That's Just The Booze Talking

Friday, October 28, 2005

And Somehow the Sea Was Always There to Make You Feel Stupid

David Berman is everywhere. This interview with MSNBC really drives home the inarguable point that this guy knows his way around a sentence. Check it, homepiss:

“Rock applause feels pre-arranged, a time for drunk people to holler, as the space between songs is one of the last socially sanctioned hollering opportunities outside of sports.”

Listen to Berman read “Governors on Sominex” from his 1999 volume of poetry, Actual Air. Yes, we said poetry, fuckos.* Drop whatever sad and pointless little thing you’re doing right now and go out and buy the goddamned book and his latest Silver Jews album, Tanglewood Numbers. Do it now. Because baby, we don’t want to have to hit you again.

For what it’s worth, the tiny prediction robot who lives inside Amazon’s servers tells us that if you like Actual Air, you’re going to love Jeffrey McDaniel’s The Splinter Factory. The little silvery cocksucker may be right. We checked out some of the book’s first poems and were greeted with this:

Renovating the Womb

Dear Mom, thanks for giving birth to me
and not having an abortion. 2% of my time
on Earth has been spent inside your body––
more than all my girlfriends combined.

I enjoyed my time in the uterus, reading
what the previous fetuses had written
on your walls. That’s how I learned
to spell. That’s how I came out speaking.

In another poem, McDaniel’s says that he’s “75% Jack Daniels and ¼ Portuguese table wine,” adding that “the only thing [his] Irish grandfather passed down to [him] was whiskey dick.” Man, if we could have read stuff like this in high school, we would have never gotten involved with that solvents-huffing crowd at BOCES.

To Boldly Go Where No Man … Ah, Fuck It

Say what you will, people, but that Karl Rove is a stone genius. Indictments are coming down, they’re constructing a Panic Room off of the West Wing, and all America is abuzz about Sulu’s predilection for man gravy. No wonder Shatner got all the alien pussy.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

This is Not a Love Song

Busy with the thing that keeps us watered and fed.

Still, there’s this: P.I.L.’s deconstruction of the American Bandstand experience. Dick Clark plays it pretty cool as John Lydon & Co. kick the pylons out from under the venerable teen dance party, botching the lip synch and exhorting the audience to join the band onstage as Jah Wobble and Keith Levene fake their way through “Poptones.”

It’s probably apocrophyl, but we’ve always enjoyed the label chief Jac Holzman’s assessment of P.I.L. as “a well-oiled machine that burns money and generates pot smoke and excuses.”

Back soon(ish).