Jesus Christ, the Musical. This is much less scary than the benny hill one.
This is much less scary than the benny hill one.
Category: entertainment
Cause joy is something they don’t bring
Outside the carolers start to sing I can’t describe the joy they bring Cause joy is something they don’t bring me My girlfriend is by my side From the roof are hanging sickles of ice Their whiny voices get irritating It’s Christmas time again So I stand with a dead smile on my face Wondering […]
Outside the carolers start to sing
I can’t describe the joy they bring
Cause joy is something they don’t bring me
My girlfriend is by my side
From the roof are hanging sickles of ice
Their whiny voices get irritating
It’s Christmas time again
So I stand with a dead smile on my face
Wondering how much of my time they’ll waste
Oh God I hate these Satan’s helpers
And then I guess I must have snapped
Because I grabbed a baseball bat
And made them all run for shelter
It’s Christmas time again
It’s time to be nice to the people you can’t stand all year
I’m growing tired of all this Christmas cheer
You people scare me
Please stay away from my home
If you don’t wanna get beat down
Just leave the presents and then leave me alone.
Well I guess it’s not cool to freak on Christmas Eve
Cause the cops came and arrested me
They had an unfair advantage
And even though the jail didn’t have a tree
Christmas came a night early
Causes a guy named Bubba unwrapped my package (hot damn)
It’s Christmas time again
It’s time to be nice to the people you can’t stand all year
I’m growing tired of all this Christmas cheer
You people scare me
Please stay away from my home
If you don’t wanna get beat down
Just leave the presents and then leave me alone
I won’t be home
I won’t be home for Christmas
(Thanks, Blink 182)
Dress You Up in My Love
I had an oddly hot dream last night, after not being able to get to sleep until very, very late. It has to have been inspired by an episode of Project Runway (and I’ll have to put off talking about that show for a bit because of the promise I made myself not to talk […]
I had an oddly hot dream last night, after not being able to get to sleep until very, very late.
It has to have been inspired by an episode of Project Runway (and I’ll have to put off talking about that show for a bit because of the promise I made myself not to talk about any more reality teevee).
I was dressing a woman up in lacy, pretty, elegant lingerie. She was a tall, stunning brunette with a perfect figure, and I was choosing things for her to put on while she modeled them for me; garter belts, bra and panty sets, bustier sorta things. Garters and more garters, and some other things that might have been nighties and might have been very suggestive evening clothes, I’m not sure.
The clothes are kind of a blur to me now, I just recall fancy, very lacy things in a number of colors, maroon, pink, black, jade green.
What I recall, though, is the feeling of dressing this woman up almost like a living barbie doll; the subtle dominant/submissive feeling it had, her doing what I told her, putting on what I chose for her and modeling it for me while I sat watching, directing her to pose for me, to show herself off for me.
I woke up with the image in my head, watching her put on a lacy, fussy garter belt at my direction. It’s been with me all day, that image.
War Photographer
This video is so utterly cool. “War Photographer” by Joel Trussell from Jason Forrest at CockRockDisco I can’t stop watchin’ it.
This video is so utterly cool.
“War Photographer” by Joel Trussell from Jason Forrest at CockRockDisco
I can’t stop watchin’ it.
I struggle with words for fear that they’ll hear
This is what happens to me when I’m in that emotional, unable to express myself state. When the poet in me wakes up tries to claw it’s way out. That poet has no means of egress; on my best day I am a writer of decent prose, but poetry eludes me completely. Yet what I […]
This is what happens to me when I’m in that emotional, unable to express myself state. When the poet in me wakes up tries to claw it’s way out. That poet has no means of egress; on my best day I am a writer of decent prose, but poetry eludes me completely.
Yet what I feel, some days, can only be rendered correctly in poetry; and thus I wind up seeking the words of others to express what’s inside.
I haven’t heard this song in years – and just reading the lyrics I remember why it almost brings me to tears every time I hear it.
Standing firm on this stony ground
The wind blows hard
Pulls these clothes around
I harbour all the same worries as most
The temptations to leave or to give up the ghost
I wrestle with an outlook on life
That shifts between darkness and shadowy light
I struggle with words for fear that they’ll hear
But Orpheus sleeps on his back still dead to the world
Sunlight falls, my wings open wide There’s a beauty here I cannot deny And bottles that tumble and crash on the stairs Are just so many people I knew never cared Down below on the wreck of the ship Are a stronghold of pleasures I couldn’t regret But the baggage is swallowed up by the tide As Orpheus keeps to his promise and stays by my side
Tell me, I’ve still a lot to learn Understand, these fires never stop Believe me, when this joke is tired of laughing I will hear the promise of my Orpheus sing
Sleepers sleep as we row the boat Just you the weather and I gave up hope But all of the hurdles that fell in our laps Were fuel for the fire and straw for our backs Still the voices have stories to tell Of the power struggles in heaven and hell But we feel secure against such mighty dreams As Orpheus sings of the promise tomorrow may bring
Tell me, I’ve still a lot to learn Understand, these fires never stop Please believe, when this joke is tired of laughing I will hear the promise of my Orpheus sing–David Sylvian, Orpheus
Hello Kitty, Hello Dave
You know, really, I hate the whole hello kitty thing. I just don’t get how it became some sort of pop icon.
And yet – for some reason I don’t understand – I love this Fender Hello Kitty Guitar.
Maybe it’s just the image from the web site:
I dunno. But someone I find the whole idea utterly charming. And not only do I want to buy this guitar for several female friends, I also [shudder] want one of my own.
Ken? Ken? You need one also. When you sell that Selmar horn, think pink kitty.
But it’s not just me. Even my man Dave Navarro has to have one:
Mmm. Pink Kitty.
I’m gonna be at the Christmas tree with my ma cher ami-o
I’ve been looking for the words to this song for, like, two years now. Papa Noel by Brenda Lee. Written by someone named Roy Botkin. I picked this up on a collection called Christmas Belles from Rhino, and simply fell in love with it. But give it a listen and you’ll see how hard it […]
I’ve been looking for the words to this song for, like, two years now.
Papa Noel by Brenda Lee. Written by someone named Roy Botkin. I picked this up on a collection called Christmas Belles from Rhino, and simply fell in love with it.
But give it a listen and you’ll see how hard it is to pick out the words.
Someone, finally, has got a transcription. It’s not quite right; I think there are some cajun-isms that don’t make a lot of sense phonetically. But it’s damned close, close enough that you could actually sing along with it and not utterly butcher it.
Here’s the thread on Mudcat.org where they’re working on it.
And below are the lyrics, with my corrections (and DN’s) on a couple things.
Hey Beau, let’s go and get pirogue and push-pole down the bayou,
I want to see the Christmas Tree, dance o- fais dodo.
Have a big time and cut a shine, where all will be gay-o
Oh, Santa Claus will come tonight, down on the bayouPapa Noel will bring the bells and all will be gay-o
I’m gonna be at the Christmas tree with my ma chère ami-o
So ring the chimes, it’s Christmas time and pick the old banjo
Oh, Santa Claus will come tonight, down on the bayouInstrumental interlude
See ma Nannan and ma Parrain, I know they’ll all be there-o,
See Ol’ Quelqu’un and Mamoun, Bébé and Jo-Jo,
See Jolivet oh my sweet pet and get me some sugar,
Oh, Santa Claus will come tonight, down on the bayouSo roll the rug, let’s kiss and hug and let’s all be gay-o,
A merry Christmas to you all and a happy bonne année-o
I’m gonna dance all through the night, ’til daylight with my babe-o,
Oh, Santa Claus will come tonight, down on the bayouInstrumental interlude
Dionne wants a push-y-on, a pistolette and yo-yo,
My Jolivet, oh my sweet pet, Lord cher ami-o,
Oh Auntie Luce will cook the goose, and she will serve the gumbo,
Oh, Santa Claus will come tonight, down on the bayouPapa Noel will bring the bells and all will be gay-o
I’m gonna be at the Christmas tree with my ma cher ami-o
So ring the chimes, it’s Christmas time and pick the old banjo
Oh, Santa Claus will come tonight, down on the bayou
If anyone can make any corrections or additions to that, let me know (Brutha Ray?) and I’ll post ’em on Mudcat. We’ll see if we can get it closer.
[ note – corrections by darkneuro in place – thanks baby! ]
I love this song…
Axegrinder
I said “they broke the mold” to someone earlier tonight and it sparked one of those where the hell did I hear that song lyric searches. After quite a while poking around in the memory banks, and then some googling, I give you Axegrinder by one of my all time favorite bands, the Hoodoo Gurus: […]
I said “they broke the mold” to someone earlier tonight and it sparked one of those where the hell did I hear that song lyric searches.
After quite a while poking around in the memory banks, and then some googling, I give you Axegrinder by one of my all time favorite bands, the Hoodoo Gurus:
My edge is keen and I’ve honed my skill.
I’ve got nerves of steel and an iron will.
My skin is bronze, my trim is chrome,
Climb aboard – I’ll drive you home.
I’m a silver – tongued devil with a heart of gold,
When I was made they broke the mold.
My blood runs hot, like molten lead,
Pump you full – I’m gonna knock you dead.
I don’t mince words, I spit’em out.
I won’t leave room for any doubt.
Get to the point, stop splitting hairs
That ain’t getting either of us anywhere.
Sometimes it’s better to be blunt
But is this some kind of publicity stunt?
So far you’ve whet my appetite,
Do you wanna grind with me tonight?
Axegrinder. I’m not famous for my tact.
Axegrinder. I’ve gotta sharpen up my act.
Axegrinder. Try and see things through my eyes.
Everything and everyone gets cut back down to size.
On the brink of who knows what?
We’ve gotta strike while the iron’s hot.
l can hold your hand, try to guide you through
But I can’t make your moves for you.
Swing my blade – that’s how it’s done.
Don’t stop me now, I’ve only just begun.
I was told when I was young
I wouldn’t work in an iron lung.
Now I’ve learned a trick of two.
I’m working up a sweat for you.
Island Call
Hiromi just posted this over on Panties3: Gabby Pahinui, Hi’ilawe It’s fucking beautiful, and stopped me dead, absolutely swept away by that island feeling, that sense of time and place I get. Hawaii makes me understand how one can have a love affair with a place that has the emotional and physical intensity one normally […]
Hiromi just posted this over on Panties3:
Gabby Pahinui, Hi’ilawe
It’s fucking beautiful, and stopped me dead, absolutely swept away by that island feeling, that sense of time and place I get.
Hawaii makes me understand how one can have a love affair with a place that has the emotional and physical intensity one normally only feels for a person. And it’s the music that takes me there, to early mornings driving through dripping rain forest, to meals and drinks outside with the sound of the ocean, the warm breeze, the smell of exotic flowers and earthy decay.
The smell of hawaii – cane stubble burning, the murky scent of fermenting sugar cane, the red scent of the very soil. Sea and sweat and fruit and flowers.
I need to be back there. Now.
BoingBoinged over the death of mashuptown
http://www.boingboing.net/2005/11/28/riaa_targets_mashups.html
Hey, I got a mention in BoingBoing. Sweet.
Alas, it’s because I hipped Cory to the demise of one of my favorite places in the internet, Mashuptown.
My brutha-man Art has been hosting some of the freshest, tastiest mashups around, but the RIAA nazis are on his track. It’s a sad day, but I’m still off to buy Mashuptown swag to show the man some support.
Thanks for the mashups, Art.