avast! ye evildoers ~ ~ pclef.net

I'M NOT GAY I JUST LIKE TO PLAY FOOTSIE IN PUBLIC RESTROOMS

...are you kidding me? I LOVE golf fiction....

Funny story: I was just sitting down to read in a public bathroom in Idaho…my favorite golf periodical had just come out with its fiction issue. That’s right: golf fiction. The old billy b’rough…so naturally I was PUMPED. I straddled the john in my typically wide stance, when all of a sudden I noticed the guy in the next stall over, his foot was right next to mine. He had that thing—what do they call it? Oh yeah—restless leg syndrome. Just bouncing up and down like a jack. So I did my best to ignore this and dove into the first story:

…”Banks Nagle stood at the proscenium leading out to the vast putting green, half a continent away from his condo in Baltimore, the air rank with the fragrance of saltmarsh and peat, and thought about his life, as the alabaster sun emerged from the distant treeline. His game was failing him. A trader, his recent losing streak had been devastating—the divorce, the surgery…the day before he’d shot his worst score in years….”

I’m HOOKED.

So hard to find real stories about people I can relate to. But that bouncing leg is certainly becoming a distraction. So I think maybe I ought to take this long-awaited prose party out to the waiting area. It’s just that it’s so NOISY out there, with all the kids and grandmas waiting around, and all those televisions squawking the news to no one in particular. So difficult to appreciate the nuance, to fully inhabit the characters, the sensory cues that enable me to revel in the tale of a middle-aged commodities broker in the middle of a mid-life crisis. Will he have to hock the Porsche? Can he somehow make his secretary understand that he’d rather not leave Joanne? Even though she’s a lesbian now and doesn’t like to play golf anymore?

Perhaps I should wait until I get on the plane. Then I realize the foot is getting closer to mine. It’s a small bathroom. And my wide stance. So, I’d better do what I usually do—pull ‘em up, give it a shake, and stomp my feet three times for luck. Just like my dear Aunt Eunice used to say, “stomping makes the poop come out…” Bless her. Then she was killed in a freak golf cart accident. We remember these little things to honor our dear departed’s memories. Stomp stomp rub rub circle circle zip it up…. Just like always. And all of a sudden, I hear a whistle, footsteps, and the sound of metal clanking on metal. “HALT! Come out with your hands up!” Usually, I try to make it a habit of washing my hands right afterwards. Lunch was coming up soon. But not this time. They were pretty well focused on getting everyone out of those stalls, regardless of where they were in the “process.” Then I hear the restless leg guy, protesting to anyone who would listen, “but I’m not gay”…which I thought was unusual, since they were obviously looking for illegal immigrants. Or so I thought.

Anyway, they asked me a few questions and basically let me go. But that lead detective, what a bastard. He saw my magazine and said he’d need to keep it for "corroborating evidence." What a load of crap. He saw the cover and snatched it right away. Rolled it up and stuck it in his raincoat. Evidence my ass. And do you think I have a snowball’s chance in Maine of finding another copy at the newsstand? Not at this late date. Hey, it’s golf fiction. Not some weird Oprah sub-niche, but the single most popular sports-related prose genre since the invention of class-based snobbery. I’d like to think that Banks Nagle gets his swing back, that he wins the big tournament, restores his client base, that his secretary gets the abortion and goes back to servicing him in the traditional concubinal sense, and that his Porsche is returned to him just as the blue book value jumps 30% due to a hot new movie about a German private eye. But I guess I’ll just never know…

...

INGRID BERGMAN

...25th anniversary of her death today...it's also her 92nd birthday...

August 29, 1915 – August 29, 1982

Ingrid Bergman (Woody Guthrie)

--------------------------------------

Ingrid Bergman, Ingrid Bergman,
let's go make a picture
On the island of Stromboli, Ingrid Bergman
Ingrid Bergman, you're so perty,
you'd make any mountain quiver
You'd make fire fly from the crater,
Ingrid Bergman

This old mountain it's been waiting
All its life for you to work it
For your hand to touch its hardrock,
Ingrid Bergman, Ingrid Bergman

If you'll walk across my camera,
I will flash the world your story,
I will pay you more than money, Ingrid Bergman

Not by pennies dimes nor quarters,
but with happy sons and daughters,
And they'll sing around Stromboli,
Ingrid Bergman

...

Rest in peace Hilly....

...

DON'T WORRY ABOUT THE HORSE BEING BLIND JUST BRING THE WAGON

In a special Labor Day Weekend appearance, showbiz legend Paul Williams has agreed to pop in and share his unique insights on current events and goings-on. So without further ado, the last best hope for mankind, Mr. Paul Williams…

Paul, thanks for stopping by. Many of us are perplexed at the sudden resignation of US Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez. Such a lightning rod for controversy, yet such an amazing ability to deflect critics and continue on! Also, like you he’s just a little fella, so what’s your take?

Yours is a magic that touches my soul yours is a laugh that makes old jokes sound new yours is the patience the whole world has tried...

Indeed. We live in such times as would try men’s souls. When last we spoke, back in May, we were trying to figure out what Condoleeza Rice had been up to. I haven’t heard anything from her ever since. Is she still there? Was she kidnapped? Just what’s been going on with our Secretary of State?

Answer me with soft, silent touches. They'll tell me as much as I'll need to know. Answer me with deep and restful sleeping and if you dream in sleep, They're yours to keep. No, you need not answer me if we must part. Should someone ask who's touched your heart, perhaps you'll answer me...

You mean she's been with you all this time? Makes sense. Speaking of which, we were wondering: Barbara Eden. In her prime. Such a fox. Ever nail her?

you showed me nights of endless pleasure. you spoke to me of future love we'd make and treasure. you built my heart a nest...

sounds hot. Speaking of sexy, what do you think of Barack Obama?

A city slicker. He can charm you with a smile and a style all his own. Everybody loves that man...

Yes they certainly do. Hey, how about that Owen Wilson! Who knew? Something of a drug-addled suicidally depressed person it would seem. But he was always so chipper! Then again, he did have that period of depression during 'Wedding Crashers'...oh where art thou Vince Vaughn? Your little buddy needs you! Paul, how can we help Owen Wilson return to his previously-unmatched level of high art thespianism?

Sure you've hit the bottom but remember you'll be building from the ground up. Ev'ry day's another step that takes you even closer to the sky, so give a try...

Michael Vick. Is this just a case of a good man being misunderstood? I mean, maybe they were just bad doggies...Paul, was our love so misplaced? How can we make it through the night?

Well when your playing good football its good football and if you don't have good football then your not really playing good football.

John Madden. didn't seen you here. of course. by the buffet. thanks for that. goes to show what sort of lofty circles Mr. Williams runs in. Hey Paul, do you plan on doing anything special at the Grand Canyon Paranormal Convention?

Two lights that shine as one. Morning glory and the midnight sun...

right on. outtasight. We'll be there, you can count on that! See you at the piano bar...I'll bring the Mateus, you bring the ladies...

Ladies and gentlemen, a hearty round of applause for our very own lord of the universe of our hearts, Mr. Paul Williams!

...

Stevie Ray Vaughan jamming with Stevie Wonder, circa 1986...

17 years ago this week we lost Stevie Ray...it doesn't seem that long ago because Stevie's music has persisted in being relevant and popular...his style, an amalgam of Albert King, Jimi Hendrix and Lonnie Mack, continues to inform anyone who plays a stratocaster, to this very day....rave on stevie ray...

...

ELIZABETH

I find that principles have no real force except when one is well fed. -Mark Twain

Tomorrow we gather as a family to welcome into our kin young Elizabeth, whom my brother and family have bravely adopted as their own. Tomorrow the judge affixes his seal and bundles them off to their life together. For this I offer my fond respects for I know it won’t always be so easy as a seal on a page. I’ve been in close contact with at least four or five adopted folks in my life, and tend to think that no matter how excellent the nest, how devoted the fostering, how intimate the engagements, the adopted person tends to carry a restlessness, an unquiet center which fends away certain quantities of emotional gifts. Reciprocation of such has limits. All have limits naturally but I tend to believe that some of those who are adrift on this same sea do not foresee the same sort of welcoming shore, since they knew not the one from which they sailed. And perhaps this is more of an issue for those of us who try and reach them, than it is for themselves, as they do survive. Of that there is no question. They fight on-no wimps in that gang. And it is no gainsaying or fantasy when I say that I see this same toughness in little Lizzie’s unblinking gaze.

But I mainly say this much because I wish to honor the day. the day when a legal functionary somehow makes a family whole, by adding a little baby who was turned away by her own mother, in order for her to have a better life. In order that she be more greatly loved. And those whom I would describe, long members of this uprooted clan, early memories purged, psyches long tempered, those who might resent my making any observations about their uniquely populated estates, I would simply say this: I do not know what it is like, what it was to have come up that way, nor do I expect, even after watching this girl mature, that I ever will. I have tried to accept the secreted regions without inquiry. Some have secreted themselves completely. Some come and go. I do not understand why. Still, the respect I have for those who have had to adopt—and I believe the children do as much adoption (or more...or not) as do their found guardians—will be now demonstrated, not explained, by the happy task of looking on as uncle to this beautiful little girl. I’ll watch her fierce eyes and know that those fair oculi are tinted with a measure of confusion, of fear, depths that the process makes it nigh impossible to plummet. With all our psychology and so-called knowledge, there’s really no true answer but love. Clumsy imprecise awkwardly blurted love.

Welcome home Lizzie Clarke.

...

INTOLERANT OF OPINIONS THAT DON'T COMPLETELY COMPORT WITH MY OWN

...that brave girl...

back to work this time abruptly faced with a bureaucracy hassle the moment I returned so the double helix of having held my conversational tongue for seven days combined with the electric charge of corporate argument has gotten my dander up as it were…not that this matters much the words and sentiments herein barely a ripple in anyone’s zeitgeist or opinionation but suffice it to declare that I’m slightly more keen in my notice of surroundings and goings on. First up floods hurricanes and those doomed miners. Bad weather causing town decimation and life destruction seems to be the new theater. Routine now. Commonplace. Global warming the clichéd response but what then. The house it was here and now its gone. A people stripped of their infrastructure easier to rule than a strong well-heeled constituency. Karl Rove on his victory lap would hardly disagree methinks. Who can better take the overwhelming sadness. That brave girl. Helicopters go down in Iraq. Yet another. Some child with gasoline poured over its head and engulfed. For what reason. The so-called terrorists seem less inclined to even observe logic or simple messaging. No longer terrorism, just barbarian wilding. Random cruelty. As sport. This barely-evolved populace bent now on simply torturing or killing the young and the weak would seem to pose zero potential for saving. Not that their kicks (do they have any other kind) are new to our species, but just what manner of beneficence would even leave a scratch on the armor of their centuries old hatred of each other. Who amongst them given a chance hasn’t left the country already. The violence has been waiting to get out and now that they’re able to do so a platoon of well-placed gandhis (nevermind 19-year old Pennsylvanians) couldn’t possibly prevent the bloodletting over which brand of Allah is more profitable. Ever. So it goes. Turns out the best part of living in the woods for a week was not having to think about all this. New York is still in one piece, though it seems the cool climes of Maine have followed me back home. I fell asleep under a heavy blanket the other night. In August. Without air conditioning. I don’t know why. Do you. The nature of man so pathetic and small. Even if we are living on a dying planet what are the odds that we’re not going to kill each other first. I’m asking.

...

THE GOOD NEWS

...one man's opinion...

Fell asleep to CNN last night. The 8-9pm slot devoted to religion…describing it understanding it discussing discussing discussing….then larry king interviewing christiane amanpour about her upcoming show involving religion…catholics jews muslims the whole messy tangle. At some point I dropped off. Maybe I missed it but I didn’t notice a single viewpoint offered from the other side. No one thought to interview or voice a single syllable concerning the alternative view, which holds that God is a man-made concept devised as a structure for governing the people and managing influence. As such, these structures, in conflict as to which has more governing power, more influence, are at war with one another. The answer to stopping these wars is to state the simple truth—that all religions are a corruption, and only by rejecting their territoriality and accepting each other outside their bounds, will we ever put an end to the endless violence. After all, if there is no flag under which to march, why fight? Our power of reason—the very thing which makes us special in this world, is also the thing that is our undoing, because it is that power of reason that allows us to imagine ourselves immortal, a chosen race under an imagined God. When you realize that this is not the case, that we are simply lifeforms somewhat more evolved than our neighbors, and that this life is finite, then you begin to see the gift, the good news: powers of reason are what enable us to behave morally, not some legend concocted by power-seeking priests in early millennia. And devoid of some obligation to a cartoon creator preening his beard on a faraway cloud, we see that the actual experience of this lifetime is freedom. It’s now it’s happening it’s real and you’re going to die so you’d better get busy living.

This is not a viewpoint which requires preaching or ritual or repentance or any other such hustle. Its beauty is its simplicity, and its truth. This viewpoint lives quietly in the minds of millions. But it doesn’t have a lobby, an institution or a uniform. It never needed one. Still, it deserves a place in the discussion.

And CNN should know better.

...

NOT DEAD YET

...one of the many who did not die last week...

Forward motion. Not fast. Back from holiday quietude. Never quite what you think it will be, the feeling. Odd feeling. Freedom expired. Preserve the mellow, try to hold on…then a sudden corner turns and it’s gone. There it goes. Back to anger. A piece of paper I didn’t fill out—another in its place. The red tape as usual takes a hold of people. Saying what would you have me do. What else could I do. The paper says so. The paper says.

So I missed a few things. Didn’t hear about them in the woods. Phil Rizzuto, Karl Rove, Max Roach, all dead. Not quite. turd blossom not dead, just deposed. still he goes round the victory lap. after losing. after failing. Someone tell him it’s not gloating anymore when you've lost. just fatwhiteguy ugly. preening his pale girth for the medal of freedom. Starts talking about Hillary, still at it. So that’s who they want to run against. She’s beatable. So elevate her by hitting her with the rightwing machine. That’ll unite those godless lefties. just like Kerry. And then she’ll lose. And Rudy will bring the fist.

Also: Merv. put vodka in the green room. Terrio. game shows. ooh.

Max Roach, sad about him. One of the originals. time architect. primary engine of the movement. Bird Clifford Sonny. The best. Such hands. Phil Rizzuto, fond memories of listening to him prolong an afternoon WPIX rain-out, well before computer-based algorithms in tv time replacement. Keep ‘em holding on until the Rheingold spot. It’s a dry rain. Sun in the distance. Holy Cow Joe D’s here. Thanks for stopping by.

Somebody told me that Les Paul died. All so she could name-drop. He knows a friend of a friend. A handshake once. The broken hand gripped hers. So now she calls him friend and announces his death. Lady he ain’t dead. And it’s Polfuss. You didn’t know.

New gear. Mama Bear. Took delivery. the usual shiny. Sounds good. Not instantaneous. Requires tweaking, thought, ears. Do less. Use the fingers. The squeak, the ring, are real. Or seemingly. Which isn’t a word. Will write back if when the humans believe it. for now I do.

Just saw Children of Men. Good movie. Maybe great. If only for Michael Caine. Sometimes movie stars are less than a help. He’s too famous. put someone else in the stoner wig. Aside from that, a smart take. And the hero dies, always a plus.

Cormac McCarthy my new word hero. Reading Blood Meridian, I keep re-reading sentences. Did I just read that. Yes I did. Then I will again. Thrilling. Better than Hemingway. To me. Just more useful. And poetic. Then again—older. At his age, McCarthy would’ve already offed himself. Papa no. bang. Oh well. Too late.

Thinking about things I can’t say. Too many feelings. Others. Simply: some love things others don’t. so. all that’s left. If it doesn’t matter it doesn’t matter. Let them go on caring. Just be. Nose clean. Home safe.

What I miss next will be my own doing.

...

MAINE

...

SCORE!

the series of tubes is just starting to learn who I a really am...*sniff*...

cooking:

You Are an Excellent Cook

You're a top cook, but you weren't born that way. It's taken a lot of practice, a lot of experimenting, and a lot of learning. It's likely that you have what it takes to be a top chef, should you have the desire...

da ladies:

You Are 100% Feminist

You are a total feminist. This doesn't mean you're a man hater (in fact, you may be a man). You just think that men and women should be treated equally. It's a simple idea but somehow complicated for the world to put into action.

the old man:

Your Daddy Is George Clinton

What You Call Him: Pa Why You Love Him: He gives good spankings

mental clutter:

Your Mind is 59% Cluttered

Your mind is starting to get cluttered, and as a result, it's a little harder for you to keep focused. Try to let go of your pettiest worries and concerns. The worrying is worse than the actual problems!

canine/feline ratio:

You Are: 80% Dog, 20% Cat

You and dogs definitely have a lot in common. You're both goofy, happy, and content with the small things in life. However, you're definitely not as needy as the average dog. You need your down time occasionally.

fun to be around:

You Are 64% Sociopath

The good news is that you're devastatingly charming. The bad news? You mostly use those charms for evil!

Leprechaun name (I already knew this one):

Your Leprechaun Name Is:

Stinky Whiskeybreath

smooching:

Your Kissing Technique Is: Passionate but Aggressive

Hey, slow it down a little! Yes, you've got some killer kissing moves... But that doesn't mean you need to show off ten minutes worth of technique in ten seconds. Take your time. A little passion goes a long way.Are You a Good Kisser?

Me American:

You Passed the US Citizenship Test

Congratulations - you got 10 out of 10 correct!

watch out ladies:

You Can Make 100% of Your Crushes Fall in Love With You

Admit it, you can seduce practically anyone. And sometimes you try just for fun. You're a total heartbreaker that knows when to play it cool. You are the type of person people go completely lovesick over. Just use your powers for good, okay?

Eine Deutsch:

Your German Name is:

Lars Julius

geographic tendencies:

You Are 16% Massachusetts

You Yankees loving homo! You probably think Starbucks coffee tastes better than Dunkin Donuts.

my inner frenchman actually is an inner frenchman:

Your Inner European is French!

Smart and sophisticated. You have the best of everything - at least, *you* think so.

taste me taste me:

You Are a Green Apple Jelly Bean

Of all the flavors, you're the most complex and the most real. A little sweet, a little sour, and totally tangy. People can't describe you, but they love you!

religion:

You Are An Atheist

God? No thanks. You're not buying into any religion. They're all bunk to you. You rather focus on what you know is true. You may be a passive non-believer or a rabid atheist activist. But one thing is for sure... no one's going to make you go to church!

superhero persona:

Your Superhero Profile

Your Superhero Name is The Silent Falcon Your Superpower is Chemical Your Weakness is Bacteria Your Weapon is Your Flame Amplifier Your Mode of Transportation is Unicorn

politics:

Your Political Profile:

Overall: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal Social Issues: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal Personal Responsibility: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal Fiscal Issues: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal Ethics: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal Defense and Crime: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

occupational:

Your Career Type: Artistic

You are expressive, original, and independent. Your talents lie in your artistic abilities: creative writing, drama, crafts, music, or art. You would make an excellent: Actor - Art Teacher - Book Editor Clothes Designer - Comedian - Composer Dancer - DJ - Graphic Designer Illustrator - Musician - Sculptor The worst career options for your are conventional careers, like bank teller or secretary.

inside:

What Your Soul Really Looks Like

You are a warm hearted and open minded person. It's easy for you to forgive and forget. You are a very grounded, responsible, and realistic person. People may not want to hear the truth from you, but they're going to get it. You see yourself with pretty objective eyes. How you view yourself is almost exactly how other people view you. Your near future is likely to be filled with great successes and accomplishments. You just need to figure out how to get there. For you, falling in love is all about the adventure and uncertainty. You can only fall in love with someone who keeps you guessing.

that's all folks! team pclef is going on vacation tomorrow and we're going off the grid! no cell phone, internet, tv, or any other technological entrapment...just some fishing, boating, eating, and hanging with the fam!

be back end of next week....

...

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN

...a damn fine read; will it fly as a flick?...

Ever since Jaws, I've had a fishy relationship with books as films/films as books...I'm not against the practice per se, but rarely are the two versions comparably successful...and I'm not suggesting that a "great" book must win the oscar or some cheese (likewise, there are many examples of ordinary, even poor novels being transformed into fine cinema)...just that a novel entertains in its way, and a movie in another, and when they both sustain the interest and convey the pleasure, each in their way, it is a rarity. I am reminded of the tawdry fun of "the world according to garp" and the ways in which the movie captured some of that, while in other ways (what happened to the ending?) fell remarkably short. I've never been a fan of reading Stephen King, but there have been several fine films made based on his stories (Lean on Me, The Green Mile, etc.) which have nothing to do with being scary. But I've heard many King devotees complain about "The Shining," which I consider a fine film, a classic of its time and genre. Anyway, I've recently become a fan of the prose of Cormac McCarthy, and having recently devoured "The Road" and the one before that, "No Country for Old Men," I was surprised and delighted to learn that the Coen Brothers are basing their next feature on the latter. It was the first time ever that I was able to go to the IMDB web site and see who they cast in the roles that had previously existed in my reader's imagination. Some surprises, some that seem perfectly cast--I had pictured the old texas sherriff to be somewhat in the mold of a Sam Elliott, but after getting an adequate dose of that riff in "Ghostrider" I'm happy to see that they went first tier and cast Tommy Lee Jones...and while Josh Brolin certainly looks the part, I have a feeling that Javier Bardem is going to be devastatingly good as the cold-blooded murderer Anton Chigurh...it's the sort of role that could lead to an academy award (not that that matters one way or the other)...so depraved, so scary, and so remorseless that, well, no spoilers but it ain't your typical villain....I just hope the the Coens manage to keep in some of the sweetness which tempered all the bloody deeds--the redemptive gifts of a good marriage making the insane murderous world tolerable, and the life therein livable...

and even if the movie isn't all that good, it's still a hell of a book...

I'm planning on keeping with the McCarthy canon...leaving for vacation tomorrow with the one they say is his masterpiece: Blood Meridian....published 1985 (so I'm in catch-up mode, as usual)...

...

GREAT WE'RE EVEN MORE REPRESSED THAN THE PURITANS

...they have that mellow relaxed look one gets after a bundling...

hat tip to delancey place dot com...

RE: sexual practices in America during colonial times:

"Colonial New England was not as simon pure ... as we might think. Just a half century after the Mayflower Pilgrims landed on Massachusetts's shores, Boston was 'filled with prostitutes,' and other colonial centers were equally well equipped with opportunities for sexual license. Despite its modest size, Williamsburg, capital of Virginia from 1699 to 1779, contained three brothels (though curiously none of these has been incorporated into the sanitized replica community so popular with visitors today).

"Sex among Puritans was considered as natural as eating, and was discussed about as casually, to the extent that, the historian David Fischer writes, 'the writings of the Puritans required heavy editing before they were thought fit to print even in the mid-twentieth century.' Premarital intercourse was not just tolerated but effectively encouraged. Couples who intended to marry could take out something called a pre-contract--in effect, a license to have sex. It was the Puritans, too, who refined the intriguing custom of bundling, or tarrying, as it was often called, in which a courting pair were invited to climb into bed together. ...

"As one seventeenth-century observer explained it: 'When a man is enamoured of a young woman, and wishes to marry her, he proposes the affair to her parents; if they have no objections they allow him to tarry the night with her, in order to make his court to her.' ... Up to a third of bundling couples found themselves presented with a permanent souvenir of the occasion. Nor did it necessarily mark the advent of a serious phase of the relationship. By 1782, bundling was so casually regarded, according to one account, that it was 'but a courtesy' for a visitor to ask a young lady of the house if she cared to retire with him.

"Although never expressly countenanced, fornication was so common in Puritan New England that at least one parish had forms printed up in which the guilty parties could confess by filling in their names and paying a small fine. By the 1770s, about half of all New England women were pregnant at marriage. In Appalachia and other backcountry regions, according to one calculation, 94 percent of brides were pregnant when they went to the alter.

"Not until the closing quarter of the eighteenth century did official attitudes begin to take on an actively repressive tinge with the appearance of the first blue laws."

source: Bill Bryson, Made in America, Perennial, Copyright 1994 by Bill Bryson, pp. 305-306.

...

JOBA

...welcome to the Bronx...

anybody happen to catch the kid at the end of tonight's game? anybody happen to see how his slider breaks? they brought him in at the end of a lopsided win, and he acquitted himself admirably, striking out several toronto blue jays before the old lady sang...those not quite checked swings were evidence of a rather savage break, and they say the kid can hit 100mph....bad sliders are home run fodder--this kid has the good kind....that's what I'm talking about!!!!! Joba Chamberlain is his name. I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of him...

...

ALL THUMBS

...not symmetrical...

I've flirted with thumbpicks most of my playing life...over the years I've mostly adopted a hybrid picking technique--plectrum and fingers--which has worked out ok, as I retain my flatpicking technique for alternate single-note picking, and have the ability to add some fingerpicking techniques once in a while--banjo rolls, double-stops, etc. but I always kept the thumbpick in mind, since it would obviously free up an extra finger, and a strong one at that--the index and thumb are used in tandem for countless everyday uses, so allowing this physicality to hold sway over the guitar playing always seemed promising. still, I always felt that the compromise wasn't all worth it--the alternate picking, the strumming, it all morphed and felt less versatile. yet the fact remained--nearly every fingerpicker of any note--merle travis, blind blake, rev. gary davis, etc. etc.-every single one used a thumb and index finger technique exclusively...

then two things happened: I found myself devoid of a band situation for the first time in many years, and I saw a video of australian wunderkind tommy emmanuel...in the first place it seemed like a fine opportunity to start seriously working on solo guitar; after an interim of focusing exclusively on the high church of jazz, it seemed like a sensible, relaxing way to incorporate the chord-melody aspects of the jazz playing, while bringing back some of the other styles I'd been exploring...and my gibson j-45 is a solid instrument--it seems perfectly acclimated to anything I throw at it--old timey blues, jazz standards, rolling stones tunes, chet atkins arrangements, rockabilly, whatever...in the second instance I found a guy who I esteem to be the jimi hendrix of the acoustic guitar, with absolutely mind-boggling technique, who can shred on the acoustic like al dimeola--using a thumbpick. so I thought why the hell not give it a try...I ordered up a variety of promising units from elderly instruments, and when they arrived, I tore into the collection to see which ones felt the best. the surprise was that most all of them felt fine--the cheap national was perhaps the most comfortable but the fred kelly slick picks were also nice, and a gigantic golden gate ivoroid model was both comfortable and had some nice heft for bass notes. and by comfortable I mean there was a minimum of "blue thumb"...a molded piece of plastic, wrapped tightly around a finger which is moving constantly, easily cuts off circulation. one of the leading candidates, a brand called propik, is rather clever--a teardrop jazz plectrum riveted to a metallic ring with a flange to keep it on your thumb. minimum blue thumb, and pretty good for plectrum-style because of the shape...however, it still lacked the snug feel of a traditional thumbpick. But I stayed with this one for a while...here's why: the shape of a traditional thumbpick isn't symmetrical--one side is flat, the other curved. well, if you've worked years and years to get your alternate picking even and unbiased, whether upstroking or downstroking, this adds a prejudicial motion to the whole enterprise. in addition, thumbpicks invariably stick out way too much--you can't "choke" a thumbpick--it's designed to assist banjo and dobro players as well, so as a result there is way more plastic sticking out than is needed for guitar....and it's why I always went back, eventually, to using the plectrum.

then I got a brainstorm--rather than leave this small exhibit of thumbpick technology to clutter up some drawer in my studio, why not treat them like what they are--extensions of my finger nails. so I got out some course nail files and tried shaping one of them to match the jazztone plecs I usually use. I created a point, and I shortened it--moving the picking point closer to the side of my thumb. the result: a feel that is very similar to a flatpick, but with all the benefits of the independent index finger and other niceties facilitated as well--artificial harmonics for one, greater variety in strumming effects for another...

I had a telecaster and lap steel gig on saturday, and while I can't claim to have stayed uniform for both instruments (I certainly went to a plectrum for the bluesier non-steel numbers), I was indeed able to use the thumbpick for both the steel and the tele, which is a first for me.

I've found that it's a good idea to re-evaluate technique and overall approach from time to time. setting and reaching little goals like this are what keeps the goalposts moving forward, and hopefully the result is greater music.

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THE BARD OF ARMAGH

..the great Tommy Makem...

Thomas Maken
1932-2007

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Four Green Fields (trad.)

What did I have, said the fine old woman
What did I have, this proud old woman did say
I had four green fields, each one was a jewel
But strangers came and tried to take them from me
I had fine strong sons, who fought to save my jewels
They fought and they died, and that was my grief said she

Long time ago, said the fine old woman
Long time ago, this proud old woman did say
There was war and death, plundering and pillage
My children starved, by mountain, valley and sea
And their wailing cries, they shook the very heavens
My four green fields ran red with their blood, said she

What have I now, said the fine old woman
What have I now, this proud old woman did say
I have four green fields, one of them's in bondage
In stranger's hands, that tried to take it from me
But my sons had sons, as brave as were their fathers
My fourth green field will bloom once again said she

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MONEY FOR NOTHING

if ruper murdoch purchases the wall street journal, with all its journalistic ideals and history of excellence, does that make him a respectable purveyor of journalism? if a wealthy/powerful citizen contributes large sums of money, or provides crucial professional services to a church, does that make him a virtuous man? are we a product of what we buy, or of what we do?

I must say, the new J Mascis "tribute" jazzmaster is awful purty--prince-approved purple flake, all shiny and sleek. and I'll bet it sings like an ecstasy of tortured gulls careening across the technicolor sprawl of a radioactive martian sunrise...mr. mascis is certainly one of the louder guitar players I've ever heard, and certainly knows what to do with a jazzmaster and a marshall, as anyone who (like me) spent untold hours with 'you're living all over me' and 'bug,' way back when, can tell you....but I do wonder at how this came to be. his own well-worn jazzmaster has a heavily relic'd aspect, from years of touring and manual abuse. and he's nothing if not an analog purist...he claims to completely abstain from humbucker pickups altogether...his amps are all 60s-vintage plexi-era furnaces...he's a fuzzface aficionado...there really isn't anything in his signal chain nor his discography that doesn't register old school 60s/70s values. it's part of his, um, charm...

so dude...dude? (wake up J...) ...um, purple sparkle finish? WTF?

it's still a sweet-looking axe though...

this is a punk rock guitar (inc.)...

according to fender musical instruments incorporated dot com, the "legacy of Joe Strummer (1952-2002) continues to live on, grow louder and shake up the establishment with the release of the Joe Strummer Telecaster, modeled after the beat up and battle-hardened ’66 Tele® he wielded as leader of “the only band that matters”—seminal Brit punk commando unit the Clash."

I'm not particularly sad about this guitar model. I was pretty pissed off about him sitting on a fucking cloud wearing doc martens, but I certainly wasn't alone and the ads were pulled (thanks courtney). but I do find it amusing. where are the stickers? oh, right. you get a sgt pepper-style "kit" of stickers you can apply yourself. which is great--if you're a totally raving gaylord. and one must chuckle at the notion of the world's biggest musical instrument brand claiming that its new product is 'shaking up the establishment'...I mean c'mon guys, you are the establishment. and you'd never have dreamed of doing this were he still alive (interesting how the cooperation of the "estate" is always touted as a virtue--I'd love to spill a bowl of soup on janie hendrix's unworthy head). for all his great gifts, his particular choice of guitar was absolutely pragmatic--mick jones played a gibson les paul, and he wanted something that would cut through, that would complement that and be its opposite--brighter, less compressed, less sustain, more punchy. hence, a telecaster was procured. he was certainly a hero, to me anyway, but no way was he a guitar hero. the whole point was that guitar heroes are kinda boring and pointless, wasn't it?

anyway, the good news is that if you're at all creative, and you own a telecaster (or any solidbody guitar, for that matter), you can get your punk rock on for the cost of a can of spray paint. you're on your own with the stickers..............

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CLARIFICATION: Dinosaur Jr's gear was stolen recently in New York City. I was aware of this, but neglected to recall the details when I posted about J's "current" jazzmaster, the '59 sunburst. thanks EVR for keeping me honest. incidentally, a quick review of the missing items revealed that he indeed had a '61 in purple flake...interesting. I did not know that. still, a bit weird to learn that J is now playing new guitars.

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