Tonight, out long national nightmare concludes. The Stanley Cup Playoffs finally begin. In it's honor, I have begun the PLAYOFF BEARD, the most venerable of Lord Stanley's traditions...
Max Talbot, of my beloved Penguins, rockin' a great playoff beard...
My efforts aren't quite as impressive; however, I am only 7 days into my Playoff Beard...
Not too shabby. Not too shabby at all...
But, this morning I'd like to share with you two of my other favorite things about the Stanley Cup playoffs, one so happens to be of the musical variety, the other, awesomeness....
FIRST, the Penguins Goal Horn....
BWAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH
SECOND, there's nothing like listening to the Blackhawks' iconic "Chelsea Dagger", particularly when it comes at the expense of the chokingperpetually choking Vancouver Canucks.
Schadenfreude never gets old...
Anyway, have fun kids and let's hope for a helluva' lot of fun over the next few weeks!
Started by waking up too early, then another quake in Japan, followed by a fight (which, I fear, will not be the first of the day, but hopefully the only one with this person).
Not particularly angry. Just apathetic. And, tired of being spoken to as though a child.
So, have some thumb-sucking for your shit Thursday.
All but won my arbitration yesterday, thank you limine hearings. But was a long, long day.
Wednesday here is gloomy, raining and otherwise humpday 'meh'. Still, that's cool, maybe people will leave me the fuck alone and I can get my work done (or just get drunk in the office).
Let's have some appropriate apathy/self-loathing music, shall we? From New Orleans hails the progenitor of the Southern Sludge style: Crowbar. These guys are living legends, never mellowed one bit, and importantly, their lyrics are solely based on pain, self-loathing, anger, anger over pain, pain over self-loathing and self-loathing over anger (I believe you get the point now).
This little ditty has the appropriately uplifting title, "I have failed".
Do not listen to these lyrics if you've just been fired.
Trust me, I did it once...surprised I'm still here to tell the tale.
Courtesy of Bo Hicks, booze-slingin', Whole Foods-memorizin', Chinese Dentist-playing musician/bartender/homie; and of course, the Kracken of wellthatscool.com.
Artimus Pyledriver: Awesome, awesome stuff. To say this is Lynyrd Skynryd meets Motorhead is a very apt analogy.
Enjoy kids. And, hey, if ya' like goins' on, dick jokes, and southern stuff (dogs, sad bears n' bees, football, beer, music, etc). then check out Well That's Cool, and also Tower of Bammer.
Still getting my ass kicked with Sr. Partner out of town.
Getting kind of pissed off at Hawaii: Love the locale here, but the people aren't the greatest: I live in Geezer-Central. If I hear one more motherfucking piece of shit Jawaiian/Reggae/Hawaii tune, or light jazz, I may stab someone. Not to mention, this is a remote place...If you're not down with all-outdoor activity, all the time, then you probably don't want to move to West Hawaii. And, trying to find folks to hang out with is im-fucking-possible.
And lucre. Filthy, nasty lucre. So damned broke because our entire economy is based solely on fossil fuels. The slightest variation in fuel prices, sends a spike that ripples hellishly across the fiscal landscape: Produce becomes a luxury commodity; essentials become prohibitive. (and because I signed a shitty contract last year, but there you go).
So, there we are. Really pissed off this morning; primarily about practicing law, money and being really fucking isolated out here. Maybe it'll pass. Who knows? Who cares? I'm going to go have a drink.
On tap today is whatever I feel like doing :) (but, I do want to update the City of Refuge...got some more information that I need to add to the record and correct).
But, until then, let's have some Deicide, because it seems like an appropriately pissed off kinda' tune...Fuck Your God (and it does have some pretty sweet zombies).
Listened to "...and Justice for All" over the weekend, and lord is that album still powerful, powerful stuff. And, it was the last of Cliff Burton (RIP) and the old, awesome Metallica.
In tribute of drunk Metallica, I give you the shit that didn't suck.
Black Tee Shirts; grungy hair. Alone in a warehouse.
This is what Metal was meant to be...
Incidentally, the film "Johnny Got His Gun", based on the excellent Dalton Trumbo novel of the same name, is a depressing, powerful statement on war and the grist mill of trench warfare. The fact that Donald Sutherland is Jesus and Jason Robards is Dad just steals the show.
If you don't weep or get a bit unsettled, then you're probably not human (or a Republican).
As I understand the current very fucked up DST, y'all on the East Coast are now looking at a sleepless night if you see this: It's about 1:30 a.m. on Tuesday. here on the Islands it's a peaceful 7:30. And, for my many peeps on the West coast, it's almost bedtime...a healthy 10:30.
Been gone for three weeks for a great many reasons, and, because I'm a fucker, I'll actually share them with y'all later. But, let's get your Monday night off in a peaceful way, and start your Tuesday with a depressive number:
Not a particularly great one: Through some extreme schmoozing was able to pick up an awesome client over the weekend, thus keeping alive the dream of paying off my student loans, in one lump sum cash payment...
But probably not anytime soon.
On the downside; one of my friend's firms went under on Thursday, on Friday several of my friends were disappointed as a $25bn dollar Boeing plant, and the associated $100 bn boost to the local economy, was submitted to Saint Louis rather than Mobile; on Saturday, found out a homie has MS, and another friend's sig o lost her job.
Add to that the fact that I'm in self-imposed detox (can't chew down Dilaudid 24/7 ya' know).
So, let's just permit Monday's grumpiness to rain down on us like Heaven's fury. In fact, there may even be a song about that...lemme' double check. Yep. There is.
The Shadow had a sucky week, even for a very sucky February. Been dealing with tons of real world issues, fighting a terrible sinus infection, and a busy week at the office.
But, sanity has been restored: Just in time for the weekend and an opportunity to detail my car, and go on a Dragon Age: Origins/Awakening marathon. In other words; relaxation :)
Got some hopefully interesting stuff on the horizon for you today, in the meanwhile, sit back, and enjoy the dulcet tones of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
Techincally off today, but with depos tomorrow and Wednesday, I thought I'd give a series of stories with grim interconnectedness today: The death of our biosphere, resource wars, overpopulation and general fucked-upness within the next four decades.
Sigh.
In the meanwhile, please enjoy Nuclear Assault's seminal Critical Mass. You could call these guys prototypical New York speed metal/thrash. But, like Slayer and all Devastation and Anthrax and all of the "speed bands" contemporaries, these guys are one short step removed from punk. Even closer, I'd say, since they are overtly political. And damned sure lefty.
Critical Mass addresses all of the things more and more relevant with each passing day, features a dead-sexy Jessica Haun lounging by a refinery, and, because they were pretty serious about lyrics, even has a yellow-bouncy ball for the lyrics.
Personal day today. Been overwhelmed since about December. Going to clear real world things off my plate today, but I'll touch base in a bit with the most ironic thing I've seen in a damned, long time.
For some reason (completely unknown to me), I'm really digging on the Five Finger Death Punch these days. Perhaps because it's what you rarely see anymore: earnest, semi-tolerable, rock and roll.
Doesn't exist much anymore, so when we find it, we should be thankful. The alternative is a world of Gaga and Bieber.
about club drugs, button-popping sex with my friends, suede, leather, vinyl, the smell of red wine, candles casting flares on dilated pupils, speakers fuzzing and humming and thrumming, bumping into a crowded scene, knowing everyone and liking most of them.
Sigh. Homesick.
I haven't been home, home in a very long time. Went in 2009 for a short visit and in 2008 for a week. But, all things considered, I'm missing people and things and places and familiarity of it all.
Enough of me and my concerns. Hope you all enjoyed your V-Day with your special and/or loved one(s).
Today's ditty is for the long-suffering Fetching Frau Schatten, with whom I shared a pleasant, if low-key evening last night.
Echo and The Bunnymen, "Nothing lasts forever", ladies and gents.
Seriously, they just do not make bands like this anymore.
In fact, I'll be a bit more militant, if you don't like Echo & the Bunnymen, you can go suck a fuck.
Love is like a red, red rose...and, if you ask Killing Joke, it's also sanguine (and a reminder of our mortality).
Classic band, classic song. If you fools don't have Killing Joke in your auditory arsenal, it's like having to explain who Bauhaus was. And, confession, in the whole classic 80's/90's goth/synthpop genre, these guys always got my vote over The Smiths.
Love Like Blood
So damned good, you deserve the lyrics
We must play our lives like soldiers in the field
But life is short i'm running faster all the time
Strength and beauty destined to decay
So cut the rose in full bloom
'til the fearless come and the act is done
A love like blood, a love like blood
Everyday through all frustration and despair
Love and hate fight with burning hearts
'til legends live and man is god again
(and self-preservation rules the day no more)
We must dream of promised lands and fields
That never fade in season
As we move towards no end we learn to die
Red tears are shed on grey
Let's hear it for "Orphaned Land", an atmospheric powerdoom band hailing from Israel that uses, no shit, Arabic influences/language/musicians in an attempt to reconcile the internecine conflict in that god-forsaken, wind-blown, war-torn hell hole.
Such is the power of music.
I chose Orphaned Land for an entirely different, non-prescient reason, however. I have a story coming up in a bit about a very mysterious object, and it's now-discovered age. Hold tight.
Until then, enjoy Mercy won't you. Not the best sound quality, but the distorted sitar is tits-out awesome.
I really can't think of any music, other than of Persian extraction, which is so mysteriously evocative.
