This is for the Marconi mafia, to whom I read this blog post aloud. It was an unexpected hit, much like everything Merlin does.
Buffering [Sonny Payne]
When I was a percussionist in high school, we were responsible for keeping the jazz band, full orchestra, concert band, and marching band in time, and we did so through a haze of marijuana and hormones and passed-down stories of some guy’s uncle who saw Gene Krupa perform a 12-minute solo using every part of a high hat while eschewing the rest of the kit. And to this day, when I see videos like this, I get an urge to skip class and go make out with a bassoonist in a sound-proof practice room. After all, life is short, and lunch period is even shorter.
Did you read that? That was swell. One hundred five words. Less than half a page.
That’s all it took for this person (whom I’m pretty sure I’ve never met) to make my day. Now I want to follow this person or star this person or favr this person or whatever the fuck au courant verb box I need to mash on in order to see more things like that.
Yes, I realize I am — already, again, seemingly forever — carrying on like that weird relative who always smells of gin and Starlight mints as he threatens to “set you up with a sweet Doobie Brothers mix.” I love Starlight mints, but please don’t misunderstand me.
I genuinely enjoy looking at oversaturated pictures of coltish women I’ll never meet. I’m always game to make fun of “improperly” punctuated “signs.” And God knows I love reading (and posting) elliptical quotes from famous books I never finished reading. Stipulated.
But, brother. Do I ever wish more people would write little stories like Buffering’s. It’s just so wonderful. You know?
I mean, Jesus Christ, people, LOOK. We have keyboards! Literally right in front of us. Right this second.
And yet, death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it.
And that is as it should be. Because death is very likely the single best invention of life.
It’s life’s change agent; it clears out the old to make way for the new.
Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma, which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice, heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
… and shut your immensely ignorant trap. Andy Gray and Richard Keys have since been fired and suspended respectively for their remarks broadcast without their knowledge on the suitability of Sian Massey or any woman for that matter adjudicating football’s offside rule. Somehow this is going to be twisted into some shameful victory for the feminazis as sad sack lager swillers all over that country mourn the temporary loss of such an erudite commenter to the Great Football World. Even Morning Gloria’s response doesn’t make me feel better:
(It’s true. Women have two X chromosomes and ovaries and vaginas and do not know the offside rule. It’s science. In fact, doctors are currently developing a test to determine whether or not a fetus is male or female by asking it, very loudly, about the offside rule. In America, they plan on using the infield fly rule or the NFL’s onside kick rule.)
I’m glad there’s people like MoGlo around because I lose my ability to say anything articulate at all and just want to erupt into a huge, green, muscular version of myself and bellow “FEMINIST! SMASH!” Read more.
Jezebel’s Dodai seriously tells off 2010. I didn’t have a terrible 2010, but it had a distinct level of suckage that set it apart from better years. I’d still go back to 2004 as a year that needed to fuck off, or 1986 as the most fuck-offable year in history. But I respect a person’s right to really give it to the year that was.
So one day, I stumbled into YouTube to watch Robyn perform various versions of my favorite songs off Body Talk – sometimes watching the same video a few times without realizing that I hadn’t managed to click on a different one yet. No matter. She sings with the same inflections, does the same wicked-cool 80’s head toss back with straight arm flings, shows the same facial expressions in each live performance and I loved every second.
She’s what all Pop Stars used to be before the Great Corruption*: always singing live, well-rehearsed but not choreographed to the nano-second with hip-hop-hips and kitten grabbing, dressed cool and not Sexy with a capital Sexy.
She just nails that shit and I’m so glad she’s out there, saving pop music.
*I’m not sure who started it, but you know what I’m talking about. Aguleira, Spears and the ilk.