Little things: Short pants

So I woke up this morning, and bought myself a gun. No, actually I woke up this morning and pulled on my brand new Christmas pajamas. That sounds odd but the truth is I didn’t actually need the pajamas while I was under the covers but they were definitely necessary when my toasty self was exposed to the cold morning air. 

So I was somewhat dismayed to discover that my new pajamas were short. About 6 inches short, I reckon. This was just bizarre. For one thing, I am short, so this is not something that I run into often. Invariably pants are too long , but never too short. Secondly, other than the length they fit just fine, so they presumably were the right size and not too small. I tried to rationalize that the were a fashionable capri style, but the reality was they looked like highwater floods to me. Who the hell wants capri pajamas anyway? If it’s warm enough for capris, then you don’t need pajamas.

This unfortunate and unexpected turn of events left my ankles cold, exposed and me considering scrambling for socks. But I have a full agenda today and searching for morning socks was not on by agenda. I wanted to get some writing in before the actual day began. I here I am, cold lower extremities, writing about the absurbities on short pants on a cold morn. 

And so the day begins.

Time-sucking black holes

The last thing someone like me needs is another blog or time-vortex web 2.0-esque app to play with. Still, that didn’t stop me from signing up for both Tumblr and Weebly, and you know what? I’m not sorry sorry I did. If you include my last.fm account, you’ve got an accurate picture of how I’ve spent my “free” time on the web for the past few days.

For starters Weebly is the simplest way I’ve encountered yet to put up a really quick website that actually has some practical widget functionality. Sure it doesn’t work so well with Safari, but I can live with that and I’m a mac user. It’s about as easy to set up as say, iWeb, though admittedly (and deliberately) less customizable. However, what it lacks it total artistic freedom, it more than makes up for in basic usability. Those nifty stats counters and fun widgets you can’t use in WordPress? Not a problem for Weebly. Wants ads on your site? No one’s stopping you. If you need to put together a workable site in a hurry, you could do far worse than weebly and it’s multitude of handy ready-to go templates and functions. Plus you can map it to you own domain name if you choose. I put up a site in a matter of hours. Why? Did I need to do this? Well, no. I can’t say that I have any pressing need for this site right now. But it’s there should I need it. I’m a happy camper.

Tumblr has become the repository for everything I don’t really want to keep or need to refer back to, things that aren’t good candidates for del.icio.us. They call it a digital scrapbook, and that makes perfect sense. To make life simpl,e it comes with a convenient toolbar button that makes scrapbooking as you surf easier than dodging porn pop-ups. Again, do I need a digital scrapbook? Well no. Hell, I didn’t even know I wanted one until I saw it in action. But I figure impulsive social webbing is infinitely less detrimental to my wallet than a comparable trip to the mall or compulsive want-list making at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.com

Which has brought me to a realization. All it takes for me to achieve digital bliss is an RSS feed, some widgets, a ‘Post it’ button and a dream. It’s my own little digital-viral nirvana, and the masses don’t even have to come. I get pleasure simply in the building.

“The internet is their CBGB”

In honor of her recent induction into the R ‘n’ R Hall of Fame Patty Smith’s Op-ed in the Times

…My late husband, Fred Sonic Smith, then of Detroit’s MC5, was a part of the brotherhood instrumental in forging a revolution: seeking to save the world with love and the electric guitar. He created aural autonomy yet did not have the constitution to survive all the complexities of existence.

Before he died, in the winter of 1994, he counseled me to continue working. He believed that one day I would be recognized for my efforts and though I protested, he quietly asked me to accept what was bestowed — gracefully — in his name.

Today I will join R.E.M., the Ronettes, Van Halen and Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. On the eve of this event I asked myself many questions. Should an artist working within the revolutionary landscape of rock accept laurels from an institution? Should laurels be offered? Am I a worthy recipient?

I have wrestled with these questions and my conscience leads me back to Fred and those like him — the maverick souls who may never be afforded such honors. Thus in his name I will accept with gratitude. Fred Sonic Smith was of the people, and I am none but him: one who has loved rock ’n’ roll and crawled from the ranks to the stage, to salute history and plant seeds for the erratic magic landscape of the new guard.

Because its members will be the guardians of our cultural voice. The Internet is their CBGB. Their territory is global. They will dictate how they want to create and disseminate their work. They will, in time, make breathless changes in our political process. They have the technology to unite and create a new party, to be vigilant in their choice of candidates, unfettered by corporate pressure. Their potential power to form and reform is unprecedented.

Human history abounds with idealistic movements that rise, then fall in disarray. The children of light. The journey to the East. The summer of love. The season of grunge. But just as we seem to repeat our follies, we also abide.

Rock ’n’ roll drew me from my mother’s hand and led me to experience. In the end it was my neighbors who put everything in perspective. An approving nod from the old Italian woman who sells me pasta. A high five from the postman. An embrace from the notary and his wife. And a shout from the sanitation man driving down my street: “Hey, Patti, Hall of Fame. One for us.”

I just smiled, and I noticed I was proud. One for the neighborhood. My parents. My band. One for Fred. And anybody else who wants to come along.

I love Patty Smith. Actually with the exception of Van Halen, whom for sanity’s sake I will just ignore, the HOF inductions this year were passably enjoyable. Nothing earth-shattering, but I suspect it’s hard for me to get excited about that sort of thing anymore. Patty Smith’s induction was still the highlight for me – especially when she did a shout out to her mom and broke into “Rock and Roll N*gger” Hee.

Young punks who don’t die…

become old curmudgeons who bicker over money and I suppose, conscience.

… Last week, frontman Jello Biafra [Dead Kennedys] blasted former bandmates East Bay Ray, Klaus Flouride and D.H. Peligro for licensing their song “Too Drunk to [Bleep]” to play during a rape scene in Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez’s new “Grindhouse.” Biafra fumed, “Some people will do anything for money . . . I’d sure love to be a fly on the wall when [Flouride] tries to explain to his teenage daughter putting a song in a rape scene for money.” Yesterday, the rest of the group hit back, telling punknews.org: “Jello is getting paid extremely well and we challenge him to put his money where his mouth is and donate his share to a woman’s cause, if he is truly concerned with the issue.”

Obviously I haven’t seen the movie – it’s not out yet, so I can’t comment on the usage of the song, but it seems to me the band members have a point. As long as they’re not using Holiday in Cambodia to shill Dockers. I wonder if they ever got the other $200,000 he supposedly owed them. Still, it’s nice to see that Jello Biafra’s people skills are as finely honed as they’ve ever been. I love a punk curmudgeon.

Who ever imagined that this would be worth enough money to feud over?

Well, maybe March is trying

After all, it is spring now.

March Sucks

Saturday morning we had a deluge of rain, slush, freezing rain, and finally snow. Dutifully the neighbors and I all went outside and dug out our cars and walk ways. That night when I went out to walk the dog, this is what awaited me…

Granted, that’s not enough snow to really be any kind of a big deal, and by the next day, it had melted away, but, seriously, the entire month of March just always makes me think “Enough already.”

By March, even if you like winter, you’ve got to be ready for spring already. It’s like a relationship that just won’t die when Spring Fever is starting to grab hold.

Help me Obi-wan

Hint, click the picture.
I’ve posted this on my other blogs as well. (After all I am a geek and it’s still making me laugh.) It seemed appropriate now that HBO is finally showing the Star Wars consecutively in from episode 1. (previously they’ve shown Eps.2-6 consecutively — without Ep. 1!) I’ll give them a pass for only showing the first 3 at the moment, because, even I can’t stomach 6 Star Wars in a row, without some sort of mental failure, though I do love the idea. Hopefully Ep.1 will soon be added to the OnDemand lineup and I can have a mini-midnight marathon during my next bout of insomnia. (This is of course if the notoriusly crappy Comcast Cable service stays on.) Plus I have some cleaning and knitting I can do while I watch.

I’ve been staring at the computer so long

I feel numb. I roke my camera lens a couple of days ago. That’s not helping my mood. Still, I got my Police ticket in the mail today, that should really be helping my mood. But no, I feel numb.

Doh!

Just this very second while checking out the Roger Roger thread on the Straight Dope forum in a strange turn of webhopping events that found me websurfing for info regarding the 1933 apparent murder-suicide of Ernest & Julio’s (and Joseph’s) parents — don’t ask — I just know realized that the distress term “Mayday” comes from the French “M’aidez” (help me). You’d think I’d have figured that sooner out after years of high school french.

Revel in his… specialness

I recently wrote about the 60 Minutes segment on Sam Simon on iChihuahua. I have to admit though, that i didn’t divulge my full fascination with the segment. Repeatedly, to the point where it was nearly a mantra, Simon emphasized his inability to get along in the collaborative environment of TV production. Clearly he’s a smart guy, and seemingly a compassionate one, at least towards dogs. Still he also seems to be quite self aware of his selfishness and inability to play well with others. His comfort with the fact that he can be an asshole in the production environment was both refreshing and a bit disturbing. I know the environment, so I’m inclined to be sympathetic. But he also seems to embrace the side of himself that was a tryrannical bastard under those circumstances. Or perhaps he was protesting a bit too much and is not as comfortable as he would like us to think. Money has given him a chance to hide from his demons that many of us don’t have.

Simon also blatantly flaunted the fact that he has so much, he has the luxury of not knowing how much he’s got, and he doesn’t really seem to want to know. A dangerous nirvana indeed. Or maybe I’m just jealous.