Alan Parsons Project: Eye In The Sky (1982)
I’ve never heard an Alan Parsons Project album I did not absolutely adore.
#truth
Also Just Sayin’
Just Sayin’
Vintage Audio Porn
Shower Thoughts
The human body is 70% water, so we’re basically cucumbers with anxiety.
Quote Of The Day
Light thinks it travels faster than anything, but it’s wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always gotten there first and is waiting for it.” ~ Terry Pratchett
Lick It Up. Lick It ALL Up. (NSFW)
Thought for the Day
Shower Thoughts
If this was 1943, Google would have blurred the concentration camps to keep business contracts with Germany.
Released 33 Years Ago Today
a-ha: Hunting High and Low (1985)
I’m Going To Hell
“I don’t know how Jules does it. She’s been in the bottom two for the past four weeks and yet she always manages to pull it out with those tired old splits at the last minute.”
“Really? I heard she never pulls it out. Oh. You mean the competition.”
Gratuitous Wes Chatham
I’m so happy The Expanse was rescued from cancellation by Amazon…for…reasons.
Shower Thoughts
You can’t judge a book by its cover, but you can judge a person by their bookshelf…and their music collection.
A Birthday Gift to Myself
I’d been missing these little buggers since I sold the last ones I owned to my friend John nearly ten years ago.
A bit of history:
I bought a set of these new back in 1979 shortly after they came out. I remember first seeing them while walking down the aisle at LaBelle’s and I did a double-take as I strode past. What the fuck were these?
There was no internet at the time where I could go look them up. Fortunately there was an print ad and a product brochure available that answered all my questions. The fire had been started. One way or another I had to get a set!
At the time the tuner and pre-amp each sold for $260 (approx. $950 in today’s dollars). The power amp was $360 ($1300 now). Not out of reach, but definitely not cheap.
And even though I was making decent money at the time and still living at home, I couldn’t afford to buy the entire set at once. (Like I couldn’t afford to buy the complete set all at once at today’s prices either, because using the same inflation calculator I used to determine today’s price, I made the very sad discovery that my overall wages have essentially remained stagnant for the last 40 years.) So they came piecemeal over the course of about two months.
At the time they were wonders of technology, packing the performance and specs of full-sized audio components into a very small form factor. Probably not all that surprising today, but thirty-nine years ago it was amazing. It was a trend followed by the entire industry, but Technics did it first, and in my humble opinion—even after all these years—did it best. The fit and finish of these components remains unparalleled. Each case was milled from a solid block of aluminum and everything from the adjustable feet on the bottom to the trippy LED power meter on the amp spoke attention to detail.
I sold the set a few months after I bought them because—despite their technological prowess—I’d been spoiled by the sound of my Sony V-FET amp, and despite its proclivity for self-destruction, maintaining that sound was (at least for the first few years) worth the expense of getting it repaired each time it happened.
I reconnected with the Technics Micro Series in 2000 via eBay. In fact, I picked up a couple sets, immediately reselling one for a slight profit. I held onto the other set until around 2008, when my desire for a shiny new DSLR outweighed my need to keep them, and off to John they went.
While I have thoroughly enjoyed the camera over the years and don’t regret having sold them in order to get it, every time I ran across a photo of these components online, I felt a little pang. Now and then I’d ask John if he’d be willing to part with them if I wanted to buy them back, and without fail he’d say he was “keeping them for me” and I could get them back any time.
That is, until a couple weeks ago, when I actually had funds available to do it. “I’d like to keep the set honestly.”
As luck would have it, however, two other sets were being offered on eBay, both of which going for substantially less than what I would’ve paid John to get my set back. The cheaper of the two eBay sets looked like it’d been ridden hard and put away wet. The other had only a few minor scuffs, and was definitely worth the $100 differential between the two. I threw caution to the wind, and clicked “Buy It Now.”
I had a milestone birthday coming up, y’know…
They arrived yesterday. The seller knew what he was doing with the packing, as they arrived in perfect condition. He even sent them Priority Mail (a friggin’ $79 expense) at no additional cost.
I haven’t tested everything yet, but they are connected to the television and believe me, to these 60 year old ears, they sound just fine.
And those power meters are just as trippy now as they were in 1980.
Men Will Be Men (NSFW)
Our Neighborhood Needs Mr. Rogers
From John Pavlovitz:
I got to visit with an old neighborhood friend today.
When I was a child, Fred Rogers always made me feel that his home was my home, and I gladly spent countless afternoons there learning and listening and dreaming.
Sitting in a packed screening of Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, a much older, much more cynical me traveled back in time to that place, and for an hour I remembered what it felt like to be so welcomed and so filled with hope.
The moment that familiar front door opened, and I saw those twinkling eyes and heard his soft voice singing me into his living room again—the tears came easily. Embarrassed, I tried to quickly wipe them from my cheeks, but it would prove to be futile. I looked around the room and also noticed it was unnecessary: I was in good, tearful company.
I always knew how much I loved Mr Rogers. I just didn’t realize how much I missed him, how much this world misses him.
His quiet gentleness, his profound reverence for diverse humanity, his willingness to embrace the outsider, and his absolute refusal to shout in order to be heard—they’ve never seemed so foreign or so urgently needed.
I am finding myself terribly homesick for the neighborhood Mr Rogers built and made me feel a part of.
Hearing Fred Rogers speaking on screen nearly 50 years ago, his voice is prophetic, as if he was warning us of what we could become if weren’t careful. He lamented children being seen as consumers, abhorred people being treated as less-than, and he subversively resisted the bigotry that was so prevalent—and in all these areas, he gently but defiantly pulled us all toward a better way of being together.
Fred’s unspoken but very real Christian faith feels equally countercultural in these days of showy, empty religion and bullhorn-propelled damnation.
It was a beautifully unassuming presence, existing in the background, solely as a means of him loving his neighbor as himself.
It was a spirituality that didn’t need to announce itself loudly or impose its will on anyone; an ever-widening circle of inclusion that simply made room for everyone without caveat or condition.
It wasn’t defined by anything, other than leaving other people feeling seen and heard and loved—and it didn’t require a word to preach eloquently.
I don’t see these kinds of Christians very much in the neighborhood anymore and it too, grieves me.
I think that’s why I cried visiting with my old friend: because seeing him again reminded me of a world that could and should be, and one that seems so terribly out of reach right now. It reminded me of a version of myself that I miss; someone who believed the best about himself and about the people he shared this life with. I cried because I realized how fractured we are and how exhausting this makes us.
My country desperately needs people like Fred Rogers.
Our Evangelical Church does.
Our Government does.
Our President does.
I do.
We need to be reminded that our humanity shows up most clearly, as we see the humanity in those we so briefly share this planet with, and treat them with the dignity they deserve.
This planet needs more loving neighbors.
It needs people who will walk with us through the nightmares of our days, not afraid to name how terrifying they are—while never relinquishing hope that day will break and that the goodness of people will shine with radiant brilliance.
It needs people who see the inherent beauty in human beings simply because they exist; in all their flawed, original, beautiful difference; who linger with them long enough to really hear their pain and their longings and their dreams—and to see them all as sacred ground.
This world needs people who know that we are one another’s neighbors and that we are at our very best when we endeavor to welcome each other and to love one another well.
It needs people who realize that a loveless religion isn’t worth practicing; that a faith that damages or divides probably isn’t worth holding on to; that if it needs to loudly declare itself—it’s likely fraudulent.
Most of all it needs people who understand that such things are not hokey or old-fashioned or passé—they are the prophetic, bold, way forward. They are the only method of saving our shared humanity. They are the only chance we have to hold on to our souls in days that would threaten to steal them.
If you’re disheartened by the cruelty in this world, by the absence of compassion you see, by how weaponized religion has become, by how loud the dividers have grown—consider that sadness an invitation.
It’s probably a good time to imagine a world that could and should be, and to get about the work of making that world.
Let my old neighborhood friend Mr Rogers remind you how startling simple, yet how deceptively difficult that world-making can be:
Open your door widely, see the very best in people, and unashamedly sing them into your presence so that they know they are loveable.
Be a loving neighbor.
Mr. Rogers appeared on the scene shortly after I might’ve been his target audience. My friends and I—entering our jaded pre-teen years in the tumultuous late 60s, knew it all, and found Rogers schmaltzy and his puppet kingdom side-splittingly hilarious in an awful sort of way. But now I agree wholeheartedly with Mr. Pavlovitz above. We need a Fred Rogers today, more than ever.
Shower Thoughts
Statistically, somebody DID die 7 days after watching The Ring.
I Call This One…
…Old Man in a Starbucks Bathroom (2018)
Submitted Without Comment
I’m Going To Hell
Paul’s cock twitched and his butthole involuntarily clenched a bit when he spotted the huge, still-damp cum stain and got a whiff of the anonymous man-scent coming off yet another pair of underwear he’d stolen from the gym locker room. It was all he could do not to smash his face in the crotch of those tighty-whities right then and there and inhale deeply,
“Later,” he told himself. “Later.”
I Am Incorrigible
Sometimes Things That Are Expensive…Are Worse
Some Thoughts About Completing Another Revolution Around The Sun
I’m now officially OLD.
Turning sixty is not the same as turning fifty.
For one thing, I feel it. Fifty was sort of a milestone, but it didn’t feel appreciably different than any other birthday. Sixty, however…let’s just say many parts of this body that I was never even aware of now ache on a regular basis. Bending over to get anything off the floor is a chore, and if I have to get down on the floor to do something, getting back up again is always an interesting exercise.
My energy level—while back to “normal” from what it was a few months ago—is still shit. I think about going out to wander downtown and take photos like I used to do years ago and I immediately think, “Nah. Not gonna do that.” At the same time I know I need to do that if I’m going to avoid having to start buying all my clothing at Destination XL. (My daily after-work bowl of chips-n-salsa is directly to blame; I readily admit that.) But I watch all these home improvement shows on television and think, “Okay, these folks are half my age, but still…where do they get the energy to do that?”
And time. Where has that gone? Thirty years ago how did I somehow manage to find several hours to do nothing but work on my tan every week and still have other interests and a life?
Getting a good night’s sleep is a rarity. I don’t know if that’s directly attributable to age or just general anxiety. Almost every morning since January 2017 my first thought upon waking has been, “What has the asshole in the White House done now?” I’m starting to think that pretty much everyone who didn’t vote for the Orange Russian Wig Stand is suffering some degree of PTSD these days, and the damage that he’s continuing to do not only to our country’s reputation around the world but also to our collective unconscious is going to take a long time to repair—even if he’s removed from office tomorrow.
The no-longer-suffering-fools-gladly attitude that sprouted when I turned fifty is now in full bloom, but there is still only so much bullshit you can call out on a daily basis.
I’m now older than either of my grandfathers were when I was born.
I’ve also developed that “old man shuffle,” although truth be told I may have always walked that way and it’s only because I’ve only recently seen myself on video that it’s now so obvious. (My parents were forever telling me to “pick up my feet” when I was a kid, and based on the wear patterns on the soles of my shoes I suspect it’s always been this way.)
I’m really ready to retire. My sister—five years younger than me!—is retiring at the end of this school year. Lucky bitch. Three friends have also called it quits. I’ve had enough workplace bullshit; I don’t care if your PowerPoint won’t open. Despite what you believe, THE WORLD IS NOT GOING TO END BECAUSE OF IT. Unfortunately retirement is still at least five or six years away—more likely ten if I want to get the maximum Social Security benefit available. And that’s assuming that Social Security is still a thing at that point…
And I guess that’s it.
What Did Y’ All Get Me?
Tuesday After A Long Weekend
Catchers and Pitchers (NSFW)
I’m Going To Hell
“You can root for her all you want, Mary. Jules is still going home with that lipsync tonight.”
Strategy? There Is No Strategy
I spent last week at a conference in South Korea, during which time Trump went from seeking a meeting with Kim Jong un to cancelling it, then suggesting it might be back on.
“What does Trump want?” South Korean officials at the conference kept asking me. Notably, no one asked what the United States wants. They knew it was all about Trump.
Trump’s goal has nothing to do with peace on the Korean peninsula, or even with making America great again. It’s all about making Trump feel great.
“They are respecting us again,” Trump exulted to graduating cadets at the Naval Academy last Friday. “Winning is such a great feeling, isn’t it? Nothing like winning. You got to win.”
In truth, the United States hasn’t won anything, in Korea or anywhere else. After fifteen months of Trump at the helm, America is far less respected around the world than it was before.
The only thing that’s happened is Trump is now making foreign policy on his own – without America’s allies, without Congress, even without the State Department. Trump may consider this a personal win but it hardly makes America safer.
Some earnest foreign policy experts are seeking to discover some bargaining strategy behind Trump’s moves on North Korea. Hint: There’s no strategy. Only a thin-skinned narcissist needing flattery and fearing ridicule.
Trump got excited about a summit with Kim when he thought it might win him praise, even possibly a Nobel Peace Prize. He got cold feet when he feared Kim might be setting Trump up for humiliating failure. Now he’s back to dreaming about the Prize.
The delicate balance in Trump’s brain between glorification and mortification can tip either way at any moment, depending on his hunches. All international relations become contests of personal dominance.
He rejected the 2015 Iran treaty for no apparent reason other than Obama had entered into it. Trump couldn’t care less that by doing so he has harmed relations with our traditional allies, who pleaded with him to stay in. And he’s undermined America’s future credibility. Why would any nation (including North Korea) enter into a treaty with the United States if it can break it on the whim of a president who wants to one-up his predecessor?
Ditto with the Paris climate accord. Obama got credit for it, so Trump wants credit for unilaterally sinking it.
Trump has demanded that America’s nuclear arsenal be upgraded. Why? Since 1970, the United States has been committed to nuclear nonproliferation. What changed? Trump. A more powerful arsenal makes him feel more powerful – “respected again.”
It’s not about American interests in the world. It’s about Trump’s interests.
Wonder why Trump promised to lift trade sanctions on ZTE, China’s giant telecom company? ZTE has been trading with North Korea and Iran, in violation of American policy. Everyone around Trump advised against lifting the sanctions.
Look no further than Trump’s personal needs. ZTE is important to China, and China recently pledged a half-billion-dollar loan to Trump’s family business.
While we’re on the subject of high tech, why has Trump pushed the Postal Service to double the shipping rate it charges Amazon? I mean, isn’t Amazon important to America’s high-tech race with the rest of the world?
The most likely explanation is that the CEO of Amazon is Jeff Bezos, who’s also far richer than Trump. Bezos also owns The Washington Post, and the Post has been critical of Trump.
As you may have noticed, the man doesn’t like to be criticized. As Trump recently explained to Leslie Stahl of “60 Minutes,” his aim is “to discredit you all and demean you all so when you write negative stories about me no one will believe you.”
Any halfway responsible president of the United States would be worried about Russian meddling in U.S. elections. Protecting American democracy is just about the most important thing a president does.
But Trump has turned the inquiry about the Russians into a “dark state” conspiracy against him. And he’s demanded that the Justice Department investigate the people who are investigating him.
With Trump, there’s no longer American foreign policy. There’s only Trump’s ego.
If peace is truly advanced on the Korean peninsula, the Prize shouldn’t go to Trump. It should go to South Korean president Moon Jae-in, who has tirelessly courted the world’s two most dangerous megalomaniacs.
Some earnest foreign policy experts are seeking to discover some bargaining strategy behind Trump’s moves on North Korea. Hint: There’s no strategy. Only a thin-skinned narcissist needing flattery and fearing ridicule.
Trump is only able to do so much harm because the GOP-controlled congress, headed (certainly not lead) by Paul Ryan and Mitch McConnell, refuses to assert its co-equal status in government.
America is overwhelmingly opposed to Trump and his policies, yet McConnell and Ryan do nothing to slow or stop him. Compare that to President Obama’s policies, which were overwhelmingly popular with the majority of Americans, yet were obstructed without regard for the will of the voters, by McConnell and Ryan at every opportunity.
America must give control of Congress to the Democrats in November, to save our country and the world from Trump.