For those 7,845 unique readers who look at my blog each and everyday, I would like to tell you that I am still standing. As for blogging, I have turned to micro-blogging. Is that what they call it nowadays? I might still post here occasionally, but for the most part I can be found over at Marco's Loose Ends, Tumblr-ing away. This format is more suited to our ADS digital life support system, non? Quick, precise, succinct, image-driven.
Soundcloud (everything is going up to the cloud now or will be soon, including ourselves) is a music hosting service where all kinds of music is shared. Everything is being connected on the Interwebs. Social networks link to blogs, blogs connect to forums et al. Fairly soon, one will not able to whisper in one's own bedroom without the whole world knowing it. But who cares? I like my privacy, but I'm not hiding anything. Back to the music. At Soundcloud I can post 120 minutes of mixed music. That mix will change every now and then. It's like having my own mini-radio station. The neat thing is that Soundcloud and Tumblr are automatically linked up. Well, you have to check a box and this happens. Some connections on the Interwebs are better than others.
So, see you there, all 7,845 of you. You know who are.
Today's Mardi Gras, all youse Northerners. It's not all about beer and boobs. It's a culminating celebration that has been going on since the world began. It's a way of life. This year's Carnival is one day shy of the longest possible and some people in NOLA may feel that lengthy parade tomorrow. Lent is a fixed time period, but Carnival time is short, medium or long. If you don't believe me, look it up. Since Carnival was so long this year, Easter comes in late April. Easter is never in May. Look it up.
Only in places like New Orleans, they actually celebrate it. Really. The people know how to celebrate and party because they know that like their precariously perched city, we all walk that proverbial tight rope over the abyss.
So, remember as you are working or just walking around that there are people celebrating today and for good reason. They instinctively know about these matters. They know what matters and what's bullshit. We should celebrate along with our brethren. Even Google doesn't know it's Mardi Gras for God's sake. The 100th Anniversary of International Women's is important, but I believe Google should change that later in the day, to, you know, celebrate the end of Carnival, i.e. Mardi Gras.
My blog stats soar** at this time of the year because people are searching for the lyrics to a certain song that is sung at the end of Mardi Gras. It's nonsense and fluidly changes as the tides. This mad search happens every year without fail. So to make things easier for those around the world who want to sing along very loudly with their sisters and brothers in New Orleans. Here ya' go.
"If I Ever Cease To Love"
This particular set of lyrics is from a 1946 "Souvenir Edition" published by Dave Frank, New Orleans.
Authorship (improperly) attributed to "Rex Knarf" [franK backwards] and "Re' Kel"
In a house, in a square, in a quadrant, in a pocket, in a passing lane,
In a street, in a lane, in a road, in the Superdome.
Turn to the left, on the right hand,
you see my true love's abode.
I go there a courting,
and cooing to my love like a dove and defensive end
And swearing on my bend-ed knee, Drew Brees,
If ever I cease to love,
May sheepsheads grow on apple trees, may OT field golds split the uprights
If ever I cease to love.
If ever I cease to love,
If ever I cease to love
May the moon be turned to green cream cheese, may the Saints come back from 10-0 at the half with an onside kick
If ever I cease to love
She can sing who dat, she can play on the piano,
She can jump, she can dance that NOLA bounce and skanky leg, she can run and catch a clinching interception
For she's a wonderful girlie,
She's all of them rolled into one looooong second line.
I adore her beauty, she's like an angel dropped from above
May the fish get legs, and the cows lay eggs, like the Colts laid one
If ever I cease to love,
If I ever cease to love,
If I ever cease to love,
May we all turn into cats and dogs in a Krewe who knew
If I ever cease to love
*Photo -- Louis Maistro
** Update: As of 3 pm EST over 80 people have searched for the lyrics to this elusive song.
And, "I was climbing the long ridge west of Mount Clark. It was one of those mornings where the sunlight is burnished with a keen wind and long feathers of cloud move in a lofty sky. The silver light turned every blade of grass and every particle of sand into a luminous metallic splendor; there was nothing, however small, that did not clash in the bright wind, that did not send arrows of light through the glassy air. I was suddenly arrested in the long crunching path up the ridge by an exceedingly pointed awareness of the light. The moment I paused, the full impact of the mood was upon me; I saw more clearly than I have ever seen before or since the minute detail of the grasses ... the small flotsam of the forest, the motion of the high clouds streaming above the peaks ... I dreamed that for a moment time stood quietly, and the vision became but the shadow of an infinitely greater world — and I had within the grasp of consciousness a transcendental experience."--Ansel Adams
The novelist Wallace Stegner wrote: "Photography is not button-pushing; the camera does not make its pictures automatically the way a lighthouse blinks its light. In a gamesome party mood Ansel will sometimes play lighthouse, rotating slowly on his axis, now and then emitting a low, intense, foghorn moan, and at every full rotation gleaming upon the company with teeth and eyeballs that seem to project through the beard a beam visible for miles. That is fun, and also art, for the playfulness of genius is still genius."
Though Garrison Keillor's voice is soporific, I do enjoy some of the readings and quotes from authors.
From today's The Writer's Almanac:
It is the birthday of Miranda July, born 1974 Barre, Vermont, who said:
"We humans are here because nothing can be perfect. There always have to be some living things that are unsatisfied, itchy, trying too hard. If it was all just animals and rocks and lettuce, the gods wouldn't feel like they had enough to do."
As I finished Pa ul Theroux's short story "Losers Win", I thought of what I heard from The Writer's Almanac on the car radio at 10:30 this morning.
I wish I could understand more of this stuff. Great music making powers lie within. Thanks to Rob Walker (@notrobwalker on Twitter) http://journal.robwalker.net/ for the link.
In 1967, I saw three (3) groups for $3 at the Fillmore West in San Francisco. So many roads, so many partings. The cost of living, the cost of living.
Cannes 2008 winner
It was the poet, Kenneth Patchen, I believe, who said that the above is all that really matters. The rest is bullshit or close. It doesn't matter that there is a blizzard raging and that i-bloated-Tunes is not allowing me to stream one my favorite radio stations and I can't insert a link to said station because OS-X and Safari doesn't like the way I am going about it.
With Explorer, highlighting text and inserting a link was as easy as dumping on Rachel "Gatemouth" Ray. Not today. At least I am not on hold with SONY.
Update: Using Firefox I have no problema with link insertion.
I have been reading more about writing lately, mostly because of Maud Newton and Mark Folse writing about writing. These people are writers. So is David Oliver. So is my friend Alfonso, on the wine trail in Italia. So is Regina Schrambling and The Gurgling "Cranky" Cod. And how could I forget Jesse Kornbluth, Head Butler of culture and humanity? I am not one of the fluent ones. I have always had difficulty writing. Logos has never been my forte. Maybe it has something to do with my education or my temperament. My English teachers were not founts of inspiration for me. My high school English teacher was nicknamed "Tiger" Lowry. He had halitosis and did not instill any passion for reading great literature. He spoke in a monotone and we all fidgeted in our seats waiting for the next class. There were a few dorks who licked up to him, but for the most part he earned the nickname. He was not a tiger. He was fucking boring. I did have a college professor who was passionate about poetry. He at least lit a small fire under me about literature. I appreciated him more after I left college. He instilled some curiosity in me about great poets and writers.
Anxiety about writing, anxiety about not writing, writer's block, writer's blockade, feeling, cold intellect, depression, curiosity, spigots, arcs, cascading cadences, succinctness, grammar, imagination, obsession, fear, self-loathing, reflection, narcissism, self-reference, meta this, meta that, irony, wit, humor, literalism, monotheism, monoculture, dumbing down, elitism, discerning audience, mediocrity... Oy, I could go on but what's the point? There is no point. There is only what is and what is becoming. Don't forget the histrionics and history. And if it does not contain a milligram of compassionate mercy, what's it worth?
I am three score plus and am just learning this. There is no on-off switch.
On December 11, 2010, I bought a SONY all-in-one pc directly from SONY's website. For the model I bought, SONY offered a $200 rebate. Just so you know, SONY's website sucks. This is not good for a technology corporation looking to recover from its fall from the number one consumer electronics giant that it once was. The pc arrived on December 17th. I unpacked it, plugged it and powered it up. I waited and waited. A faint windows set up screen appeared briefly and then faded into the ether net. I tried several more times and the SONY was very consistent. It did the same thing, fade out without a sound. I called SONY tech support who instructed me to boot up using a few different F keys. Nothing. Tech support told me that that they would immediately contact a local technician. After over a week+, I had heard nothing. I called SONY again and they said that they would contact locally subcontracted tech support to respond as asap. A local service tech person called on December 30 and said that he would try to make it to my home on the 31st. On the morning of December 31st, the tech person called and said that he was at a gas station repairing their satellite and would not be able to come to my home until January 3rd. The tech guy showed up on January 3rd. In this room, he opened the parts that SONY had sent him for the repair of my PC. SONY had sent him plenty of RAM sticks, but nothing that he could use to repair my pc. He left and told me that he would call when SONY sent him the right components to make my pc functional. On January 7th I was contacted by another local technician who came to our home on January 8th. He also could not repair my pc because SONY had not provided him with the correct components. He was courteous and apologized, explaining that the giant corporation was revamping its system (aren't they always?) and he was waiting for parts ordered in October of 2010. Not good SONY, not good at all. Gino, the technician, left.
In the interim, I had emailed SONY three times and received no response. I then called SONY customer care and demanded a refund. I told them that I wanted a customer return number and they directed me how to obtain one. They also made sure that I understood that I was responsible for return shipping, insurance and a possible restocking fee. I packed up the lame device this morning and shipped it back to SONY. It cost me $71.36 to do so. I am planning to dispute the charge on my credit card. So much for SONY. Buyer beware.
Update: SONY refuses to refund the cost of shipping and insurance ($71.36). However, they did this today while informing me that when I first called them to request a refund, the rep could have offered me free shipping! So, SONY is not only technologically and organzationally challenged, they are also duplicitous.
Capital One, another corporate bloodsucker, does not allow disputed charges of shipping costs.