Seeming to cement the notion that the claims that punk rock was the only modern western music that was not co-opted from Black America is a bunch of hooey, allow me to introduce you to Death:
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The word “tot” doesn’t give me the heebie-jeebies all by itself (not like, say, “linoleum,” or “panties”), but it seems like CNN has developed quite a fetish for the use of the word. I suppose it’s to save headline space and help make their lists of links look nicer by preventing lines from wrapping, but it just seems out of place in nearly every case. Used less frequently, and to slightly less consternation on my part is the word “kin.”
Neither of these words seem appropriate to the types of stories they are used to promote. They seem to convey a sense of informality, or even condescension, that is rarely appropriate to the content of the story.
Here are some examples that make my stomach turn in the way it used to every day working for a television station:
And a whole shitload more from google.
P went to Liberty with my mom to visit my Grandmother Marty at the end of the summer. She took our camera with her and took a bunch of really cool pictures. I love seeing how P sees the world and what she things of as worthy of recording. Everything from door handles on a rental car to the shadows on Marty’s courtyard. This is not one of her pictures, rather it was taken by my mom.
I was visiting my friend John’s MySpace page a minute ago and saw that he has posted a trailer for a documentary about one of my favorite bands from Seattle, Silkworm. Halfway through the trailer they start talking about Michael’s death. I hadn’t even known he had died.
It was a little more than two years ago when, apparently, his car was hit by a woman speeding and trying to kill herself. Michael was a great drummer with – as I recall – an amazingly sweet personality and no pretension. That was rare in the 90s rock world of Seattle.
I remember standing to the side of the stage at the Off Ramp watching him play. Coincidentally – after posting just an hour or so ago about smiling rock musicians – I remember him smiling shyly as he played. Man, he really hit the drums hard.
I’m sorry he’s gone and my thoughts go out to his family and the rest of Silkworm. Cheers, Michael.
A List Apart is conducting their first survey of web professionals. It only took a few mintutes and I’ll be really interested to see the results. Oh, and there are prizes!
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There was a man who called himself Stupid. I saw him every time I went to the 5th Street Public Market when I was a kid growing up in Eugene, Oregon. He always sat at the (mostly) same table, drinking coffee, and working on his books – collections of wisdom. I’ve often wished I still had one of his books. Stupid would have hated what became of the market.
My friend Chris was once at the market with his friend and child. The kid asked him why his name was Stupid. His reply was “I used to know a big fat guy and everyone called him Tiny.”
A Stupid biography and a Stupid book
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R smashed into a wall. These eleven stitches (three on the inside) bring his grand total to fifteen, and his number of visits to the ER to four. While that is an average of less than one visit per year, it must be noted that three of those visits have come in the last 18 months. And all but one of them a head injury.
“Action-Boy” strikes again!
I’ve been incredibly busy lately and have been mostly blogging (along with several of my brilliant co-workers) on the Beaconfirewire. I’ll continue to sporadically update intensely boring personal news and such here. But the dry spells will likely continue.