This movement from Gustav Holst’s orchestral suite, The Planets, is among the more covered classical pieces in rock music (namely metal). When you listen to it, there’s not much doubt as to why — its pulsating, hard-edged drone just begs for distortion pedals and wicked dual-guitar solos.
I had a “duh” moment when I realized that King Crimson’s The Devil’s Triangle is one such cover. It’s on In the wake of Poseidon, which I do like, but it honestly pales in comparison to the Holst version.
To me, it’s one of those boring, meandering King Crimson Tracks. You know, one of those you don’t include when queueing up some Crimson in your playlist.
And not that it’s at all relevant, but my favorite movement of the suite is Neptune, the Mystic. Rich with the off-keel, “dissonant” elements that came to define 20th century classical music, it’s at once etheral, lush, textured and eerie (read: boring … but hey, what can you expect from a Brian Eno fan?).
And for all the money I spend on the cable baseball package, I DID NOT GET THIS ONCE-IN-36-YEARS GAME. Screw you, Extra Innings!
2. Cubs are back in the groove
I know, two consecutive mentions of the Cubs, but after a dodgy stretch they’re back to amazing. 8-up on Milwaukee means it’s all but certain - magic number 4 on 9/16. Lily’s game yesterday was another gem - two in a row. Good hitting, everyone contributing. No better time to be clicking like this.
3. Phillies and Rays still have a chance
Phils playing better at the same time time Mets are playing worse. Rays toppled the Sox, handing Beckett a no-decosion with a walk-off win. Lets hope they both keep it up.
4. Ryan Howard is home run king
There’s nobody more deserving. 44 hits is an awesome number for someone not taking performance enhancing substances. On a side note, I’ve noticed that 7 of the top 10 are National League players. Not that home runs mean much, but I think it says something about the AL this year - weak!
5. Ned Yost got fired
Not to focus on the negative, but the guy is a jerk. Reminds me of Tony Larussa, only he isn’t any good. Though I question the effectiveness of firing the skipper and disjointing a team with no more than 2 weeks left to pull off an impossible run. What harm in letting him finish out the season?
Note: I won’t really consider Jeter’s breaking Gherig’s “Yankee Stadium” hit record as comparable to the original record for the same reason as I reject Ripken’s “iron man” moniker. Though Jeter wasn’t an ass about it like Ripken was, I still don’t think there’s it’s much similarity between the accomplishments of a healthy, wealthy, young athlete and those of someone accomplishing the same thing while dying of an awful, painful affliction.
This year I’m a score and nine — one year shy of that dreaded decade turnover.
That is, before long it’ll be time to take stock and make the grim assessment of all I’ve accomplished in my wild years, and write off everything that I’ve fallen short of. The good news is that I have one year left to tie up lose ends, and if fortune prevails, I’ll be a busy boy.
For the present, I can think of no better way to kick things off than by stumbling across an impromptu celebration up in Portland with some great friends and ubelievable surroundings.
Off and on for the past year or so, a friend of mine has had the fortune of housesitting this fantastic spot, right on the ocean, just outside of Portland. Fortunately the circumstanes prevailed that particular weekend, and we decided to stop up and share some of the love.
There’s really no real way to overstate, or even describe just how posh a location this is. It’s entirely beautiful without a single compromise. You’d be hard pressed to think of a comparable spot, at any price.
Here’s a shot of the place, taken from the rocks.
Here’s sort of a reverse angle, yours truly on the front porch. Quite the front lawn!
One of my perennial summer goals is to grab a lobster roll from the Lobster Shack at Two Lights in Cape Elizabeth. Given that this place is walking distance, I figured what better a time.
Me on the rocks out front of the cottage, totally exploiting the situation:
You could hear the surf all night. Check out the sea breeze coming into the bedroom.
As usual for Maine, a fog set in the following morning. Here’s a few shots down on the rocks.
Anyway, it was great. A group of us converged, went and devoured some sushi in town, came back for libations, some fantastic ring-ding cake, and before we knew it the sun was coming up.
The following day we ended up missing the train and had to take the bus back to Boston, but we didn’t care — sleep is sleep, in spite of what you’re sitting on!
I can only hope that I’ve set the tone for both this closing out of my “wild” years, and the start of my “successful” years!
Thanks to Chris and Jimmy and all for a fantastic spell at the cottage. Here’s hoping it ain’t the last!
Several years ago, I made the terrible mistake of taking a job in Rhode Island, and making it my home.
I’ll prefix this with a little context — I have spent a good part of my adult life in a transient state. I have moved around a bit, and am used to operating on my toes. I don’t have much of a problem gaining traction in new environments, and require very little to be content and comfortable. So I believe it is with some level of objectivity that I am able to form this highly subjective rant.
The Rhode Island mentality is ultimately a flavor of the “small town” genus. One huge, collective inferiority complex dying to remind you of how “Little Rhody” belongs in the center of your attention, in spite of no real reason.
I have assembled the following series of examples to specifically illustrate this maddening frustration I have with my future-ex-home.
How are we unique? Let us tell you the ways.
Rhode Islanders are dying to tell you how unique they are, even when they aren’t. Things like putting ketchup on fries and keeping ice cubes in the freezer are the types of concepts pawned off as original.
Even more frustrating is the desire to do things differently, for nothing more than the sake of being different. Everything from figures of speech to government services to local laws. Everything. And usually at the expense of all sense and convenience.
Oh, and it’s not “downtown”, it’s “downcity”.
Everything is a pissing match.
The next time you’re in conversation with a local, try mentioning something about a place other than Rhode Island. Just for fun. Invariably, the response will be a comparison to a similar thing in Rhode Island, followed by an explanation of why it is unique to Rhode Island, and therefore better.
And what’s with the sentimentality for political corruption?
These people seriously re-elect someone to the same position he was sent to jail for abusing? Twice? That’s not quaint, that’s fucking stupid. I am ashamed to be among such an electorate.
“We look after our own”
Xenophobia among lifers is intense. Try getting employment in a position that has a shadow of public funding if you aren’t a local, or do not know anyone in a public position. As soon as your interviewer learns you are another vagabond gypsy from away, you will be railroaded out the door.
The driving! Sweet gracious Jehova, the driving!
Of all the driving I’ve done in this great country, the award for “worst ever” is a tie between two localities, for completely opposite reasons: Miami, because drivers are aggresive and insane, and Rhode Island, because they are timid and incredibly stupid.
I don’t know which is worse — not knowing when someone is going to jump a curb and slam into you (Miami), or when someone is going to slam on their brakes for no reason and send you careening into their bumper (Rhode Island).
I can’t count the number of times in a day I see a a car stopped solid in the middle of a road, or performing a complete u-turn in the middle of a busy intersection, or abruptly slamming on brakes to allow people to turn in front of them, or braking on the interstate, or … you get the idea. Stupid.
Run away, whitey!
The fancy folk live in south county and east bay, hill-billies live in the north and western parts, working-class folk live in outlying communites like Cranston and Warwick, etc, but only the scumbags and minorities live in Providence.
And by Providence, I’m not talking about the bubble up the hill surrounding Brown University. That’s a world unto itself. I am referring to the parts of town that arent subsidized by daddy’s trust fund.
To the average native, Providence is a place to work, or to visit, but not to live. It’s a place to eat dinner, or see a Waterfire or an Imax movie. And then back home. But in residential terms, it’s entirely bastardized in favor of areas where there is more economic draw.
One humorous illustration of this point is the plight of the series of high-rise condominums that have recently been constructed in the downtown area of Providence. Touted as upscale, loft-type affairs, they’re a pretty common fixture in most modern urban areas. Only in Providence, nobody apparently wants to live in them. One of these towering monstrosities - some utilitarian number resembling an Eastern Block government bureau - isn’t even completed yet, and it’s already up for sale. The original investors have evidently found so few buyers that they’ve found it more profitable to sell the whole she-bang before it’s finished.
All of this sort of bleeds into the next point:
Want to travel any distance without driving? Put on your Nikes.
Providence fortunately has a decent bus system, but getting anywhere else in the state is difficult unless you provide the wheels or the heels. And with an increasing amount of cuts to the bus system, it’s only geting worse.
This is sort of a trend across the country, but in a state the size of the county I grew up in, you would imagine it would have the potential to be a model of transportation efficiency.
While a good portion of the available employment and affordable, desirable housing is outside of Providence proper, it’s practically out of reach to most poor folk who don’t have their own transportation and therefore could use it most.
The paranoid type could make the case that it’s by design, that its a subtle yet effective device to enforce the economic segregation that keeps a certain class of people restricted to a geographic area by imposing a wall that’s just a little too high to jump. One could also argue that the same activity depletes the urban neighborhoods of their foundation with the “respactable” folk fleeing in droves, along with their income, leaving the rest to concentrate and fester, while circularly citing the resulting blights and troubles they end up causing as the motivation for fleeing in the first place.
Then again, I’m not the paranoid type.
But, anyway …
What have I learned from all of this? Don’t move to Rhode Island. I am in no way joking. All things being relative, it is a thoroughly terrible place to live. There is really nothing of substance to satisfy any palette beyond the provincial, xenophobic, bigoted, and arrogant. If you have to work here, I would strongly suggest commuting, or just quitting your job and selling your body to large sweaty men, because it is a better option to living here.
Given the choice to do it over, I would have rather gotten lobotomy by way of my anus.
I wonder if Delaware has the same problem, being the next smallest state. I hope I never find out.
There are plenty of ways to pick apart a musician like Pat Metheny, whose creative evolution resembles a plate of spaghetti, with enough twists and about-faces to make the heartiest and most open-minded of us cringe occasionally. But it’s just the byproduct of genius, always bending and stretching the limits of familiarity. And in the end, the golden moments more than apologize for the questionable areas, and that genius comes through in top form.
To me, Pat’s standards-based stuff reflects a lot of these golden moments, when he puts the synth and the effects aside (for the most part), and gets down old school with a bass and a drummer. In this category, Question and Answer is about as good as they come.
Here you have three absolutely breathtaking jazz performers locked into a studio for a day or so. From this combination of guitar, standup bass, and acoustic drum kit, you’ve got nine tracks of sheer jazz joy — three guys just blowing for the hell of it, recorded on the fly.
[...]
Pat Metheny’s playing is definitely modernistic, highly fluid, almost liquid lightning — no effects boxes here, though (he does play Synclavier on the last track, “Three Flights Up,” but it’s great anyway). Roy Haynes, likewise, should be heard by anybody wanting to get behind the traps: this man has a sense of humor, and he’s a blur of motion. Dave Holland, on bass, is no slouch either, keeping pace with Metheny’s guitar lines, and balancing up against Haynes’ drums. Together, these guys are incredible. They get into both original material and standards (including an ecstatic version of Miles Davis’ “Solar” that opens the album) with the same energy and feel for what they’re doing. This is an album with serious crossover potential, and it should definitely be heard by anyone serious about music in any way.
Here’s the link on Lemur Radio, if you’d like to listen to the streaming version.
… still enjoying my summer at the expense of this blog’s freshness …
Well, the tickets were every bit as insanely fantastic as I had suspected. Wow. BTW, love the actual tickets this year, commemorating the impending doom of the staduim:
In fact, the new staduim right across the street looks pretty bitchin’ -
The seats were in the box section right off the field, just past first base. We were about 12 rows up:
In fact, the section we were in was good enough for Tracy Morgan (the actor), who sat just a few rows ahead of us:
Here’s Bobby Abreu warming up in BP. Of course, he turned his back as soon as I snapped the shot…
It was a game against Texas. Joba Chamberlain pitching against some nobody. Although it really shows its age, the place has just a fantastic atmosphere.
Here’s a shot of Alex Rodriguez at bat. The stance is unmistakable:
And here’s Mariano Rivera, who came out to preserve a tie in the top of the 9th:
Rivera didn’t do much good. He gave up a few runs, and they didn’t come back in the bottom. Of course, the following night they blow Texas out in an 18-7 win, complete with home runs galore (including a salami by Jason Giambi). Why couldn’t they have scooted that performance back a day?
Oh well, great time anyway. We soaked it all in - not sure when we’ll get tickets like those again..
I don’t know a lot about anything, but I know a little about practically everything.
THIS LINE is spoken by Vincent Price in the 1944 film noir classic Laura, which is usually on heavy rotation here in my household. Although my old lady is quick to point out that Price’s character is something of a fink, I always come back to this line when referring to myself both privately and professionally.
And it’s true - I dabble just about everywhere in life, but the mosaic is scattered, with no real plunge into any area of expertise. Dressed in fancy clothes, we’ll call it the ‘renaissance man’ trait. But to the rest of us, it’s plain old attention deficit — too many shiny objects to chase around in life. And this crazy internet doesn’t make it any better.
THE CUBS had a strong run against the White Sox, sweeping the mouth from the south and his team of scruffy hillbillies straight out of Wrigley. The Orioles are giving them a tough time, but they made a nice push in the 9th, made them earn it.
PRETTY SAD news continues to stream from the newspaper industry. Every day someone else is executing a round of personnel cuts. All sizes of companies. For the smaller guys, some cuts are as high as 30% company-wide. I see it every day - we’re regularly met with gloomy, loathing tones from those left behind, who end up stuck with a mountain of new responsibilities.
Editorial and production tends to bear the brunt of this. Cutting bureaus, canning reporters, consolidating various duties onto the backs of editors — most folks lucky enough to have any level of copy editing doesn’t anymore (get the joke?). Same goes for production assistant / grunt type work.
Some are trying to eke every bit of profitability out of their companies, others are pimping them up to sell, but everyone is hurting, that’s for sure.
LOOKING FORWARD to the Deere Classic in a few weeks. Not a big golf fan, but a lot of folks coming together to make it a fun event. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve done any travelling for recreation.
SPEAKING OF travelling, looking forward to some additonal baseball outings this summer. Have a trip to Yankee Stadium, got some insanely fantastic tickets courtesy of a co-worker. Had similar ones at Fenway earlier on. Definitely looking to hit Philadelphia sometime soon, and if possible, would also like to sneak down to DC to check out the new Nats digs. We’ll see.
Each summer it seems I vamp up my gardening efforts outdoors. Not that I do a heck of a lot, or am particularly good at it, but it’s something I enjoy quite a bit.
It’s all container gardening, as my available real estate consists of a deck. But it’s a good sized deck, and it’s drenched in sunlight, so I do what I can. I usually mix up the flowers for lookin’ and the veggies for eatin’. Some are from seed, and some seedlings. I don’t do anything fancy as far as soil or nutrients, apart from some peat moss and some chemical-rich potting soil (you can keep your organic crap, I’m just fine with the old miracle gro). I basically just sit ‘em in the sun and add water.
This year, for flowers I had marigolds, pansies, african daisies, snapdragons, and some random things that people had given us. For veggies/herbs it was scallions, jalapenos, sweet peppers, cilantro, collard greens, okra, carrots, and two types of tomatoes. There’s some other foliage types of plants too, but none of them planted for the season. Anyway, some pictures…
Here’s some shots taken about a month ago:
In the back row, the okra is the tiny one on the left, then the collards, then the tomatoes. In front, the two larger pots are the african daisies, which have since grown to large, viny flowery things.
From the bottom up, a baby collard, sweet pepper, jalapeno, a little lavender bush, then the cilantro.
Mrigolds in back, baby scallions up front.
More marigolds in back, and pansies in front.
Now, here’s where we stand today. It’s actually looking pretty good!
Hanging off the side you can see the marigolds and the scallions. The collards (lower right) were transferred into big buckets and have become really nice. In the corner there is one of the tomatoes, and a couple of shelves of flowers, with the african daisies on the bottom and the snapdragons on the right of the top shelf.
A “deck level” view. You can see how well the collards are doing in the buckets there, along with a closer shot of the flowers on the shelves.
The Okra didn’t make it, and the cilantro was harvested and eaten (very tasty!). From the bottom up, its jalapenos, sweet peppers, a small collard, the lavender bush, and the other tomato plant. The collards can be seem behind that. Oh yeah, and me there admiring them all.
And around the other side of the deck, the carrots, and some of the other foliage stuff on the stand. Had to bring these outside, due to a mischevious cat.
That should give the idea. It’s a modest operation, but really makes the deck a pleasant little spot. We’ll see how they pan out through the rest of the season!
