Saturday, September 13, 2003

AFTER CHANGES UPON CHANGES WE ARE MORE OR LESS THE SAME: No, I haven't blogged since the debacle at the Linc. No, it's not just a coincidence. Yes, I'm still processing through the Five Stages of Eagles Grief. No, I haven't forgotten that this was an organization too stupid to realize that having an Army paratrooper exhibition at halftime was foolish because you can't see anything in the sky at night, nor that they neglected a big opportunity to make amends by failing to invite beloved former Eagles Randall Cunningham or Reggie White to be there . . .

But let's move on, shall we? I've got a set of ellipses here that have been dying for attention . . .

I don't know about you, but I have never seen David Letterman as giddy and honestly happy as when he told Friday's audience that he was going to be a father . . . My friend Jon sent me this link to a segment from a Japanese game show involving ping pong, the Matrix and some low-tech effects that will make you smile . . . Come and knock on our door -- death's been waiting for you . . . and speaking of which, did you know you could see Jack Tripper's nutsack on a very special episode of Three's Company? . . . So, it turns out the Queer Guys' contract makes Clay Aiken look like a savvy businessman. Go figure . . . It's alright, it's alright, it's alright yeah . . . I cannot believe Conan's been on for ten years already . . . Best use for TiVo? Family Guy reruns . . . Most interesting article in this week's New Yorker? Not the piece on Russian slang which others have praised. No, it's all about the jake leg . . .

And now, this announcement. I've been looking for a way to add more content to this blog that wouldn't involve, y'know, me or effort, and I've found it.

We're expanding.

Over the next few days, I'll be introducing to you three new contributors to Throwing Things, all of whom, I hope, will provide you with even more amusement, enlightenment and infotainment in the weeks and months to come.

Let's start by introducing our first new writer, Isaac Spaceman, who claims of himself:
Though Isaac Spaceman is fussy about issues orthographic, he is a poor editor. His favorite Nicholson Baker invented word root is "punctle," as in this sentence is mispunctled. And it is. Isaac's hobbies include jiu-jitsu and Paris Hilton. Isaac believes that most current television is derived from or derivative of the early Fox sitcom lineup (including "Flying Blind," "Herman's Head," "Duet," and "Parker Lewis Can't Lose") and mourns the cruel and untimely loss of TNBC. Isaac once followed Jeff Tweedy around a Lincoln Park Barnes & Noble but could not bring himself to stalk him actively. That's probably good, because Isaac thinks Jeff Tweedy is probably a dick. Isaac is populating an unwritten screenplay in his head with the B-list actors and celebrities he has encountered living in Los Angeles. Isaac knows a lot about architecture, disease, and obscure mid-80s heavy metal (Manowar, Thor, W*A*S*P, Metal Church -- you name it), a little about the Algonquin Round Table, and almost nothing about Beverly Hills 90210 or American history. If pressed, however, he will fake it. Isaac Spaceman is not a Jew from outer space.

He's also a sports fan from a city that has never won a championship in any major sport.

Look forward to Isaac's TT debut soon.

Monday, September 8, 2003

WARREN ZEVON (1947-2003): Others will have more to say, and will be able to say it better than I could.

For now, I just want to link you to this recent article from the Philadelphia Weekly on Zevon's connections to the City of Brotherly Love, and leave you with just one of his many excellent songs, "Mr. Bad Example", from 1991:
I started as an altar boy, working at the church
Learning all my holy moves, doing some research
Which led me to a cash box, labeled "Children's Fund"
I'd leave the change, and tuck the bills inside my cummerbund

I got a part-time job at my father's carpet store
Laying tackless stripping, and housewives by the score
I loaded up their furniture, and took it to Spokane
And auctioned off every last naugahyde divan

I'm very well aquainted with the seven deadly sins
I keep a busy schedule trying to fit them in
I'm proud to be a glutton, and I don't have time for sloth
I'm greedy, and I'm angry, and I don't care who I cross

I'm Mr. Bad Example, intruder in the dirt
I like to have a good time, and I don't care who gets hurt
I'm Mr. Bad Example, take a look at me
I'll live to be a hundred, and go down in infamy

Of course I went to law school and took a law degree
And counseled all my clients to plead insanity
Then worked in hair replacement, swindling the bald
Where very few are chosen, and fewer still are called

Then on to Monte Carlo to play chemin de fer
I threw away the fortune I made transplanting hair
I put my last few francs down on a prostitute
Who took me up to her room to perform the flag salute

Whereupon I stole her passport and her wig
And headed for the airport and the midnight flight, you dig?
And fourteen hours later I was down in Adelaide
Looking through the want ads sipping Foster's in the shade

I opened up an agency somewhere down the line
To hire aboriginals to work the opal mines
But I attached their wages and took a whopping cut
And whisked away their workman's comp and pauperized the lot

I'm Mr. Bad Example, intruder in the dirt
I like to have a good time, and I don't care who gets hurt
I'm Mr. Bad Example, take a look at me
I'll live to be a hundred and go down in infamy

I bought a first class ticket on Malaysian Air
And landed in Sri Lanka none the worse for wear
I'm thinking of retiring from all my dirty deals
I'll see you in the next life, wake me up for meals

A world without any more Zevon songs will be a sadder place. So long, Norman.