If you read only one post today, make it this one: Appalachian Snake Handling - A Ritual of Faith. One of my favorite topics, and excellently written

Interview and podcast with David Berman at Nextbook [Via, via]

Yeah, you've prolly seen it, but just in case: Two Hipsters Angrily Call Each Other "Hipster"

"What the hell is on your t-shirt," he said and farted.: Led Zeppelin, Wasps and Red Sauce

$23M: That's my boy!

Man banned from hunting for 20 years after shooting robotic moose [Via]

As someone who's been following Celia Farber's quackery for nigh 15 years, I quite liked Corn Chips And Pie's rebuttal of her latest Harper's piece

WOW! What a lifehack! Thank you Captain Obvious

Lesson learned: Do not try to improve on a 3000-year-old cooking method, okay

So, do you know where your weave comes from? (Answer: probably not)

The cutest kittens EVAR! [Thanks Jane]

Here is I am to make happy ladies

RIP Nikki Sudden. And Stanislaw Lem. Jesus.

365

It was a year ago today that N and I got hitched at the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel. Time really flies. It's been pretty goddamned good so far. I'll keep you posted.

There isn't a tune we consider "our song," because if you were to draw a Venn diagram of our musical tastes it would have only a modest intersection. Better yet: If you were to draw a timeline of our musical tastes, it would be two parallel lines until roughly 1993, and then would resemble a dowsing rod. It's okay, though, because we like each others' music for the most part, but if you were to ask me to pick "our song," it would probably be "I Saw the Light," the Bill Monroe version. If you asked N, it would be "Born to Roll," by Masta Ace.

Anyhow, there's this one song that we both really like a lot. It's not very romantic, but it's as close to being "ours" as we get:

Long-Forgotten Fairytale, The Magnetic Fields

There is victory in the Lord

Those who post images on their blogs know that it's only a matter of time before someone comes along and hotlinks to them. I've been kvetching about this forever, and have had negative luck with .htaccess as every time I try to put it in my directory, my blog goes tits up. (This is because I am an idiot, but that is neither here nor there.)

I've discussed the hotlinking issue at length with jpo, who is my go-to guy for all things computery.

"Why do you care about the hotlinking?" he asked. "Doesn't Dreamhost give you like a gajillion gigs of bandwidth? Or is it a moral issue?"

Of course it's a moral issue, I explained. Because it seems as though the three biggest perpetrators of this horrible, horrible crime--a crime that pales only in comparison to baby-raping and the systematic campaign of terror that is Andie McDowell's film career--are Livejournalers, frequenters of racist message boards, and Italian soccer fans. (I don't have too much against that last group, but they need to learn some couth. If they know how to post images, they should know simple intarweb protocol. I don't care how they do it in my home country.)

It's particularly creepy with the racists/Freepers. So anytime I find someone from the 3rd Battalion, 319th Airborne, Armchair Regiment who is linking to, say, a photo of MLK, I post the above photo in its place. This is satisfying, but only to a certain extent.

Then on Thursday afternoon I discovered that I could, in fact, block hotlinking via my Dreamhost Web Admin Panel. (I know, I know: DOYYYY.) So now, when I check my stats page, I see over 100 failed requests in the referrer report, and they all come from, like, MySpace and FreeRepublic and weird Scandinavian music discussion forums. Whoopee! Monumentally satisfying.

Blue Ridge Gazette announces the launch of its online magazine

RIP Buck Owens

Checkit--Strange Reaction has the Hugh Beaumont Experience EP

Ah, yes: The Snakes on a Plane Quote Tracker

The Blue Ridge Gazette has a post on the history of mining in east Tennessee

"Well if you don't want to die, you got in the wrong cab, because I do want to die and, guess what? I've decided that today's the day."

"Why don't I give you a real stress test, you bagbiting fuckwad?"

Vidiot's written a great post about the genesis of "The Lion Sleeps Tonight"

Monkeys on a Wheel!

NYT to factcheckers: You seem tired...why don't you take the month off?

Surprise, Eliot: We're part of Appalachia

I think every article in the Daily News should begin with "Equipped with gummy bears, lubricant and gay porn..."

Ali Marcus - "Matchbooks, Diamonds, Mixtapes"

A singer/songwriter, alone, with just a voice and an acoustic guitar between themselves and the universe. Aside from being simple, economical, and highly portable, there is the potential for a lot of power in that scenario. Given those who have gone before and set the standard – Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, and on and on – you can see why performers are drawn to the form. The thing is, though, unless you’re a really good writer or an incredibly magnetic performer – unless you’re on a par with those folks, in other words – you’re just gonna be another face in a very large crowd.

The Finger Building: Williamsburg's Tower of Babel

Maud's right; as long as there are androids to crank out new chick lit and self- improvement tracts, what the hell does it matter what the rest of us struggling (and in my case, I do mean strugglin') writers are working on?

Hosing them down, I tell them "You've got pretty eyes"

Last night was the annual ritual of the Ringling Brothers' Elephant Walk. I missed it again. Torpor took over, and I just couldn't make myself walk the five blocks to the Midtown Tunnel.

I was a bit drained from having completed an Elephant Walk of my own through the garment-strewn aisles of Century 21, a discount clothing emporium that calls itself (facetiously, I presume) "New York's Best-Kept Secret." It's basically a complex of nightmarish warrens and cupolas, where last year's designer castoffs jut out at angry angles from overstuffed racks. I have never had a satisfying transaction there. But when you're looking for cheap foundation garments, Century 21 is the place to go.

The mention of Bennington and armchairs and teatime in the same breath...oh Wenclas, you're too much

Man in Bangkok beaten to death for attacking hotel's Brahma shrine

The Coup has a long-awaited album coming out and So Much Silence has an mp3 to tide us over

NY Times: Biggest Silver Jews fanboys of them all

Man gets road rage, lies about it to 911, and God strikes him dead

Very sad: Endangered baby monkeys stolen in zoo raid

Some people, on the other hand, didn't like the Joos show that much

At The Strand

[Insert Andrea Dworkin joke here]

Soi Disantra's waaaay more comprehensive review of the Silver Jews shows

WFMU posted mp3s of Lucille Bogan's "Shave 'Em Dry" and The Clovers' "Cocksucker's Ball." Whoohoo!

Nice selection of postpunk rarities

Silver Jews @ Webster Hall, 3/18/05

As I said the other day, I'm an anxious person. I am averse to discomfort. And I worry. I worry about a lot of things, but this week I've been worrying about being in a room with 250 1,500 (really?) people, all of whom have paid $20 to see an agonizingly bad performance. Now, as with all of my fears, this had only partial basis in reality. But then there was fear of the six-dollar beers, which were an absolute certainty.

Preliminary reports of Jews shows in other cities were a mixed bag, with some saying great things and others feeling a bit let down. Pretty much everyone reported some semblance of discomfort during the evening. Still feeling a bit under the weather, around Thursday I contemplated saying fuckit and selling my tickets.

But then I chewed on it--I mean, here's one of my favorite bands ever, who've been around for 16 years and have never toured, and may never tour again. Don't pussy out on me, Marvin, Reason said. How bad could it be, anyhow?

Coachella offered the Smiths FIVE MILLION DOLLARS to re-form for a single gig!?!

Preserving the Tract Home? Or Preventing the McMansion?

There's no love left on Earth and God is dead in Heaven

I know this will come as a surprise to many of you, but I don't celebrate St. Patrick's Day. It was pretty much ruined for me during my sojurn in Savannah, a city that claims to have the second-largest celebration in America. As spurious as that may sound, I can tell you for certain: it's an event of nightmarish proportions. They dye the river green, they dye the beer green, they dye the puke green. People descend from the hills and the local military bases in droves and you wake up that morning to find an F-150 parked on your lawn. What was the name of that made-for-TV horror movie with the gigantic tarantulas that take over the town and eat people? It's like that, only if the tarantulas were wearing green and white Cat-in-the-Hat novelty hats and carrying commemorative plastic cups.

Anyhow, predictably, here's a tune for the day: Sally MacLennane, by the Pogues

As far as I'm concerned, Krucoff is heir apparent to Krassner

Lemon Pizza sounds absolutely divine

Chocolate for men: With nuts, naturally [Spaceeba!]

Sometimes a Pony Gets Depressed

Perhaps you've heard that the Silver Jews are swinging into NYC this weekend? The Pogues--with Shane MacGowan allegedly scheduled to appear, if he lives long enough--are also coming.

We got tickets to the Saturday Jews show. Frankly, if the Pogues tickets hadn't sold out first, I'd have been hard pressed to choose which gig to attend (and it would have to be one or the other--the Pogues tickets were like 60 clams, to which I mutter something in aggravation under my breath). I mean, on one hand, you've got the Silver Jews, who haven't toured in, like, ever, and then on the other hand, you have probably the last chance ever to see complete Pogues, helmed by an estranged lead singer who in all likelihood will be wheeled out on stage attached to a portable dialysis machine.

Get A Brain MORANS: The T-Shirt

For treatment of Hyste'ria, "all abnormal bodily and mental excite­ment, such as late parties in hot rooms, novel-reading, &c., [should be] care­fully avoided." [Go read the whole Vickipedia; it's wonderful]

It's tough being the opening act for Les Savy Fav: "The female vocalist looked to be pregnant; I’m surprised the fetus didn’t self-abort just to disassociate itself from the act."

My eyeball just fell out of its socket: A step-by-step guide

Fun Fact! Did you know the Talking Heads recorded Fear of Music about four blocks from the building in this article? Also: There is nothing I can say about this that won't sound inappropriate and/or send up big red flags to one-uh those Echelon-type thingies. Merrill Lynch! Sculptor! Extraordinary! I'm dying here

One hundred hairs make the man

I have spent the past week feeling like Death's asshole, and then, on Friday, we got on a plane. I genuinely felt bad that I might be infecting everyone around me with my swamp flu, but I tried very hard to cough and sneeze discreetly into the in-flight magazine.

On the plus side, we flew first class. On the minus side, we flew to Chicago. So it's a bit like when a dentist tells you how pretty you are when he's in the process of yanking your tooth. Why first class, you ask? Apparently first-class upgrades are the only thing that you can use frequent flyer miles for anymore. (I mean, I suppose if we'd wanted tickets to someplace really undesirable..."Yes, roundtrip to Bangalore. Oh no, economy is just fine.") Because of all this bureaucratic spoilsportsmanship on the part of the airline industry, it meant that nearly nine-tenths of the people in first class were, like us, economy class interlopers with the same idea. On our flight home we sat adjacent to two gigantic Midwestern Hairdo types who were traveling to NYC for a doll convention. They blathered loudly nonstop the entire flight about nothing at all and for the first time in my life I felt grateful that my eustachian tubes had swollen to their usual Hubba Bubba proportions.

For the two people out there who care: the The Silver Jews setlist from the Atlanta show--lookin' pretty good

How to survive mosh pits and bodysufing, for candy ass pantywaists

Never-before-seen Monty Python interview footage! [Via]

Something I learned today has a Drive Like Jehu 7"

the dust congress is soliciting any and all reviews of the silver jews live shows

In addition to being a member of the Capetian Dynasty, Louis VI was apparently my Aunt Selma's interior decorator. Who knew?

What's considered cool in New York today is very contrived, and buzz is generated by publicists: The Dames of Beef should make me a member because I like beef and I have seamed stockings, damnit

Maud drops science about "pragmatic egalitarianism"

Now that she's been outed as JT LeRoy, it looks like Laura Albert's finally getting all that attention she wanted in the first place [Thanks!]

RIP Gordon Parks

Fists of love

N and I saw the Wedding Present at Maxwell's on Monday. They were very fun and pretty much stuck to this set list, so if that sounds appealing to you, go see them at the Bowery Ballroom tonight, and close your eyes and pretend that you're actually in a room with only 150 people in it and a decent soundsystem, suckas. And we got back home in under an hour even though like Jimmy Cliff we had many rivers to cross.

I managed to snag a coveted spot on the risers because the sadface livejournal chick sitting there the whole time with arms crossed over her buttoned-up mod coat left halfway through. She refused to clap for anything but "Go Out and Get 'Em Boy." Y'know, chica, I'm not much a fan of the past ten years' worth of their oeuvre either, but they're here performing for you, so kindly fuck off and take your Current Mood: I Am a Shadow Trapped in Hell shtik with you.

Menorah Man, Founder of the Jewish Hero Corps, not to be confused with the JDL

So Norma sends word of an LIC Purim celebration at--naturally!--the local burrito joint. There will be some stellar entertainment. I'm uncertain who's really behind this little party, because as far as I know, there are approximately four Jewish people in the neighborhood and we know all of them. For those of you who are inclined to attend, Norma had some costume ideas, but listen, you guys, I'm wary of any Purim party being thrown by a shadowy organization at a locale within stone's throw of a Conrail depot.

SEGWAY!

Appropriately enough, my friends Jennifer Traig, author of Devil in the Details and Judaikitsch, among others*, and Peter, who you will recognize as the second half of the Shut-In Detectives and also from his other works under various pen names**, have started a blog. They're both much better observers of pop culture than I am, which is why I suggest you go read their Oscar recap right now. My own (inner) recap is more along the lines of what Bookslut's Michael Schaub had to say, which none of you really want to hear.

Anyhow, welcome to the blogosphere! Welcome to the 20th century, kids!

*And not including the works written under her pen name, Roscoe "Fuckknob" Bearman.
**Ibid.

The fact that most Americans don't understand its significance or even its proper name is as good a reason as any to keep Whistler's Mother in Janson, damnit

Do celebrities die in threes?

It's hard out here for a pimp

In the two years I've lived in LIC, cafes have closed and opened, buildings that should have been granted landmark status have been torn down to make room for architectural abortions, and our view of Manhattan becomes more and more occluded. I don't think there's another neighborhood more in-flux than LIC--sorry Bushwick, but you don't even come close.

However, there was one single, solitary thing I counted on, my daily stationary reference point.

And now it's gone. RIP, Pimp My Ride.

My new favorite blog Blue Ridge Gazette has issued a call for writers, to anyone who lives in the mountains or foothills east of the Mississippi and [has] a love of the beauty, culture, traditional music, hiking, camping etc.

"I want my lawyer!" Colliton repeatedly demanded. One detective replied, "How about your pants first?"

Aaron McMullan - "75mg"

This is my second pass at this piece. The first one was about 500 words along, give or take; a couple of hours of work (plus some fucking-around time), anyway. Just as I was thinking “Y’know, I oughtta back this up”, the computer crashed and wiped the whole thing out of existence. Which is kinda funny, see, because the premise of the thing was how advances in technology has made the promise of the DIY (Do It Yourself) movement of the late 70s – early 80s a reality, in large part. Heh.

Police chief blocks attempts to resuscitate a gay man who suffered a heart attack; man dies

Lede of the week: "For the small, hardy band of right-wing Jews who attended [...], the biennial gathering of white nationalists ended on a sour note." [Via]

Apparently you need to prime your brain to remember stuff or something [Via]

Simon Reynolds, "Rip It Up and Start Again: Postpunk 1978-84"

The cover of music journalist Simon Reynolds' Rip It Up and Start Again: Postpunk 1978-84 is black and pink and yellow, recalling both Nevermind the Bollocks and Dick Hebdige's Subculture. It's an exhaustive, jampacked textbook of an era that seems a bit hard to grant true cohesion to; such is the problem of any movement with the term post- prepended to its name. It could be argued that the only thing that most of the bands in Rip It Up shared in common was the time in which they were recording and performing.

Rockslinga put it best: This is fucking bullshit [Via]

Ramp season approaches and I eagerly await the accompanying farts

Nancy Grace stretches the truth for a good story? Here's my best look of surprise

Baby there's no guidance when random rules

Max sent me this, remarking, "You were once a Howard Jones fan, right?" 'Tis true. And I remain a Steven Hawking fan to this day