Random Notes VI

November 13, 2006

This post is an unorganized mess of links, graphics, and junk. Hopefully, the busy screen will distract you from the fact that I don't have anything to say.

I was browsing a co-worker's hard drive for something new and interesting to listen to. I've never been a fan of Elvis Costello, but I checked the folder with his music anyway. I had to take a screen shot of the directory. Every folder here is a complete and different album.

You might ask, "How could one person turn out so much music?" Well, Uncle Benny will fill you in. A sampling of the albums tells me that EC is willing to record every single bar of music that ever comes to his mind. Better song next week? No worries, I can always release another record then.

So without any sort of self-censorship, the library of crap grows and grows and grows until you have this collection of boring tunes that music snobs can pretend that they like.

(I just reread this post so far, and I really like this phrase: "So without any sort of self-censorship, the library of crap grows and grows and grows." It's much like this blog in that aspect.)

Speaking of interesting musical facts (not that it was all that interesting), a couple of weeks ago, I Googled myself, and found a couple of interesting links that I hadn't seen before. The most amusing find was a band named after a guy who had the same name as me.

It took another few clicks for me to find their CD on sale for $1.99 at SecondSpin.com. That's the cover up there at the top of the post. A few clicks after that, and I had ordered my own copy.

It's worth $1.99 to me just for the CD cover alone. I shall display it proudly. I have only listened to fits and starts of the music so far, and as you might have guessed, it's not all that great. It sort of reminds me of that solo album that Jimmy Page put out in the early 90's, but I don't think it's all that good. I have yet to stumble on a snippet of music that included any vocal part. But who knows? I might become a fan yet.

A photo from the CD case of the guy who took my name to the record companies. Isn't he just the shit? I bet you wish you'd have thought to hold your electric guitar as if it were a violin.
A photo of the entire band. That's me, second from the right.

It's not related to the band, but on a different search result, I also found out that a guy with my name was married to Liz Claiborne. I have to admit that I didn't really know that Liz was a real person rather than just a brand name.

Here's an email that I got from Shelly a couple of weeks ago. I'm making the judgment that this is really about me rather than about her life up in New Jersey, so I'm putting it in my own blog rather than making a new page in the ongoing series of pages about Shelly.

Two things happened on the train today that made me think of you: First, a Chinese lady had a walkman -- a real tape playing walkman. I couldn't believe me eyes. I didn't know any of those were still around. Second, the man in the seat in front of me had the WORST hair piece you have ever seen. I mean, it didn't even look like he tried to blend it in. I don't know why those things made me think of you -- probably b/c you have an even more warped sense of humor than I do.

I think I know the real reason that the hairpiece guy reminded you of me is that I'm the only one I know who consistently gets annoyed that Baton Rouge meteorologist Pat Shingleton doesn't try a little harder to hide the fact that he has a bad, bad hairpiece. Why oh why doesn't he either get one that blends in with that little bit of real hair on the side, or just go bald? Seriously Pat, viewers of local news don't care if you have hair on your dome or not. Sheeze.

I don't know who made up this haiku. It was recited to me, and if the source was revealed, I didn't take note. Nevertheless, it was good enough to pass on.

Haikus are easy. But some of them don't make sense. Refrigerator.

One day recently, I was playing a pickup game of basketball during my lunch time. There were about five us from the office, all white and uncoordinated and tired from the first couple of games that we played. We invited three fresh young tall black guys to join for four-on-four, and any sane person would have guessed that they would have been the three best players on the court.

In fact, they probably were, but I took the job of guarding one of the tall athletic guys. Again, the betting man would have given short odds on my opponent scoring at will. But as it turned out, I held him to only a couple of buckets, and I think both of those came when I had rolled off to cover someone else.

My moment of glory came as he launched a shot from behind the 3-point arc. I jumped up, tipped the ball, and grabed it out of the air. I don't know if that gets scored as a block or a steal, but I'm giving myself credit for both.

I turned quickly and looked for a teammate to be open under the goal. And I saw a guy -- a big target standing near no one at all, right under the basket. I flung the perfect pass right to him.

As soon as the ball had left my hand, I realized that the open guy was also on the other team. My steal had been for nothing.

My moment of glory lasted approximately 0.35 seconds.