Give it up for old school (and the Oskar Blues brew pub’s vintage arcade room):
John Davis for helping make people aware of obscure American treasure, Blind Tom Wiggins (for eight bucks you can download this album at Amazon.com and it might just be the best money you spend this month, and possibly this year).
Speaking of American treasures, how lucky we are to have Mark Morford who is like a Mark Twain for our times or a David Sedaris with a political acumen. He slices, dices and souffles our imbecility and hypocrisy, and makes you laugh while you read about it (that itself is a minor miracle). Check him out this week, at the top of his game on the TSA silliness. Sample for your pleasure (and so I can read it for a third time):
Let’s also put aside the assorted political bitching of people like Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal — never one to pass up an opportunity to whine like a goddamn child and blame Obama for everything, despite how it was the Bush administration that invented the damnable TSA in the first place. Jindal says we should skip the groping and scanners and use some kind of profiling instead. Dear Gov. Jinhal: That’s a fine idea. Of course, you yourself, with your shifty eyes and scary, anti-American Hindu lineage, would be singled out for a hard grope in a millisecond. Just sayin’.
More? Okay!
And let’s ignore the inconvenient truth that a recent ABC poll found that 81 percent of Americans actually support the full-body scanners, at least until it happens to them. Is it not wonderful? Are we not a nation of fanciful hypocrites? Just add it to the list: security cams, irradiated food, red light cameras, handguns in bars? You bet! Except, oh wait, unless you’re talking about something near me.
That artists like David S. Ware, Matthew Shipp, Hamid Drake and William Parker are making music today that will be studied the way we dissect and savor all those impossibly perfect albums from the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s:
William Parker Quartet:
David S. Ware Quartet:
For GQ writers, who continue (along with Esquire and Oxford American) produce the best feature stories year-in, year-out. 2010 is not over yet, but I already know I’m not going to read anything better, or more affecting, than Kathy Dobie’s piece (from the March issue), The Few, The Proud, The Broken. I’m sure the guy sitting next to me on the plane thought I was quietly weeping because my iPod had run out of juice, but it was actually because of the coruscating story I was reading. It got inside me and is still there. I’d suggest you read it, and keep it handy for future debates when your tax-cut-for-the-wealthy fellow Americans are using that shallow, scolding tone to talk about “entitlements”. Our collective willingness to wage war (on future generations’ tab!) and ignore the traumatized soldiers who return home has to rank near the top of topics we need to address.
For air conditioning:
Hey DeLay, how are you enjoying the (long, long overdue) hammer of justice?
For this guy with the Red Sox tat on his SCALP (and for me being able to get his picture without him noticing and beating me up):
For the spider that has lived in my car since this summer.
For having a great Pops, Mom and sister/brother combination.
For John & Holly:
For Arthur Lee and all the gifts he left behind, like this:
For Beethoven and Barenboim:
The collective wisdom of crowds (thank you YouTube!).
And finally (for now), Myron (and his mum), one of the most wonderful, soulful stories I’ve been fortunate enough to see this year.
