’ve taken advantage of the hype.

  1. Why show a re-run last Saturday? It was the 33rd anniversary of SNL’s debut and the time was ripe, just weeks before the election, for rah-rah Happy Birthday fun.
  2. Why fill last nights episode with perhaps a half-dozen McGruver skits and only two Palin/politics skits?  Palin was there and so was Tina Fey and so was Josh Brolin who just played Dub Bush in Oliver Stones W. You’d think they would’ve maximized those resources — all the better to impress the onslaught of viewers.
 I sure wasn’t blown away. It wasn’t as funny as I’d anticipated. Although my fears about Palin charming the pants off America were quickly allayed. She did nothing. She didn’t have even a nanosecond of funny. Even accidental “oops! we’re live” funny. Nothing, nada. Not only that but her presence made Fey’s performance barely negligible. Fey definitely dialed it down. I hadn’t heard the Caribou Barbie thing yet so that got a laugh but the night was about to be a total wash. Then Amy Poehler saved the day with a hip hop Palin that was totally awesome. Though I’m stumped as to why Poehler performed it instead of Tina Fey, being as Fey has owned the Palin impersonation and that’s what people were wanting to see. Amy Poehler was so great but pregnant and blond. Maybe Tina’s like me — nobody needs to hear her doing anything that even resembles singing. Or maybe Poehler was just so damn good at it that she had to do it.

I hadn't heard the Caribou Barbie thing yet so that gotta laugh.

1-2-3! My name is Sarah Palin, you all know me, vice prezzie nominee of the GOP.

Gonna need yer vote in the next election, can I get a whut-whut from the senior section!
McCain got experience, McCain got style,
but don’t let him freak you out when he tries to smile, cause that smile be creepy.
But when I’m VP, all the leaders in the world gonna finally meet me.
She is joined by an Eskimo entourage. (Their lines in bold.)
Howz it go, Eskimos?
Eskimos!
Tell me, tell me what you know Eskimos.
Eskimos!
How you feel Eskimos?
Ice cold!
Tell me tell me what you feel Eskimos.
Super cold!
Not Jeremiah Wright but tonight I’m the preacher,
I got a bookish look and you’re all hot for teacher.
Todd Palin joins in, dressed in a racing snow suit.
Todd lookin fine on his snow machine,
so hot for each other need a go-between.
I’m a killah, we just chill-baby-chilla,
but when I see oil — drill baby drilla!
My cuntry tis of thee, from my porch I can see Russia and such.
All the mavericks in the house, put your hands up! All the mavericks in the house put your hands up!
All the plumbers in the house pull your pants up! All the plumbers in the house pull your pants up!
When I say Obama, you say Ayres.
Obama. Ayres! Obama. Ayres!
I built me a bridge — it ain’t goin’ nowhere. Oooh!
McCain-Palin gonna put a nail in the coffin of the media elite.
She likes red meat!
Shoot a mother-humpin moose 8 days a week. pop pop pop. (Gunshots)
Now yer dead. Now yer dead. Cause I’m an ANIMAL and I’m bigger than you.
Holdin the shotgun, rockin the pump,
everybody party, we’re goin’ to hunt!
pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop.
Yo! I’m Palin! I’m out!
Speaking of pop pop, is Amy Poehler ready to pop or what? It was pretty great. But don’t take my word for it, go see it yourself. Yo! I’m A-B-C Fiend! I’m out!
 

Oliver Stone’s “W” — A Talent-fueled Let Down.

Posted in Cinema & Filmmaking, Fame & Celebrity, Movies & Movie Stars, politics, Republicans scare me with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on October 17, 2008 by alphabetfiend

Like poppy Bush, I too am “deeply disappointed.”

Oliver Stone’s Bush biopic “W” was not the scathing gut-buster that I’ve been looking forward to for months. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t satisfying. I ordered jalopeno chocolate cake and got apple pie. Flaky crust, tasty filling, not what I wanted.

The film opens in theatres tonight.

I got to see an early viewing of Oliver Stone’s much anticipated film at Austin’s Paramount Theatre. The film kicked off the Austin Film Festival. Stone was supposed to present it and do a Q & A but the lefty James Cromwell (Bush Senior) came in his stead. Cromwell quoted Aristotle — “Know thyself. An unexamined life is not worth living.” — and then quickly left the stage.

I settled in for two hours of hilarious illumination, already excited to write my “oh hell yea” review. I fully expected to love this movie. Now here I am and, yea, I’m just not feeling it. The subject matter provided plenty of depth to plumb, the premise was timely, the previews were promising. Josh Brolin was brilliant. He had Dub’s voice down and moved with uncanny perfection. It can’t be easy to play someone who we see so frequently. He wasn’t playing the man who was once Prez, he was playing the man who is Prez. His portrayal was so convincing that Brolin was erased and replaced by Bush. Richard Dreyfuss was absorbed by Dick Cheney. Jeffery Wright ached as Colin Powell, the Jimminy Cricket of the Oval Office. Thandie Newton was creepy as a stilted subservient Condoleeza Rice.  Toby Jones was a wonderfully stinky Turd Blossom. (Rove.) Elizabeth Banks was magnetic as Laura. There was so much talent involved in this project and so many outstanding performances. Yet I was bored. Bored and bummed.

In the story-telling, there were some egregiously missed opportunities. They skipped over some juicy real-life stuff — Condoleeza referring to Dubby as her hubby, Bushie massaging the shoulders of the German chancellor. Coulda had a nice close-up of her cringing in repulsion as he obliviously kneads away at her flesh. A young Bush snorting coke and making an ass of himself. Then there’s some rumored strange that could’ve had us fascinated. But instead of exploring the reported oddities of the Bush clan, the film was a glowing portrait of an patriotic family. Ma & Pa Bush were quite charming despite their supposed flaws. Bush senior was cold and curmudgeonly; Barbara was a sassy old broad; Jeb was the defensive little bro. Black sheep Bush was a pale gray good guy. Banks’ Laura was lovely. But so adoring of Dub that it sometimes felt like a love story rather than a political bio-pick of a problematic, troubled president. By a director who is known for being bold & ballsy.

Stone’s “W” didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know and I’m no Bush aficionado. There was one thing, a scene that sums up Bush Junior’s success. In a fraternity hazing, when a paunchy pledge fumbles to recall the names of his potential frat bros, liquor is funneled into his throat. He chokes and sputters. Then comes Bushie (with Brolin’s hot bod) and he lists off first names, last names and nicknames. Superb memory + affable dumbass = Prez. Outside of nepotism, Bush’s genial social skills and memory for details are what made his presidency possible. W “makes nice” while a behind the scenes someone(s) feeds him intel. Dreyfuss’ Cheney is the clear villain. Brolin’s Bush is just a fumbling hobnobber with serious Daddy issues. 

The film is Bush-friendly. If it were a raunchy teen comedy, the Bush character would be the ditsy blond who despite here low IQ and shallow soul is somehow still a sweetie pie who tries to do right.

Afterwards, while the RobotBoy gooed and gaga-ed over pretty Elizabeth Banks, I struggled to find words for my dissatisfaction. Then the phone rang. Vince was anxious to know how it went.

So, how was it? Was it funny?

Um, yea, it was. Sometimes. But I’d already see all of the funny scenes on the trailer.

Ohhh. One of those.

And when it wasn’t funny it was sort of a human interest hallmark channel conservative fluff piece…. I dunno, maybe I’m just not in the mood to sit through the humanization of Dub-yoo right now. While we’re still in the thick of this mess, I guess I don’t much care how he hurts.

Yea? I saw something like that, somewhere, on someone’s blog, like ‘yea, really not so sure who this film is for.’

EXACTLY! I too am unsure. I only know that it’s not for me.

“This is just the beginning of a reconciliation of eight wretched years.” Oliver Stone

Debates: Penguin-McCain VS Batman-Obama. Too Funny! (video)

Posted in politics, TV with tags , , , , , , , , on October 16, 2008 by alphabetfiend

Have you seen this yet? Oh, it’s wonderful. I’d love to meet the geek boy who dug up this gem. You know he was chuckling to himself. I’m sure it was one of those light bulb moments that explode into pure delight. Ah, the superstrings of the cosmos. Or the predictability of the villain politician. Joseph Campbell would have some wisdom to add no doubt. Archetypes abound. No matter how you look at it, it’s awesome.

Batman! Who is he? Who is this acrobatic clown who somersaults around Gotham City in a rediculous costume? Will you think about that a moment, my friends? Whenever you see Batman, who’s he with? Criminals! That’s who! You look in the old newspapers — every picture shows him with crooks, thieves, hobnobbing with crooks. Where as my pictures show me always surrounded by whom? By the police! I am an associate of the law. 

WHO IS THAT BLACK MAN?!

Hank Hill Votes for Obama!

Posted in I Heart Funny Femmes, politics, TV with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 13, 2008 by alphabetfiend
Hank Hill is not amused by the dumbass-ery of the Republican ticket. Both the ever-logical Mr. Hill and his dog-duchess Ladybird are voting for Obama. It’s a smart move considering his son’s penchant for show tunes & drag. Yes, Bobby likes girls, yes, and he and Connie were “goin’ together.”  As a hag, I know a little about fags and their love-hate relationship with the ladies. As a lady whose gent is a real-life grown up Bobby Hill, I can also forsee a future for Bobby as a bonafide ladie’s man. Either way, it’s all good.
1203-1.png picture by plushied
To be safe, Hank & Peggy best say no to Palin. The Veep nom is not what you’d call “gay-friendly.”  Sure, she “tolerates” gays with all her heart while viewing them as an evil mutation that deserves the AIDS and the dark-alley beatings and whatever else might befall them before they meet their due deaths and are sent straight to hell. The Hills still believe in the American Dream and they want that for Bobby, who is their first born son and only child thanks to Hank’s narrow urethra. Bobby’s questionable sexuality wasn’t part of that dream back when the Hills were first dreaming and sure, they struggle. After all, who wants their child’s future to include those back-alley beatings or the disdain of piggish haters like Palin who want to keep them legally less-than. Yup. Who indeed?  
 
Hank4Obama-1-1.jpg picture by plushied

Sadly, the similarities between The McCain-Palin ticket and the animated Hill family are more than skin deep:

  • Peggy’s a (substitute) Spanish teacher whose Spanish is barely passable, but don’t tell her that! Peggy thinks she’s “mooey prolifico in talkito el Spaniard.” Sigh. All you teachers, your reward is in heaven. Peggy loves to play Boggle and the blame game. Peggy knows all about grrl-power and nothing about feminism. Peggy thinks if you can run your household, you can run the world. Peggy’s glasses suit her.
  • Cotton’s a rageaholic war monger. Cotton’s “cut off at the knees” and is proud to be an emotional cripple who barely knows his children. Cotton’s an abusive tyrant who thinks his military service excuses any and all bad behavior. Cotton’s led a long life of hard livin’ and when he dies, his legacy will be left in the hands of his unworldly concubine cum redneck youngin’. Cotton can’t get past what his enemies did to him during his vaunted military service. Cotton lacks class. He’s a sexist, violent ego-maniac whose old war stories are really getting old.

There are a few differences:

  • Peggy Hill may “tolerate” the gays now but that will change the minute Bobby Hill comes out of the closet, if not before. Peggy accepts Bobby as he is. If her son is gay, then Peggy will say that “gay’s the way to be.” I tell you whut. Even Hank, hard as he fights it, would accept his son and by proxy his son’s hubby. I spy Hank & Peggy — future members of PFLAG!
  • Cotton did not crash — is it 5 or 7?–  planes and then get himself captured. Cotton would never be captured. Cotton’s not a coward, but he is a lunatic. Good luck capturing Cotton. (In actuality, Cotton is even less alive then McCain and not just because he’s make-believe.)

No wonder Larry Flint cast Peggy as porn-star Palin in his latest political project Nailin Pailin!  And of course Cotton Hill starred as John McCain! An obvious choice. But poor poor Hank.  The things Hank saw while a tool-fluffer on Flint’s film! Now that’s XXX wrong. Argh! Burns the eyeballs! As if Hank weren’t already soured on the McCain-Palin ticket!

So Hank is voting for Obama. And Homer’s voting Obama too. Toons for Truth!

What’s funny in Arlen is not so funny in Washington.

What’s not funny in Washington is even less funny in my hometown and yours.

What happens in Washington does not STAY in Washington. Instead it “trickles down” (yea right) and leaves us damp and moldy. It makes like The Blob and oozes across state lines (bread lines?) Bubbles beneath door jambs, creeps into our homes. Bad decisions made by politicians become our problems. Make a list of your current ills and consider. Yup. I know. Bummer, isn’t it? Now think abroad, imagine the lists of others and how American politics has had a hand in that. Yup. Beyond bummer. Don’t let the 2008 election be your bad decision. 

Homer knows better, Hank knows better.

We know better.

Don’t we?

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