He’s fine. Operation a success.

Long week. I’ve had a bag packed, ready to go up to Fargo – figured I’d go up today, but then I heard he wouldn’t be in the hospital overnight. Around five today I learned that he would. Well, he’ll be out tomorrow, and probably on his Harley by noon.

Today, I wrote. Outside. As long as I can, I will. It’s been another day of the New Smear, an endless procession of work from 8:25 AM to 11:32, and I’m looking forward, very much, to the reduced obligations of Friday evening. So: here’s some videos and links and songs and a Diner. I’d write more about Life and Things and Target but A) I didn’t go anywhere or do anything, and B) I’m tired of looking at this screen and would like to watch something stupid and noisy.

That wacky Northern League Party strikes again. I get tired – oh hell, I’ve been tired of this for years – of saying “imagine if an American politician had said this,” but really: imagine if an American politician had said this. It’s par for the Northern League, I guess, but it’s still crude and Klanny. This sort of radical opposition to the existence of Islam discredits reasonable opposition to the radical elements; no one wants to be lumped in with these guys. Doesn't matter if you're not like them in tenor or message; that's where you'll end up: simpatico with the pig-dumpers.

For our Australian friend Tim Blair, this rarity:  a Rolf Harris record that appears to contain no Rolf Harris whatsoever.

Incidentally, I finally found a copy of the song that haunted me since I was a youth: The Big Black Hat. It’s one of the greatest songs ever recorded.  But I don’t think the version below is the same one released in the States. The version I heard as a child had much more gusto, and they didn’t sing through their nose as much, possibly because Americans lacked context for adenoidal irony. The electric guitar at the end is the same, though. At least they’re singing clearly enough, and there’s no static; for most of my life I swore that the man in the Big Black Hat wore an upholstered star, but now I know: it’s a false moustache. Don’t miss the gay-baiting chorus! You can practically see the Monty Python troupe glaring: this man with the big black ball, is he a pooftah? Well, it was the early sixties.

As a child I listened to “Kangaroo” over and over again, then flip it over for the rave-up “Hat.” Later I rejected all that silly stuff, all those dad records, for the crucial & elemental genius of Led Zeppelin.

So imagine my delight:

And it gets better:

I don’t know what happened to Miss Given, though. Either the name is used for any assistant, or she took the wrong hormones.

Oh. Right. Miss Given. Jeez, I’m slow.

This week’s YouTube Viral Found-Art Sensation:

Well, not really. I think this fellow defies sampling, mash-ups, remixes, and the like. He just is. It’s the way the videos conclude, though, that stands out. You know it’s over. You hear the camera turn off. It’s like hearing the gun cocked behind your head.

He has another one:

Warning: visiting his sites, such as mydud.com. will make you blind. You're better off grinding Comet into your eyesockets. Scroll down. There's no end. Then again, where else would you stumble across a link to bestmolddog.com?

Finally: a Diner, performed in haste between the time I knocked off work for an hour and made supper. Made it after I got the good news. Enjoy! Flash version below; iTunes here, and MP3 here. (If that doesn't work, try this.) See you at buzz.mn!