Farewell, Angelina

I just finished watching Murray Lerner's documentary, Festival!, about the Newport Folk Festivals in the early 60s. My favorite performance was Joan Baez singing "Farewell, Angelina", which was written by Dylan (although his performance of the song wasn't released, and hardly known about, until his Bootleg Vol. 1-3 appeared in the early 90s). Baez's version appeared on her 1965 album of the same name (which I just realized I picked up for 50 cents a few weeks ago).

I don't think I'd ever heard it before, though it is hauntingly familiar, which might just be a quality inherent in the song. I find her version superior to Dylan's. She made of it a more mournful, but at the same time, inspirational tune.

One verse concludes with the lines:

While the make-up man's hands
Shut the eyes of the dead
Not to embarass anyone
Farewell, Angelina
The sky is embarassed
And I must be gone.

The documentary also reveals that Mary Travers was quite a piece. Judy Collins as well. And, I was kinda digging Joanie too. Those folkies were all right.

Viva Feebs!

The Feebs are back with a new member -- the old guy from The Throats! Check out Lucy Starcrest's pics of their first recording session!

Aerial, Oh!

Last night at the feeb's and Lucy Starcrest's house, the feeb was skimming throught the latest issue of the rock snob's missalette, Mojo, when he came across the cover story, an interview with Kate Bush, who after 12 years of public silence has released a new album. I expressed my known gentle lust for the author of "Hounds of Love." Later, Lucy Starcrest flipped through the magazine and flashed a photo of Deborah Harry circa 1980. Real nice.

The feeb remarked, "How'd you like to be in that sandwich."

"Yes, " I replied, "I'd like to be the meat in that Harry-Bush."

We laughed til there was no sound.

Yo, I Didn't Know That Shit! 1.0

I've been listening to U2 for over 20 years, since I heard the first strains of "New Years Day" on WLIR.

I never knew why Bono called himself Bono.

Then I looked it up on the Internets, and now I know.











Now I know that shit.

Cheney Accuses War Critics of Dishonesty

Cheney stating he finds something to be dishonest is like Bukowski complaining to the bartender that his drink tastes too strong.

The vice president took umbrage at the remarks of Democrats, and certain Republicans, for coming to their senses and denouncing the bloodbath that is the War in Iraq.

Says the second-highest ranking traitor, "The president and I cannot prevent certain politicians from losing their memory or their backbone. But we are not going to sit by and let them rewrite history."

After the applause from his ass-sucking constituents, he continued, "That's OUR job!"

Cheney continued to neglect the concerns of soldiers' families, whom he considers no more worthy of his time than busboys and janitors.

Here's my new proposition I'd like all Americans to help pass:
Cheney is not allowed to be in the same room as the American flag. Ever.

Evolution of Man

"Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life."
John 14:6

Don't be ashamed of the origin of your species
(Adam and Eve ate ants off a stick).
Even though Moses threw his own feces,
God still decided to give him those bricks.

An Event is a Special Occurence

Hey, NBC is broadcasting an "ER Event" on Thursday night!

This is the episode everyone will be talking about...

Dr. So and So is pushed to the edge.

A child will change the life of one nurse.

And one of their own...says goodbye...for good.

Or some shit like that.

That show is bullshit!

Bring back the original E.R.
You know -- the one with Elliott Gould and Corinne Bohrer.

My Favorite Poem

AT THE LONG BAR

Bowed like a foetus at the long bar sit,
You common artist whose uncommon ends
Deflower the secret contours of a mind
And all around you pitying find
Like severed veins your earthly friends...

(The sickness of the oyster is the pearl)

Dead bottles all around infect
Stale air the exploding corks bewitch --
O member of this outlawed sect,
Only the intolerable itch,
Skirt-fever, keeps the anthropoid erect.

Husband or wife or child condemn
This chain-gang which we all inherit:
Or those bleak ladders to despair
Miscalled high place and merit.
Dear, if these knotted woods could wake
The dead boy and the buried girl...

(The sickness of the oyster is the pearl)

- Lawrence Durrell



















Thanks to Moot's "Poem of the Day" for inspiration.

My Own Private Alpo

There's a narcoleptic poodle in Idaho. Skeeter, his name is.

Though to see him in action (or inaction), he could've been named after any one of us.

from the Idaho State Journal (article by John O'Connell):

"For the past week, Skeeter has lived in and out of dreams, and his waking moments have been a dog's worst nightmare. When he attempts to eat, chase a squirrel, take a walk or even sniff another dog or a person he likes, he conks out. The condition, narcolepsy, is extremely rare in dogs..."

The video of this is astounding. At first I thought Skeeter was faking it, like he was tired of chasing the ball or jumping up on the couch. But when his legs gave out under him mid-meal, I became a believer.

Winter Memories #1

Winter 1971, South Ozone Park, Queens