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RANDOM IS AS RANDOM DOES ...
Mar. 7th, 2006 01:26 am... Another bits & pieces post. Here goes:
* Am in the midst of a pitched battle against the Forces of Chaos and Disorder that have established a beachhead in my apartment. So far they still hold the high ground, but I'm planning a blitzkrieg.
* Walked the track at the Y tonight for the duration of Jack Erdle's CD Pumpkin. I'd bought it from him at Confluence last year -- he's one of Randy Hoffman's many Pittsburgh-area songwriter acquaintances that he occasionally books in concert slots -- and had enjoyed a few tracks but hadn't really closely listened the whole way through until tonight. Now I say: Wow. That's some incredible songwriting -- topical in places, haunting and borderline creepy in others, reflective in others, funny in still others, occasionally all of the above. "Pumpkin with a Face" is my new favorite nine-minute song. At any rate, it's a 75-minute disc, so I walked nearly four miles. Hadn't done that for a while, so I'm feeling it a bit. But it's a good thing.
* Also updating my newspaper's local concert/club listings for the entertainment section, one of my 2,834 regular weekly duties. Fun local band names: Yer Mom. Bee-Eater. Horrible Horrible. Giant Panda Guerilla Dub Squad. I don't know that I'd ever want to go hear these bands and ruin the mystique.
* Happy belated birthday to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
filkerdave! Last week, I believe.
* Not much to say about the Oscars. I haven't gotten out to the theater often this past year and have seen none of the five nominated films (in the acting categories, I did see Walk the Line, though Capote is on my list to see sometime or other. The Rochester area is going characteristically insane over the fact that a local son (Philip Seymour Hoffman, who grew up in the Rochester burb Fairport) is the best-actor winner. Not a local news telecast or newspaper edition goes by without some mention of Hoffman. I suppose when you're a third-string city (which is not a negative thing -- I like third string cities), you latch on to whatever fame by association you can get. I used to live and work in a fifth-string city (one of those that's only really a "city" on paper, as you're in and out of it in five minutes) that doesn't like to let anyone forget it was the family home of Bill Pullman. (Of course, that meant I got my turn at interviewing him back in the mid-90s, about the time Lost Highway came out, the David Lynch film in which Pullman may or may not have killed Patricia Arquette and may or may not have turned into Balthaser Getty, and Robert Blake may or may not have been a spectral albino. I appear to be off-topic.)
Ehhh. That's it for tonight.
***
Words: Perelandra (C.S. Lewis)
Sounds & Images: Pumpkin (Jack Erdle)
State O'Mind: Tired
* Am in the midst of a pitched battle against the Forces of Chaos and Disorder that have established a beachhead in my apartment. So far they still hold the high ground, but I'm planning a blitzkrieg.
* Walked the track at the Y tonight for the duration of Jack Erdle's CD Pumpkin. I'd bought it from him at Confluence last year -- he's one of Randy Hoffman's many Pittsburgh-area songwriter acquaintances that he occasionally books in concert slots -- and had enjoyed a few tracks but hadn't really closely listened the whole way through until tonight. Now I say: Wow. That's some incredible songwriting -- topical in places, haunting and borderline creepy in others, reflective in others, funny in still others, occasionally all of the above. "Pumpkin with a Face" is my new favorite nine-minute song. At any rate, it's a 75-minute disc, so I walked nearly four miles. Hadn't done that for a while, so I'm feeling it a bit. But it's a good thing.
* Also updating my newspaper's local concert/club listings for the entertainment section, one of my 2,834 regular weekly duties. Fun local band names: Yer Mom. Bee-Eater. Horrible Horrible. Giant Panda Guerilla Dub Squad. I don't know that I'd ever want to go hear these bands and ruin the mystique.
* Happy belated birthday to
filkerdave! Last week, I believe.* Not much to say about the Oscars. I haven't gotten out to the theater often this past year and have seen none of the five nominated films (in the acting categories, I did see Walk the Line, though Capote is on my list to see sometime or other. The Rochester area is going characteristically insane over the fact that a local son (Philip Seymour Hoffman, who grew up in the Rochester burb Fairport) is the best-actor winner. Not a local news telecast or newspaper edition goes by without some mention of Hoffman. I suppose when you're a third-string city (which is not a negative thing -- I like third string cities), you latch on to whatever fame by association you can get. I used to live and work in a fifth-string city (one of those that's only really a "city" on paper, as you're in and out of it in five minutes) that doesn't like to let anyone forget it was the family home of Bill Pullman. (Of course, that meant I got my turn at interviewing him back in the mid-90s, about the time Lost Highway came out, the David Lynch film in which Pullman may or may not have killed Patricia Arquette and may or may not have turned into Balthaser Getty, and Robert Blake may or may not have been a spectral albino. I appear to be off-topic.)
Ehhh. That's it for tonight.
***
Words: Perelandra (C.S. Lewis)
Sounds & Images: Pumpkin (Jack Erdle)
State O'Mind: Tired
