What to do with this?

I'm unsure what to do with this blog. It started as a place where I could record my thoughts, post photos, write haiku, and post an occasional concert or music review. Somewhere along the way, I succumbed to Facebook, and this blog was shelved.

If there is such a thing as digital "dust" this thing would be covered in it. I still get a few hits every day, but no one stays long. They're just here for the free mp3s that have long since evaporated into the ether. Haha! The joke's on you... those things flew the coop a long time ago (for the most part.)

So it goes.

Just a song before I go

I thought about trying to cobble together a playlist for this week. My heart just isn't in it. I don't feel like making a dark playlist for the sake of making a "tribute" or what-have-you. It's true, I did find out about an old friend whom it turns out I hardly knew at all committed suicide two years ago. It's sad, and my grief, though real, is somewhat muted by the expanse of time and distance.

Pulling a playlist together to coincide with the news of her death just isn't all that appealing, to be honest. I think she would appreciate this classic track from 1980. After all, she was a punk-rock house-wife. This one's for you, Nica.

+ The Jim Carroll Band — People Who Died.mp3

for Nica:

fresh mourning—
news of the suicide
2 years later

"This World Can't Stand Long"

Bob Dylan didn't write this song, a fella by the name of Jim Anglin did, but the message is simple and profound.

sample lyric:

This world can't stand too long
Be ready don't wait too late
We should know it can't stand long
For it is too full of hate

For a long time this world has stood
Gets more wicked every day
The maker who created it
Surely won't let it stand this way

Bob Dylan — This World Can't Stand Long.mp3
recorded from a show in Anaheim, CA, March 10, 2000

Bokononist Last Rites, or R.I.P Kurt

God made mud.
God got lonesome.
So God said to some of the mud, "Sit up!"
"See all I've made," said God, "the hills, the sea, the sky, the stars."
And I was some of the mud that got to sit up and look around.
Lucky me, lucky mud.
I, mud, sat up and saw what a nice job God had done.
Nice going, God.
Nobody but you could have done it, God! I certainly couldn't have.
I feel very unimportant compared to You.
The only way I can feel the least bit important is to think of all the mud that didn't even get to sit up and look around.
I got so much, and most mud got so little.
Thank you for the honor!
Now mud lies down again and goes to sleep.
What memories for mud to have!
What interesting other kinds of sitting-up mud I met!
I loved everything I saw!
Good night.
I will go to heaven now.
I can hardly wait...
To find out for certain what my wampeter was...
And who was in my karass...
And all the good things our karass did for you.
Amen.

excerpted from Cat's Cradle
[for the uninitiated]

So It Goes

"If you can do a half-assed job of anything, you're a one-eyed man in a kingdom of the blind."

—Kurt Vonnegut, 1922-2007

I was first exposed to the writing of KV while on the job during my high school years as a theatre projectionist. My good friend Doug Vuncannon had left a dog-eared copy of Vonnegut's swan song masterpiece Slaughterhouse Five, or the Children's Crusade: A Duty Dance with Death in the dilapidated desk in the projection booth. After the novelty of motion pictures faded, and while audiences laughed or cried in the theatres below, I devoured that novel at break-neck speed.

I've come to read pretty near everything the man has put to print over the years, and even own several copies of some titles. It seems I just can't pass up a $0.25 copy of a Vonnegut paperback when I see it at a thrift store. So it goes.

So long Kurt. You've been, and will still continue to be, a great friend.

Perspectives

I went to college that didn't have a basketball team. Or... then again, maybe we did and they just weren't that good. We were a hockey-playing school, and that’s the story I’m sticking to.

But ever since I began dating a lovely UNC graduate, I have been “grafted” into the vine of Tarheel-dom. And like many, I’ve been caught up, enraptured, if you will, with the recent string of UNC victories in not only the ACC Tournament, but also their recent run at the NCAA title, which was cut short Sunday evening with a loss to Georgetown.

The Carolina hopeful were certainly downtrodden with this bitter loss. But come Monday morning, all of this seemed so… trifle. This was, after all, a game. But a senior named Jason Ray, a young man that spirited the crowd by way of the plush suit of Rameses, lost his life, not even a day after the defeat. He had been struck by an SUV on Friday and had been in and out of a coma for 3 days.

It certainly helps put things in proper perspective.
My heart goes out to the family of Jason Ray.

[story here]

JB

Godfather,
Rest easy. Your work
is done.

"A Beautiful Song from A Busted Radio"

Every Friday morning, NPR provides a unique vignette into the lives of ordinary Americans. Through StoryCorps, everyday folks can record their stories in a soundproof recording booth. The recordings are archived in the Library of Congress and featured on NPR's Morning Edition.

Danny and Annie Perasa, of Brooklyn, NY made their first StoryCorps recording a couple years back. It was the poignant story of how they met. Danny Perasa is a hopeless romantic, still very much in love with his bride of 25+ years, Annie. His love for Annie came across the airwaves and filled my car as I traveled to work this morning. It is something I knew I wanted to share with readers here.

Clicking the link below will take you to NPR's website where you can listen to their story, and hear additional StoryCorps recordings made by Danny and Annie.

On a sad note, Danny Perasa passed away this very afternoon, Friday Feb. 24, 2006.
He succumbed to pancreatic cancer, and died in his sleep.

Haiku for Kenneth Boyd

Lovitt alive
Boyd to bear the banner now
"One Thousand Dead"

Virginia death row inmate Robin Lovitt was granted clemency today from an upcoming execution, which would have placed him in distinction as the 1000th man sentenced to die since the US reinstated the death penalty in 1976. North Carolina, is now in the unique position to meet that milestone, early on Friday morning. A man named Kenneth Boyd, is poised to carry that banner of distinction.

JFK

May 29, 1917 – November 22, 1963
JFK Eternal Flame, Arlington National Cemetery

Airport Good-byes: The Last Casualty

L. and I picked up a friend from the airport this afternoon. Here, four years later after THE day. You know the one. THE day that will live in infamy. THE day that will never disappear from this generation's radar. As we were in a circling pattern in the pick-up / drop-off zone, it occured to me how cold arrivals and departures have become. It's another casualty of the "war on terra" and another liberty that was taken from us because of the events of THE day.

The Love of my life is going to be getting on a plane in a few weeks to go to Australia for fourteen days. Although I know that I'll manage, I want to have an extended good-bye in the terminal. I want to embrace her and wrap my arms around her moments before she boards that plane. I want to watch her plane taxi down the runway and take off, watching it until it's outta sight and then would I slowly make my own way home. I want all of these things but none of that takes place anymore. Those goodbyes are all relics of a bygone era. All of that is taken away from us. Nowadays, people barely slow down at the drop-off point long enough for a frantic passenger to hop out, bags in tow. It's all so cold.

I don't like it at all.

Whoopsi Gras

A Political Flash Cartoon on New Orleans
Caution: this may bring tears to your eyes like it did mine.

Katrina

I've been looking at images of Katrina's aftermath on New Orleans and the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. It's heart-breaking. We were just down there not even a month ago, visiting L's family in Baton Rouge and Lafayette, LA. Lack of time prevented sight-seeing in the Big Easy, but "No worries," I thought. "There'll be other times."

Little did we know that within a month, Katrina would have reduced it to a cesspool.

I have other recent memories of the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. On our way back from Austin in March, my folks and I had what I consider the best roast beef Po' Boys in the World. They were at a place called Pirate's Cove, in Pass Christian, MS. They trucked their bread in every day from New Orleans. (I believe this was the secret to their success.) But it doesn't matter now, I doubt Pirate's Cove or the bakery are still standing.

My thoughts and prayers are with you, Louisiana. You too, Mississippi.