On This Date In 1991.

And that's it.

Part 2 of my 2 part series on Minnesota Championship teams from my lifetime.

On This Date In 1987.

How the mediocre have fallen ...

This change was good, right?

Glad to see Khadafi [vintage 1986 spelling!] gone, but are we sure the change was good?

I don't know, I always thought it was the bad guys who ran around obscuring their identity like knuckleheads.

Or.

I don't know.  I prefer my heroes to not wear masks.

Or.

"Trick or treat!"  Aww, cute, you're Libyan freedom fighters.

Or.

Man, thank Allah it's wash day, you guys stink.

Or.

Dude.  It's 91 degrees out, aren't you hot in that ski mask?

Or.

Sonovabitch!  Those guys knocked over my neighberhood 7-11 a few weeks back.

Or.  And this one's the best.

Yearbook photo, Tripoli Community College, Class Of  2011.  Alli Alli Akbar.  Class Clown.



Man, these guys make it way too easy.

Fair-weather friend: naming names #1

A fun little exercise where I'm going to rip the ass of someone who wronged me within the structure of a literary format of my own design and creation.  Seriously, this is mostly a writing exercise, as I'm trying to sharpen my chops back to their pre-my-life-sucks state.  Think of this as poetry with an axe to grind.

Why, you ask?  Why dredge up the past, why not move on?  Because I can, and I can't.  Who knows, if this feels cathartic enough I might rip an ass on a weekly basis.  I can think of no fewer than a dozen dinks I'd love to disparage.

Ok, here goes.  This is a tale from over a year ago.  With any luck, the dink sees this.

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So one time, during an awful, unemployed period, I
Had a friend invite me to crash and recover at his place for
A while.  No strings, no bills, just supply my own food and it's cool.
Wow, that seemed like a good offer.
Naturally, it didn't take long before his altruism fled the equation.

Given his plan was to discontinue mortgage payments and lett the bank
Usurp his home, it was strange to me that he now wanted money.
Considering his request, I began to examine its merits.
Knowing human nature, I quickly decided that this was trouble.
Everyone generally agrees that paying money gets you some rights,
Even though you accede to being the Beta dog in the pack.
Now, I'm surprised I didn't burn the house down while he slept.

Sorta dramatic, I admit, but there's no code against a fantasy.
Under normal circumstances, I'd never harbor such horrific thoughts.
Clearly though, when someone intentionally tries to dehumanize you,
Karma be damned, I want them to suffer.
Shallow?  Probably.  Do I care?  Nope.  [Sound of match striking]


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Serious advice: I hear you're moving to Ohio.  Sweet Jesus, when you relocate there, away from all the people you know, just come out of the closet already.  It's 2011, nobody gives a crap if you're gay, but keeping all that pent up inside clearly makes you a miserable bastard.

Wow that felt good.  I've got a former woman boss with an ass so big you can see it from orbit that's gonna get it next!  I'm lookin' at you SP.

So come back next week to see me out another asshole.

PS. If you weren't a horrible person, I wouldn't be doing this.

The Times They Are A-Changin'

For the first time in more than 40 years, a record high number of Americans approve of legalizing marijuana.

A Gallup poll released this week showed that 50 percent of us think marijuana should be made legal, while 46 percent do not.

Regionally, the Midwest was second only to the West in highest approval numbers (54 percent). Not surprisingly, people 18 to 29 were most in favor (62 percent) and those 65 and older least in favor (31 percent). More men than women were in favor. Politically, people who identified themselves as moderates, independents or Democrats all came in at 57 percent, with Republicans at 35 percent.

[this portion ripped from the headlines...]

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It's not just that 50 percent of the populace want it legal, it's that it takes only 46 percent of the people to prevent it.  The "want-it's" outnumber the "don't want it's." I don't want a minority of people telling me anything, whether it's about smoking pot or buckling my seatbelt.

What kind of dumbass society allows half of the population to be prohibited from using something by a smaller group of people?  The "smaller" half, the half with the big stick up their arse, stand opposed because, you know, naturally if we allow pot, we'll all be strung out on heroin by Christmas.

Note to government in general: keep your effin' paws out of my life and what I do in the privacy of my home or car.  Controlling freak SOB's.

I'm not even gonna trot out all the old bullet points of the legalization argument, because what really pisses me off about the now controlling minority, is their total intransigence.  They grew up educated on Hoover Era [J. Edgar, not Herbert] propaganda and totally bought in to what they were told.  They took the distorted truths and outright lies and gave them the same credibility that they accorded the civics teacher who taught state capitols.

Man, the older I get, the more I associate with the Libertarian philosophy.

I'm With Stupid

     

In 1995, Aimee Mann released this minor classic that still evades mass appreciation for the staggering clarity of vision she possessed in releasing such an obviously self-assured statement on life.  Not necessarily the life outside your windows, but rather within.

[Yes, I actually did go AMA and cold turkey drop a med, resulting in an intense feeling of being energized, precisely what the aborted med was supposed to provide.  Sometimes, and usually without significant longevity, I have the ability to harness my thoughts and abilities together to see things differently, for lack of a better description. Things seem more naturally organized.  I have a better sense of things consequentially two or three steps down, as opposed to my typical myopia. I even get a spider-sense.

Just kidding there obviously.  At least on the "triple."  Anyway, when I'm clearheaded like this, when it's all pulled tight, nice and neat: it's a good feeling.  My life struggle has been to get that switch permanently left in the "ON" position.  The absence of that medicine feels like the switch is thrown.]

Without any prior provocation, I decided to listen to "Long Shot" tonight, the opening track of I'm With Stupid. It was three, seriously, three...three seconds before I knew I was going to sit down and immediately listen to the album play out.  There are not many albums that inspire that sort of allegiance from me.  I can't say the album is one of the ten best ever, or some other ludicrous title, but I can say it easily remains one of my ten favorite and most listened to.  Recorded in a manner that could just have easily been live, the playing is sharp and concise without being flashy, observational and intelligent without being confrontational.  Aimee Mann has been churning out smart, hooky pop ever since, but I've never felt that she topped this early apex.

Like many tracks on this album "Long Shot" has a great minimalist vibe.  For those of you new to the program, the term "minimalist," and its' application as music "axiom," and the subsequent discussion it spurred in the great, former forum and all-around hangout place, And Your Bird Can Swing, was apparently one of the final straws that broke Frank's back.  Blank Frank, who ran the joint without help, was a terrific guy; optimistic, warm-hearted and kind to a fault, it unfortunately caused Frank undue stress when members of the forum would snipe at each other publicly, which would obviously and invariably occur given enough time.  Anyway, none of that's important now.

"Long Shot" is what I mean by a recording that embodies the spirit of minimalism.  Perhaps our definitions differ, but at least you now understand my frame of reference. "Long Shot" is brazen, telling you immediately and often that "you [effed] it up."  Rhythmically urgent and chugging with a simmering tension brilliantly underscored by tambourine, the song resolves emotionally on the realization that "all that stuff I knew before just turned into 'please love me,'" an observation as emotionally intelligent and reflective of how life really unfolds as you will find anywhere. I'm With Stupid brims with many similar keen observations; Ms. Mann's emotional IQ is off the charts, a trait she has displayed regularly since Everything's Different Now, released in 1989 when she was 'Til Tuesday.  Interestingly, when performed live, Aimee often sings the penultimate line, "and all that stuff I knew before just turned into 'please love me'" an octave higher, wringing even more intensity out of that loaded observation..

"Choice In The Matter" is actually one of the few non-essential tracks in this collection, although it's fun to hear "merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream" replaced with "hope you drown and never come back" as the pairing to the "row, row, row your boat" couplet.  It's not that this is a bad song, it's just that it suffers in comparison to the handful of absolute gems liberally littered throughout this release.  The musical approach of this track is similar to that of its predecessor, and indeed the album as a whole stays true to this approach throughout the duration.  This album reflects the sound of an artist in a groove, hanging out there and playing in confidence.

"Sugarcoated" follows, and again, is somewhat underwhelming when compared to the album as a whole.  The rock solid musical foundation is still there, but overall the song lacks one of Aimee's trademark astute observations.

By the time the fourth track rolls around, newbies to the album may feel their commitment begin to wane after two relatively average numbers.  However, if they stick around, they are greeted with one of the albums great songs, and a reason to keep listening.  With "You Could Make A Killing," featuring great backing vocals by Juliana Hatfield, Mann hits her mark from the onset, noting that "there is nothing that competes with habit."  We all know the right thing to do, but we fall back to old habits.  I've lived that a dozen times and nearly as many ways.  Hatfield's supple background vocals so help this track that they forced me to seek out her own solo output.  I really haven't said much about the lyrical subject matter of this classic album, but being by Aimee Mann, you can probably guess, and you would guess correctly, that her sights are on the emotional dysfunction present in relationships either disintegrating or ripe for it.  This track is an absolute highlight.

"Superball" is the follow-up track, and while lyrically it's not as rich, musically it's a minimalist joy.  Clocking in at just over three minutes, "Superball" is the shortest track on the album.  It may be the sonic equivalent of pretty wrapping on a slight present, but it still sounds amazing, with John Sands primally pounding his kit with style as the song fades: brute force of the prettiest order.

"Amateur" again features stellar backing vocals by Juliana Hatfield, and just like the earlier "You Could Make A Killing," it's a stone cold classic in the dysfunctional pop pantheon.  "So I wasn't thinking clearly," Mann sings, "so you didn't think at all, I thought that was protocol."  Again, shes nails it, life to a "T."  People don't always make the best decisions, in fact they often live with decisions they know are shortsighted in some futile, misguided attempt to remain where they know they shouldn't be.  Relationships are always tough, especially when people wear blinders.

"All Over Now" signals the final non-essential track of this set.  It still sounds good, especially when it musically echoes the fade of "Superball" to great effect during its own fade.

"Par For The Course" is a nice simmering torch song which hinges on the realization that for many things in life, especially relationships, "timing is everything."

With "You're With Stupid Now," a near title-track, the album elevates itself with some amazingly strong content, and the final twenty-five minutes of this set are as strong and smart as any twenty-five minute shot of music you'd care to name.  The lyrics are typical great Mann lyrics, but what truly makes this one a classic is the aching intensity of her reading, nearly a duet with her producer and primary musical contributor, Jon Brion.  Many of the tracks on this CD require me to re-listen to them as soon as they end, and this song is no exception.  It's that good.

The one track people likely know from this set is next.  "That's Just What You Are" features exquisite backing vocals from the Squeeze boys, mixed among so damn many astute observations that you end up being jealous you didn't write this song yourself.  Once upon a time this track appeared on the soundtrack for Melrose Place.  Thank the fates for not having it remembered for that.  A complete tour de force, this track embodies everything that makes Aimee Mann's music desirable, with a wildly accessible mix of pop hooks and street smarts making it all but irresistible.

"Frankenstein" follows.  Calling it an oddity is tantamount to calling the sun bright, but it works.  Chris Difford and Glenn Tillbrook of Squeeze again provide impeccably good backing vocals, this time to a lighter song possibly placed here to provide a break from the heavier emotional material surrounding it.

"Ray" follows, and it's an amazing song.  Jon Brion wonderfully colors the music with tack piano as Aimee sings the most overt examination of a relationsplit on this album.  Zeroing in on the hurt and "coulda's" that surface, Mann examines her decisions, only to resign herself to futility "cause some things you know, and some you just believe in [and] hope it comes out even."  People play hunches, especially when it involves other people.  God bless the dreamer who goes after what is not guaranteed.  This track is easily a highlight, as beautiful as it is heartbreaking.

The album concludes with "It's Not Safe," an uplifting finish to an incredible work.  "A thousand compromises don't add up to a win."  No ma'am, they don't.

After a lengthy silence, a brief "Her Majesty" if you will, returns and echoes a lyric of the final track, "you're the idiot who keeps believing in love."

A tremendously gifted songwriter and multi-instrumentalist, Aimee Mann is the reason I have no respect for Britney Spears and the other pop-singer-as-whore dance performers of her ilk.  Next to Mann, they simply, embarrassingly, pale.

If you give this album ten spins, I can almost guarantee that you'll get to twenty without prodding from me.

My apologies if this reads rough, as I worked late into the night on it and didn't bother to indulge anything more than cursory proofing.

I'm With Stupid is a fantastic album: treat your self and get acquainted with it.  If you don't own a good copy, send me an e-mail and perhaps I can find where you can get a copy.  Is that in code enough?

Lastly, I offer a thank you to the many fine fellows I was able to "meet" and associate with at Frank's old place.  There's a few dozen of you and you know who you are.  It was your company and chat that kept me interested in the forum long after I did any real downloading from the place.  Even better is being able to keep those associations in the new post-forum era.  Friendship is not a "limited time offer."

Reasons I like Jim Souhan #36

From his latest online post.  A lot of people seem to dislike this guy but I think he's an absolute pro, in print and on the radio.

http://www.startribune.com/sports/twins/blogs/131986313.html


"Gov. Mark Dayton has been very even-handed, smooth and presidential in his handling of the Vikings' stadium debate. Now he's saying that a 1-5 record makes the stadium iniative less popular.


That's a blatant copout, and the kind of statement that makes us hate politicians. No one, whether stadium proponent or opponent, should base a decision that will affect the state for good or ill for the next 30-plus years on how Donovan McNabb is playing this season.


The Vikings are a state asset. Different people will value their presence in different ways. I'm a sports guy. I value sports and think there are intangible benefits to having a team in state as well as tangible economic benefits. If you don't value sports, I don't expect you to agree with me.


But the decision should not be based on a win-loss record, whether the Vikings were 6-0 or 1-5. The decision should be based on the value of having an NFL franchise in our state. And if Dayton or anyone else wants to argue that we should let the Vikings leave because they're 1-5, I would argue that Minnesota eventually would decide to lure back an NFL franchise, and that acquiring another franchise will be much more expensive and complicated than building a stadium for the current franchise, which, for all of its faults and big losses, has been remarkably entertaining and competitive for decades."

7 billion humans and rising rapidly

http://www.startribune.com/world/131954293.html

That looks comfortable.  Nice work, Chinese dumbasses.

From the article:

She's a 40-year-old mother of eight, with a ninth child due. The homestead in a Burundi village is too small to provide enough food, and three of the children have quit school for lack of money to pay fees.


I don't care how cold this sounds, but lady, I hope all your kids die, you goddamn dumbass.  Close your effin' legs and figure out how to feed the first half-dozen before you make more.

This is how the world gets ruined for all of us.

Not enough resources, so in order to procure them, someone's gonna have to go to war.

Bang, boom, mushroom cloud.

Asians and Africans that's aimed at you.  Stop procreating until you at least have a pot to piss in.  Maybe next year you can get a window to throw it out of.

"Hey, you know what would make all this overcrowding and overpopulation better?  More kids!"

Goddamn dumbasses.

Daily Funnies

What's this?

Correct.  An E*Trade baby smashed on the curb after someone tired of it's smart mouth.

Iran's supreme leader warns US over allegations of plot blah blah blah

http://www.startribune.com/world/131942743.html

Again, you stupid bearded jackoff, praise your twisted god that I'm not in charge or I'd hang a mushroom cloud on your MF stupid ass so fast you wouldn't have time to realize what a stupid bearded jackoff you are.

Or.

[grabs crotch] Warn this, you stupid bearded jackoff.  I take a warning from you about as serious as a green, runny shit.

Or.

Can someone just give this guy a 9mm round or three to the cranium.

Or.

Did you see bin Laden?  You want that same model moonroof installed in your head?

Or even better.

I can barely contain the giddiness in my heart when I think of what a joy it would be to simply beat the living shit out of you with my bare hands.  Bearded jackoff.

An all too loud echo.

Goddamn, it's been a tough year to be a cat around here.

One of the things I really enjoy about where I live is having four distinct weather seasons. They're all too hot, too cold, too wet and too dry, but they're distinct.

Fall has slid in very nicely this year, with that special, fresh crispness it brings to the cooler air.  The sun rests lower on the horizon and disappears into the night, hours before it did just sixty days ago.

Last week, the occupant of the other half of the duplex I reside in, took her cat into the veterinarian and had her euthanized.  The cat was twelve.

The cat had been healthy for years, but was quickly overcome by symptoms that were eerily close to what befell my Rudy half a year ago: rapid weight loss, vomiting and litter box issues.  An all too loud echo.

The day before the last day of its life, that cat answered to her name quickly, purred vigorously as I held it and readily snapped up the moist Pounce I offered it.  There was too much life left in that cat to kill it.  I found that sad.

Supposedly the cat was suffering from multiple ailments, most seriously of which was a thyroid condition that would require around $50 a month to keep healthy.

I'm grateful that I never had to enter that particular parlor of hell, where a cost-benefit analysis decided the fate of my beloved pet. I hate the idea of a pets lifespan defined and decided by dollars and cents.

Rest well, cat.  Just know that if you had been mine, you'd still be here eating Pounce and kicking sand.