"with my paranoia, i need this abuse" -- mike nesmith, "the wild monkees"
09.08.03 @ 10:31 p.m.
So Slavik kind of startled the hell out of me by finding this little page. You know the Johnny Depp crack I made yesterday? Yeah. Today I got an email from Slavik that says "Oh, I loooooove Johnny Depp..." My initial reaction was "Gwah! Fuck!" Of course. In retrospect (as much retrospect as you can gain in half an hour) it's hilariously funny. Er, or I'm at least telling myself that.
I was listening to Tommy last night and Quadrophenia this morning (Keith Moon has put me into high Who mode again after a short Beatles/Clash resurgance) and thinking about the conversation Candace and I had a couple of nights ago and I really need to find some notebook or something where I can keep my duel lyrics lists -- Lyrics that Amuse and Lyrics that are Beautiful.
Examples:
Lyrics that Amuse:
"Let My Love Open The Door" by Pete Townshend
Love can cure your problems
You're so lucky I'm around
"Gonna Get Ya" by Pete Townshend
By sheer persistance
Break down your resistance
Babe, I'm gonna woo ya
Girl, I'm gonna do ya
Lyrics that are Beautiful:
"Helpless Dancer" by The Who
No one can love without the grace
Of some unseen and distant face
"Christmas" by The Who
I believe in love
But how can men who've never seen
Light be enlightened?
Hurrah for Tommy... a beautiful and spiritual album and a movie that is a source of endless amusement. (See: Ann-Margret's moves in "Smash the Mirror" or Daltrey's in "I'm Free")
Seeeeeeeeee? Nice lyrics. I have so many tucked away in my head. Mostly Who and Townshend right now, because Townshend somehow manages to produce hilarious lyrics (lots of early Who stuff) and really touching stuff (Erm, mid to late Who and quite a bit of the solo stuff, what I've heard). Awww, he's just all around wonderful. Man, I have got to practice my guitar more. I have a a great Who riff book that's okay, but not great and a most excellent Beatles book. And, uh, I just want to start messing about on my own again. I've kind of ditched all art forms (owing to a total lack of inspiration in anything at all) and have only had this place as a mildly creative outlet.
I'm talking to Slavik now. Paranoia is a bit eased by the fact that he read my NaNoWriMo profile that links to here. Jesus, I'm such an idiot. And of course, trying to converse and write here at the same time doesn't always work. Add on to that TV, which is making me type words I'm not even thinking because they come up in the dialogue. And yet I can't finish watching the Conan interview with Seth Green that I was watching because I won't remember because I was caught up here. But oh my my, CSI Miami is on and how can I resist a show which is both independently compelling AND features Roger Daltrey's fantastic, distinctive scream and the greatest synthesizer parts from "Won't Get Fooled Again"? Eeee, Roger. As much as I love to mock him, I'm still a giddy girl about any member of the Who. But my particular weakness is, as always, TOWNSHEND.
Belle, who loaned me the bad-hair afflicted Live Who video, invited me back to her house again today. We watched part of Daydream Believers with Peter Tork's commentary on. It was funny the way he ragged on Mike so much and the totally expected "Davy hit me first!" at the appropriate scene. Muahah. I really have an urge to start watching Monkees episodes again (cue swoony behavior upon sight of Mike Nesmith and his gorgeous Texan voice--ooh heavens, was Garrett ever wrong when he said nothing good ever came out of Texas) and delve into my substantial collection of Nesmith's solo work. He is really grand and I am so very fond of his early seventies country rock. ("Talking to the Wall"=totally swoonable. Also: "Tengo Amore" and "The Crippled Lion" and... oh, everything. Lovely songwriter.) Ahem. There was also endless boredom when Belle fast forwarded through about six tapes of ER episodes looking for one where LB Fisher (who played Tork in the biopic) said something nasty to Nurse Hathaway. Christ. Almost anything would have been more entertaining than sitting around with her cat on my lap (did I mention that I hate cats? Andrew's cat always kneads the hell out of my legs with her claws, so I'm leery of any cat that lays a paw on me). Eugh. I was glad to get out of there.
Not that I've done anything else with my day. OH! That's right. Dad and I were winding our way around Germantown Road and I made some remark about being rather frightened of the idea of driving on all those winding curves with such sharp drops on the right side of the road. Not five minutes later we caught sight of a fire truck ahead and found ourselves in a line of cars. In the sudden torrential rain that hit Portland, a moron in a huge SUV managed to flip their car on the winding connection between Portland and Beaverton/Hillsboro. Fortunately we got through quickly and it didn't look as though anyone died in the accident or was even seriously hurt. I mean, I didn't see any blood inside the cab of the flipped SUV. (God, I'm morbid. I should lay off the Stephen King) (But The Dark Half was rather good.)
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
