04/06/2015

Ah Gentle Reader(s), tis Easter time again. The blooms is bloomin and the trees are leafin and the sparrows are nesting once again beneath the eaves of the Inky Aerie. And, in keeping with seasonal tradition, Your Humble Narrator looks forward to sitting down in front of le Boîte Idiot this evening for the annual communion with The Ten Commandments (see my post of May 2, 2014). This is my personal observation of Holy Week—somewhat less strenuous than crawling on hands and knees to El Santuario de Chimayo, but then YHN is not particularly inclined in the direction of any organized religious observance. Or, for that matter, disorganized religious observance either. I watch The Ten Commandments at Easter time and It’s A Wonderful Life at Christmas time (see 1/1/15) and spend the rest of the year pondering the profound spiritual implications of both. Therefore, I feel as though I’ve got my bases covered (especially as Easter Sunday is Opening Day for the 2015 baseball season—how much spirituality can one person handle in a single day??).
03/21/2015

On one hand, Spencer Tweedy likely requires little in the way of introduction. If you know of his father, Jeff, and his work you probably have a pretty good idea of where Spencer is coming from, aesthetically speaking. He lives in Chicago, turned 19 in December of last year, and is currently on tour with his dad and their band, Tweedy, in support of their album Sukierae which was released in September.   On the other hand, considering Spencer merely as adjunct to his father and his father’s career does not, of course, give him the credit he very much deserves. Spencer is much more than Jeff Tweedy’s son, cool though that may be. He is a very thoughtful and articulate young man whose precocity you can sample at his blog where he posts photographs, essays, video clips and music. (Sounds somewhat familiar… but despite his youthful years he’s been at it for quite a while longer than Your Humble Narrator.) In addition to Tweedy, the band, Spencer has a variety of other musical involvements and I can assure you that they are definitely well worth a listen. His album with the Blisters, Finally Bored, resides very happily on YHN’s iPod and the song Own It by the Raccoonists (Jeff + Spencer + younger brother Sammy) enjoys steady rotation on the DJ Inky playlist.
03/05/2015

Every spring I look forward to it, but not quite in the manner of, say, a holiday or a birthday—I’m well past the point of looking forward to those. Neither fully secular, sacred nor profane, it is more the initiation of a process than a specific event. Nonetheless, elements of spirituality, rebirth, renewal, and a quasi-mystical sense of nostalgia are commonly associated with it. Much misty-eyed, overwrought commentary has accrued to it over the years. Why stop now?   Despite the histrionics, this annual ritual could not be more democratic, more quintessentially American, more beautifully ordinary in its extraordinary way. It is the return of baseball season—spring training in early March in Florida and Arizona, and the regular season a month later across the continent. It is a feeling like no other and I love it dearly. In the immortal words of the fictional plucky Dominican, Chico Escuela, ‘Béisbol been berry berry good to me.’
02/23/2015

Your Humble Narrator had the distinct pleasure today of interviewing Spencer Tweedy. The purpose of the interview was to provide an advance romance article for a forthcoming concert (March 26 at the Lensic, to be exact) featuring Spencer and his dad—a chap you might have heard of by the name of Jeff. The Tweedy boys are on tour in support of their excellent album Sukierae, released late last summer, to be followed shortly thereafter by Jeff returning to the road with Wilco for spring dates.
02/20/2015

“If you’ve got a person that’s raped because you wouldn’t let them carry a firearm to defend themselves, I think you’re responsible,” State Representative Dennis K. Baxley of Florida said during debate in a House subcommittee last month. The bill passed.   The passage excerpted above is from an article titled ‘A Bid For Guns on Campuses to Deter Rape’ in the Wednesday, February 18, edition of the New York Times. This nugget of wisdom from the esteemed Rep. Baxley is followed by another gem from Nevada Assemblywoman Michele Fiore: “If these young, hot little girls on campus have a firearm, I wonder how many men will want to assault them. The sexual assaults that are occurring would go down once these sexual predators get a bullet in their head.”   Gentle Reader(s), I know not quite where to begin. But begin I must.
01/27/2015

I can’t hear any at the moment, most likely because it snowed last night, but on just about any other day they’re out there making their uniquely grating racket. No, not Republicans—sadly, I can still hear them—I am speaking of leaf blowers, genus petrolius facultas to be precise. Why, Gentle Reader(s), you may well ask, is Your Humble Narrator clogging up the intrablogosphere with questionable grumbleisms about something as seemingly innocuous as the lowly leaf blower? Indeed. Allow me to elucidate.
01/01/2015

A lot of people have cherished rituals that, whether handed down through generations or of more recent provenance, are central to their observation and enjoyment of the holiday season. I’m not much of a holiday person—I’m typically somewhat more of a bemused observer than an actual participant—but one holiday season ritual of which I have become quite fond is watching ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ on NBC on Christmas Eve.
12/03/2014

I am in state of shock and dismay to learn of the passing of my friend Ray Abeyta. Ray died in New York City on Monday, the result of a motorcycle accident. Ray was 58 years old.
11/18/2014

He was good. He was very very good—quite possibly the best in the opinion of more than a few people who were well placed to know.   Despite an eclectic five-decade-plus career in music, most people’s awareness of John Symon Asher Bruce extends from his two-year tenure as the bassist/lead singer of Cream. You had to be good to be in Cream—the best, in fact. That’s why the group was called Cream (and, thankfully, not Sweet n’ Sour Rock n’ Roll—a wisely rejected alternative moniker). You had to be able to hold your own with Eric Clapton and Ginger Baker—not an assignment for the faint of heart nor tenuous of talent. Baker, who would, on occasion, assault and threaten to kill Bruce, said of him “He’s a fucking brilliant player—there’s no doubt about that.”
10/26/2014

On February 21, 1978, a concert was held at McAlister Auditorium on the campus of Tulane University in New Orleans. The crowd was a mix of rockers, proto-punks, hippies, hipsters and the plain curious. The opening act was the Runaways—all still genuine teenagers at the time—and the headliners were the Ramones. I was one of several hundred in attendance—not a punk (proto or otherwise), definitely not a hippie, somewhat of a rocker, and probably more hipster/curious than anything.