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08.18.00!
It’s the 48-hour Fresh Fruit Jamboree Blowout at my local Supermarket!
Hence these alarming mylar incarnations - , nay, infruitations of our favorite pulpy sucrose-sodden friends! Let’s all welcome the Unnervingly Equine Slabs of Watermelon Twins, giving everyone a heavy-lidded come-hither expression!
Whoa! These melon dudes are, like, totally wasted!
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Now, let’s all cheer the channeled spirits of Sid and Marty Krofft as they express themselves through Mighty Mister Broc! He's bulked up and wearing a belt for no discernible reason! Yay, Mr. Broc! |
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Finally, let’s shoot a hipster’s salute to the attitude-heavy shades-wearing Phallic Banana Hipster! Unlike most men, he gets mushy after he gets hard!
It’s the 48-hour Fresh Fruit Jamboree Blowout at my local Supermarket!
I have no idea why!
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One day left in the week, and then I can not sleep a little more. Barely enough brainpower for a bleat; cna only muster random thoughts on pointless matters:
1. No man has ever said “no thanks, I had french fries with lunch.”
2. The Ben Franklin quote “Beer is proof that God Loves us and wants us to be happy,” which I’ve been seeing a lot of lately (from dack.com to a display in my local likkastow) is wrong. It is not a proof of God’s love, or even His existence; it is merely proof that Ben got hammered now and then. Which reminds me of a plan I once had to revive Steve Allen’s Meeting of Minds show, except all the famous historical figures would be half in the bag. You never know how some people change. I have the feeling that Hitler would have got smashed fast, and been one of those confused uncertain drunks who doesn’t have any fun. Stalin would have just gotten quieter . . . or louder, and I don’t know which would be worse. You can imagine Einstein getting goofy. And so on. It wouldn’t be enlightening in the least, but it’s an idea.
3. The last few days and nights I’ve been listening to “Vavoom,” by the Brian Setzer Orchestra.
Whew. This stuff is just molten. He’s playing this stuff as if the genre was invented last night. What an idea: rockabilly geetar driving a swing band. I’m proud to say I’ve been behind this lad since “Stray Cat Strut” - as silly as the band looked, what with Mr. Setzer’s toothpick arms and generous tattooing, and the pomaded thug whapping away at a stand-up bass, whenever Brian played that big hollow-body, it was the genuine article. Not just an homage to the old masters, but just as good and getting better.
4. Also been listening to, and regretting the purchase of, three Steve Hackett CDs. He was the guitarist for Genesis when he quit - just Up! And! Quit! right before they cashed in and became a stupid pop-crap machine. Big mistake on his part. As these discs show, he needs other people to keep his muse stirred; otherwise, it cools, turns tepid. The most enthusiasm in all the discs resides in the utterly needless remakes of Genesis songs. I just went back and compared two head to head - the original, cut in 1975, has more brio than his last 90s remake. It’s nice to see he can still perform the old solos, but . . . yawn. At least he didn’t bellyflop into pop whoredom with the enthusiasm of Phil Collins - listening to Collins’ drumming from the mid 70s makes you remember not only how talented that perky runt was, but just how different music sounded back then - finger-twisting time signatures, jazzman drumming, counterpoint, instrumental virtuosity, all resulting in music that was absolutely impossible to dance to. All you could do was sit in your dorm room with the wet towel in the crack of the doorframe, conducting it with your hands.
I still love it. Once or twice a year. As a steady diet, well, it’s like inhaling Hobbit scat.
Ah: the MP3 player just shuffled through the collection and came up with Sam Butera and the Witnesses, recorded live in Vegas.
Perfect.
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