Sunday, February 25, 2007

Sittin' 'n Listenin'

I've got Holly Cole's version of Mr. Waits' "Little Boy Blue" cued up. LaVerne Butler's oozing "Little Girl Blue" right now. Just another Sunday morning @ WVUD. I'll be posting the playlist later today @ Morning After 91.3. Out herein the East,it's threatening to be raining ice. Can't find a song to go along with that meteoroligical scenario. No, I won't be playing "Cold as Ice". No way. No how.

Today's playlist has been added to Morning After 91.3.

Just a note. Mr. Whisky Prajer was wondering if I'd be podcasting some of these shows any tme soon. A great idea. Except..... The legal heads at the station noted that if all of the songs on the show were original, i.e. my original, I could do the podcast. Since the songs are the property of other artists or their families, agents, or companies, I would not be able to include them on a podcast...unless I was broadcasting from one of those pirate radio stations that used to be broadcasting over in Europe or outside USA territorial waters.

ArghhhH! A bummer.


Tuesday, February 20, 2007


When your childhood memories include this remark, "As a young boy, I was beaten a lot by my parents and schoolmasters. This no doubt contributed greatly to my ability to ignore pain and endure...", you know you're dealing with someone who places life's experiences in a different drawer than most of us.

Martin Strel, born in Slovenia of human parents but now some sort of reverse-Darwinian sea/water creature, has tackled another project. Why not swim the full length of the Amazon? No problem. If you've swam the full length of the Yangtze, the Mississippi, and the Danube, among others, what's the short (3,375 miles) Amazon to get all excited about?

red-bellied piranha, crocodiles, stingrays, bull sharks and snakes of all shapes and sizes that could keep one quite excited.

Then, there's the tiny and infamous toothpick fish, or candiru (which is known as the "vampire of Brazil", the candiru is a tiny parasite-like creature that finds its host through the tiniest of body orifices, the urinary tract being its favorite. There it attaches itself to the unfortunate host's inner tissues and can only be removed by surgery).

I'd be swimming in a lead suit, which would make the journey an eternal one, but at least a safe one.

You can track his progress and his living/dead status here. The link to this site was provided by the excellent Piran Cafe, a site to visit on occassion.


Monday, February 19, 2007

A Plug

I've mentioned A Theory of Ice before. This fellow is a die-hard Montreal Canadians fan who also happens to write consistently (meaning almost every day), intuitively, and with a great amount of wit and passion, the latter being a deadly combination.

He wrote recently,

"The fact is that I’m a very angry Habistani these days. I’m angry at the Canadiens, not so much for slumping but for absorbing so much of my affection for hockey in their half-crazy, improbable, fragile game, and then taking that game and shattering it into a million pieces right in front of me. I’m angry because they’ve put my beliefs at odds with my better judgment. I still believe in them, I still believe that they’re a good team that will come around and play well again, and that makes a mockery of any claim I might have had to really, objectively understanding hockey. It more or less exposes me for the complete idiot I am."

" Everyone said that Milroy was brought up to give the Canadiens some scoring. He hasn’t done that yet, but the new 4th line with him, Lapierre and Perezhogin does some interesting things, mostly just skating like crazy in all sorts of directions, grabbing the puck off the Jackets, and generally tossing out manic, demanding energy like they haven’t gotten laid in a month, which I would assume they have, but it’s the best simile I could come up with. I suppose this is what they mean when they say that sometimes you just need ‘new blood’ on a team."

"Being on a losing streak is more or less exactly like being lost in the desert. It’s terrible, because it tricks you while it kills you. In the beginning, you’re all full of resolve and purpose, you’re going to find your way out. After all, we were winning once, right? So all we’ve got to do is start doing exactly what we were doing then, and it’s all good! It’s not that hard, you tell yourself, I’ll just retrace my steps, and eventually I’ll get back to civilization. But the days pass, you start getting filthy and sunburned and dehydrated, you look around and all you see is the same bleak, bleached landscape in every direction, nothing but emptiness. You start chasing after mirages, the vague shaky hints of something improbable you think that maybe you can see in the distance- that next line combination that just might work, that crazy motivational technique that might finally awaken something. Days are passing, though, and eventually, you know you’re really lost, and you’re going to die.

It turns out, however, that the desert is not an entirely miserable place, once you’ve accepted that it's where you are and there ain't no getting out. Yeah, overall, it’s brutal, but it has its charms. Scarab beetles, for example, are incredibly entertaining little creatures, and cacti have lovely flowers, and there are some really gorgeous sunsets. You’re exhausted and suffering from heat stroke, and you know you’re not going to make it out alive.

When he's writing about Les Habitants, perhaps a dose of the Cubbies beat would be in order. Blind passion is what's called for there as well.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Slavic Paranoia & Tax-Filing

All is well here at Verging. Perhaps the lack of postings recently that may have given a reader the impression that no ideas, no thinking, no mental surges were happening at this end. Life at work is its usual hectic cauldron of hub-bub, innuendo, & paper-generating, so no change there. It is the first two months of the year and there is that accumulation activity that is happening for all of us who still try to do our own taxes each year. Being Slavicly paranoid, I prefer the self-mutilation of self-prepared returns. You know, minimal dispersal of one’s financial doings to anyone outside the four walls of your house. So, I go the TurboTax route while sifting through the shoe boxes of W-2’s, 1099’s, faded medical receipts, and those indiscernible statements from brokers and hospitals (these two groups must use the same invoicing software, Gordian Knot Inc.).
But, being Slavicly paranoid, each year I sweat as I load the current year’s version of TurboTax. The mysterious TurboT asks me to update the software via the Internet as the purchased cd may not have the most current IRS rulings regarding the deductibility of my nerve damage suffered while prepping the annual 1040 (Nope, checked it out; still not deductible unless I can provide a cost basis for the damage…which can only be provided by the aforementioned doctor/hospital with their demonic invoicing system). The thing about the tax software updating via the Internet is this. How do/would I know what bits (literally) of my financial info is being sent out there in the Internet while I’m taking in bits of recent IRS codeage? Even if I was a programming voyeur, would I be able to tell? Yeah, yeah. They promise confidentiality. What does that mean? If your finances are breached, how will you be able to easily track the breach abck to the software? Do you have the time or money to pursue this possibility?
You laugh. But hasn’t the news in the last year or so of credit card and banking databases being violated given you pause? The most recent efforts by large banks, including my own, to be more client friendly by offering to do your taxes online for free have me running to the hills. Hold on there! You already have a clue as to my financial dealings by having access to my bank accounts. Now, you’re offering to look through my other finances and do my taxes? For free? America’s a lot of things but “free” is not one of them. There’s a gimmick and I think you’ll catch onto that gimmick when you start receiving financially relate doffers that are uncomfortably too personal. How does the bank know I have this illness? How do they know which pharmacy I shop at?

Working myself to a feverish pitch here. Perhaps, I’ll chuck the pc this year and go retro. Paper forms. Calculator tape. And shoe boxes. Lots of shoe boxes.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

An Avenue C Night

I'll be sitting in for a friend's jazz show, Avenue C, tomorrow @ WVUD. The show is a two hour bit starting @ 9:00 pm EST.

If you care to tune in on the Internet, here's where you'd begin. The great sets that Galactic played last week @ the TLA are still ringing in my ears, so I'm sure I'll be playing some of their music, along with some new selections from Dr. Lonnie Smith and Jimmy Smith. So, it'll be a heavy-on-the-organ night, always good music for the winter doldrums.


Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Elevator to Circle 8.4, Please.

Being set in my ways, most unfortunately, I've tried to make those worn grooves of my life's habits at least a bit interesting. This site has come in handy, as far as the deeply-ingrained need I have to pigeon-hole someone. Let's call it Classic Pigeon-holing, if you don't mind.

I've tried this site and even tried Google-Mapping Hell/Inferno/A Day with Donald Trump with minimal additional useful information. Google-Mapping takes a requested search of Dante's Inferno here. Not necessarily the place you'd want to be pigeon-holed...unless that is the place you want to be pigeon-holed in, but I'm staying away from that topic.

So, I'm sticking with this fine site when it comes time to put someone in their space/slot. Waiting for some creative Dante scholar out there to make an interactive site that takes, as input, your personal proclivity and then lets you know what floor of Dante's Inverted skyscraper you may soon be living on.

Anyone out there familiar with such a fine Internet-based judgemental game?


Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Astronaut Love

As a proverbial youth,( sans proverbs to mouth to entice young ladies with wit and insight), I was certainly capable of and actually carried through some seriously deranged and stupid acts in the pursuit of love. The most I'll say is that the local gendarmarie never arrested me as they were too busy laughing at the situations I got myself into whilst in the throes of that temporary insanity condition otherwise known as Being in Love.

But, no matter how much the hound needed to howl, I most certainly never "(wore) diapers during the 950-mile drive so (I) wouldn't have to stop" to see anyone I was involved with.

Must be because I simply was not cut out to be an Astronaut in Love. Seems an astronaut's pursuit of that short-lived emotion has wider boundaries than the common person's. For the full details of a most interesting escapade, check out this piece. Navy Capt. Lisa Marie Nowak, 43, a married mother of three, flew in last July's shuttle Discovery mission. I'm thinking a good defense lawyer should be able to use space flight as a legitimate defense position for the things one does for love.

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