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The National – High Violet – Classic Music Review
Over the span of his career, the essence of Berninger's thematic focus as a songwriter has essentially remained the same. "Sometimes, I want to remind myself of ideas I've written, so I write them again in a different way," he says. "Usually that idea is one of three things: I'm freaked out about the world, I want to be a good husband and dad and I'm trying but sometimes I'm a bit of an asshole, and I'm sorry. So it's either: I'm scared, I'm sorry, or I love you. It's one of those three things, almost always."
—"The National: Running Through the Woods," American Songwriter
Most everyone I know feels that High Violet is more of a "freaked out about the world" album than the other two, but as we'll see when we go through the songs, the three ideas aren't mutually exclusive. In many ways, High Violet is a thematic extension of Boxer, a theme Matt Berninger identified as "the anxiety of being a middle-class American white guy."
While I appreciate the acknowledgment of his racial privilege, the anxiety that dampened the American spirit was not limited to white people. The fear engendered by 9/11 and the subsequent War on Terror consumed the entire population; the brief high experienced by those who supported Obama faded fast once they realized that the bag of crap Bush II left on the White House doorstep wasn't going to vanish overnight.
The origins of that bag of crap can be traced to the American passion for making a fast buck. Once the recession of the early 2000s began to recede, the slick and greedy came up with the perfect scam to cover their losses—perfect because it exploited the middle-class version of the American Dream: to own your own home. Banks and mortgage lenders (including government mortgage lenders) started offering home loans to just about anyone, regardless of their credit history. Under the ludicrous assumption that home prices would continue to rise forever—a pitch peddled by the lenders and swallowed whole by the buyers—those sub-prime mortgages, "secured" by mortgage-backed securities, featured interest rates that went up over time. When the housing market began to soften and wages failed to rise enough to cover the difference, a whole lot of people couldn't meet their mortgage payments. The scam finally unraveled, the dominoes began to fall and leading financial institutions either went belly-up or had just enough of a pulse to earn huge government bailouts. "Between June 2007 and November 2008, Americans lost more than a quarter of their net worth. By early November 2008, a broad U.S. stock index, the S&P 500, was down 45% from its 2007 high. Housing prices had dropped 20% from their 2006 peak, with futures markets signaling a 30–35% potential drop. Total home equity in the United States, which was valued at $13 trillion at its peak in 2006, had dropped to $8.8 trillion by mid-2008 and was still falling in late 2008." (Wikipedia)
Though technically the Great Recession ended in the United States in the middle of 2009, the cold economic numbers failed to capture the lingering impact of the trauma and distrust engendered by the experience nor the long-term damage to personal finances. My most vivid memory of that period had to do with a business trip I took to Las Vegas in 2009. I was staying at the Bellagio on the company dime and had a nice hole in my schedule that allowed me to schedule a massage at the hotel spa. About fifteen minutes into the treatment, I mentioned to the masseuse that I'd heard that Vegas had been especially hard hit by the housing crisis and asked her how she was holding up. "Oh, you don't want to hear about that," she said, which made me press her even further. Essentially, she'd lost everything—she and her husband couldn't make the mortgage payments and the bank had foreclosed; the hotel had cut her hours because tourists couldn't afford to come to Vegas; her husband lost his job at another hotel/casino; and the two of them were staying with relatives where they slept with their kids in a single bedroom. I left all the cash I'd brought to waste at the gaming tables as a tip and spent the rest of my time in Vegas feeling like shit.
Millions of people experienced something similar during the Great Recession and millions of others knew someone who had fallen on hard times. A lot of people lost their jobs and those who still had jobs worried about their shrinking 401(k's) and pension accounts. The terrorist threat was still on everyone's minds . . . politics became more divisive with the emergence of the Tea Party and the paranoia spewed by right-wing radio and Fox News . . . mass shootings filled the headlines . . . crushing student loan debt left the next generation with little hope of economic security . . . there were a plethora of reasons to be "freaked out by the world" at the time High Violet was released in 2010. And thanks to MAGA and the pandemic, High Violet has become a timeless album, reflecting the seemingly perpetual anxiety that defines America today.
The Great Recession and the anxiety it triggered extended far beyond American shores, which may explain (in part) why High Violet was a worldwide success. High Violet was not only a Top 10 album in the English-speaking countries of Canada, Ireland, New Zealand, and the U.K. but sold just as well in Belgium (Flanders), Denmark, Finland, Germany, Greece and Sweden—countries where over half the population speaks English as an alternative language. Despite that apparent correlation, I think it would be a mistake to attribute the connection entirely to language proficiency, for Berninger's lyrics are often opaque and require significant effort to decode, even for native English speakers. I doubt very much that those watching television in countries where they air popular American TV shows with subtitles that even those with a decent command of English could make much sense of lines like "I was carried to Ohio in a swarm of bees" or "I defend my family with an orange umbrella" or even "You and your sister live in a Lemonworld." Berninger explained his lyrical approach in an interview posted on The Talks: "Most of the time I'm trying to write a feeling, not a story. I'm not necessarily trying to describe the details of a place or event so much as the feeling of the thing. It is a kind of weird alchemy that is elusive until it feels right. Like the line 'It's a terrible love and I'm walking with spiders.' I'm not sure what that specifically means, but I know what the feeling feels like, kind of."
One of the most common symptoms of anxiety involves the difficulty of expressing oneself. In that sense, the ambiguous lyrics mirrored the uncertain feelings of millions of listeners around the world trying to cope with a world where certainty had become elusive. But while the lyrics are a vital component of High Violet, it's the color and depth of the music that touches the heart and soul and strengthens the lyrical mood.
As noted in my review of Boxer, the National take a unique approach to song development. Aaron or Bryce Dressner come up with a musical theme and hand it over to Berninger, who in turn develops the lyrics, melody and rhythm based on the feelings evoked by the theme. As Berninger is not a trained musician, his response to music is intuitive and strongly grounded in the mood evoked by the music. The musical themes the Dressners provide involve astonishingly simple chording; the songs on High Violet contain anywhere from three to six chords that every novice guitarist is familiar with. One advantage of simple chording is that it makes it easier for the composer to build strong, memorable motifs, and the repetition of those simple chords and motifs increases the odds that the music will be imbued with immersive power.
Once the basic structure is in place, the band shifts to full collaboration mode to develop the arrangements. It's important to note that the National is not a "closed shop" where only band members are allowed input, but an "open shop" that encourages the supporting musicians they bring into the fold to share in the fun. On Boxer, the National brought in fourteen musicians and arrangers; for High Violet, that number increased to twenty-six. If you read the reviews of High Violet, you'll see the word "dense" used repeatedly to describe the arrangements. "Dense" has multiple negative connotations, and its use in this context may give the impression that the music on High Violet is a crowded mess. I prefer to characterize the arrangements as "rich," developed and mixed with exceptional skill and deliberation. Many of the arrangements feature orchestral instruments arrayed in combinations ranging from solo to chamber orchestra, producing a musical palette featuring both gentle coloring and darker washes, creating moods of achingly beautiful melancholy and elusive hope. The overall feel of the music is best described as "anthemic but free of pomposity," loaded with undeniable emotional impact. Despite the stunning array of instrumentation, the National left no doubt that their roots remained tied to indie rock and its essential power; Bryan Devendorf has plenty of opportunities to confirm his status as one of the great drummers of the 21st century while guitars and bass still play significant roles in the mix.
The unusual guitar sound that pervades the arrangement of "Terrible Love" was Aaron Dessner's attempt to create the sound of "loose wool." As he explained to The Quietus, "'Loose wool' is 'Terrible Love.' I remember Bryce (Dessner) saying, 'Ok, what does loose wool sound like?' and Matt went, 'bam-bam-bam' [makes much more sense audibly] so then I created this effect and turned the amp up beyond loud, tuned the guitar down and just had these harmonic pedals on that make it sound weird." I'd describe the result as closer to "loose steel wool," an oscillating roughness that gives the song an immediate and lasting edginess that provides contrast to the stately rhythm punctuated by straight piano chords while also echoing the shaky emotions expressed in Matt's vocal. The lyrics have to do with love, but the imagery isn't exactly what you've come to expect in a love song:
It's a terrible love and I'm walking with spiders
It's a terrible love and I'm walking in
It's a terrible love and I'm walking with spiders
It's a terrible love and I'm walking in
It's quiet company
It's quiet company
"Terrible" in this context doesn't sync with the common meanings of "really bad," "astonishingly shitty" or "downright repulsive." You'll have to read further in your Merriam-Webster dictionary and use the secondary meaning: "Difficult ". . . "Awesome" (formidable in nature) . . . "Terrifying" (exciting extreme alarm or intense fear). Except for the people who've never had a lover's spat and who probably don't exist anyway, the rest of us know that love can be challenging at times. It's also awe-inspiring—the emotional power of love knows no equal. And it's terrifying for several reasons—you're scared that your baby's gonna leave you or you'll hurt their feelings by being an asshole or you're anxious that the gift you bought your honey will land with a thud.
The build is quite remarkable, though at first listen it seems like a simple matter of gradually adding more instrumentation and messing around with the volume. The arrangement begins with the steel wool guitar dominating the left channel with Bryan's light kick in the background setting the basic rhythm. The piano chords enter stage right, then Matt begins his reverb-laced vocal in the back center. A touch of acoustic guitar enters at the end of the first verse, and things remain relatively steady until an unidentifiable drone appears in the background close to the end of the second repetition of the opening verse. At that point, Aaron shifts the pattern played on the steel wool guitar into something more assertive while Bryan shifts to double time on the drums, cueing the bridge and a shift from the basic G-C chord pattern to a complementary Em-G-Bm-D-G-Em-D sequence. The change serves as a very temporary relaxation of the build, giving the fresh lyrics of the bridge more prominence and widening the theme to include the crutches people resort to in response to overwhelming anxiety:
And I can't fall asleep
Without a little help
It takes a while to settle down my shivered bones
Until the panic's out
As Matt sings those last two lines, Bryan launches into a flurry of high toms and snare beats while the music rises in sync. Suddenly Bryan cuts back to half-time and the soundscape-filling music of the bridge is replaced by a steady drone, held chords from guitar and piano and ethereal background vocals—a dramatic musical setting that allows Matt to attach words to emotions that are virtually indescribable:
It takes an ocean not to break
It takes an ocean not to break
It takes an ocean not to break
It takes an ocean not to break
It's quiet company
It's quiet company
These words are sung to the same melody as the verses, but Matt sings these lines in a higher octave, imbuing them with a certain poignancy. The next verse leads directly to a repetition of the opening verse which in turn is followed by three intonations of "It takes an ocean not to break." During this run-on lyrical passage, more layers are added to the build while Bryan bangs away on drums and cymbals—and as the music increases in volume you get the distinct impression that the build is both vertical and horizontal—it sounds like Matt is surrounded by increasing pressure, the solitary man trying to make himself heard above the noise, the fear, and the raucous voices of an anxious world. The music to the fade is in the key of G, and the band makes the wise and appropriate decision to end the song on the tension chord (D) rather than seeking resolution to the G root—the anxiety remains unsatisfied and unresolved. With its unique sonic qualities and almost overwhelming power, "Terrible Love" seems more like a closing number than an album opener, but its place in the pole position tells us that the National intends to leave it all on the playing field.
Given the National's modus operandi of addressing the darker sides of human nature, it's fairly easy to misinterpret "Sorrow" as another tale of woe involving a person who is fucked-up by a fucked-up world. I would say that such an interpretation has some truth in it—in the same way that satire reflects the truth. Just read the lyrics to the first two verses, think about all the people you know and then ask yourself if it reminds you of a certain someone:
Sorrow found me when I was young
Sorrow waited, sorrow won
Sorrow, they put me on the pill
It's in my honey, it's in my milk
Don't leave my hyper heart alone on the water
Cover me in rag-and-bone sympathy
'Cause I don't wanna get over you
I don't wanna get over you
Yes! It's the whiny moaner! The person in your life who embraces tragedy, mourns lost love forever and never moves the fuck on! You don't have to ask about what medication they're on—they'll tell you about all the meds they're on and how they never seem to do the trick. As Aaron Dessner put it in the promotional video, "We're just goofing around," he says. "A lot of people assume that we're miserable guys and this music is dark, but actually there's quite a lot of humor in it. 'Sorrow' is a sad song, but it is also a kind of weird celebration of feeling sorrow . . . some people like that feeling and they don't want to get rid of it."
There's a big difference between clinical depression and a "poor me" hidden agenda.
The music is ironically beautiful, driven by rapid guitar strums and Devendorf's contrary hang-back beats. The contrast reflects the disconnection of a tale that doesn't quite ring true, a theme supported by the melancholy sound of bowed strings and angelic background vocals. The meditative beauty of the music does present a bit of a problem in that it encourages empathy for the whiny moaner when what he really needed was a musical whack upside the head.
Next up are two songs that reference life in New York City, where the Cincinnati boys who make up the band found a home in trendy Brooklyn. "Anyone's Ghost" is a non-linear failed relationship story involving two introverts, one of whom serves as the narrator. She blows him off by claiming she had the flu; he finds out "from friends that wasn't true." Instead, she decides to take a walk, the kind of walk that only an introvert would take, making a defiant protest against the overwhelming impersonality of life in the big city:
Go out at night
With your headphones on again
And walk through
The Manhattan valleys of the dead
The narrator is still stuck on the chick, insisting that he "Didn't wanna be your ghost/Didn't wanna be anyone's ghost" but also admitting he can't let go: "But I don't want anybody else/I don't want anybody else." Interestingly enough, he recalls a conversation where she accused him of excessive introversion and heartlessness:
You said I came close
As anyone's come
To live underwater
For more than a month
You said it was not inside my heart, it was
You said it should tear a kid apart, it does
Whether he wound up with custody of a child or she's referring to his "inner child" is uncertain but the depiction of relational tension is spot-on. What is certain is that the breakup was much harder for the narrator than his partner, as Matt describes with vivid imagery:
I had a hole in the middle
Where the lightning went through it
Told my friends not to worry
I had a hole in the middle
Someone's sideshow wouldn't do it
The heavy use of minor chords in a minor key certainly strengthens the sadness in the tale, as does the addition of a female background vocal in the chorus.
My initial take on "Little Faith" was that it was a song that uses time travel as a means of comparing the experience of growing up in Southern Ohio to adult life in the Big Apple, but I felt that I was missing something. The religious imagery in the song baffled me and the few interpretations I read were of no use at all in solving that puzzle. What was the meaning of "All our lonely kicks are getting harder to find/We'll play nuns versus priests until somebody cries?"
Then I read Matt Berninger's mini-bio on Wikipedia and found this: "Berninger is a 1989 graduate of St. Xavier High School in Cincinnati, Ohio." I checked out the St. Xavier page, where I learned that "The independent, non-diocesan school is operated by the Midwest Province of the Society of Jesus as one of four all-male Catholic high schools in the Archdiocese of Cincinnati." Matt is listed on that page in the "Notable Alumni" section. The next step was to google "Matt Berninger religion" and . . . miraculously . . . I found a brilliant interpretation of both lyrics and music in an article called "The National's Secular Heaven," written by Jack Nuelle for Image:
For example, in the apocalyptic "Little Faith," from 2010's High Violet, the narrator uses and discards religious language dispassionately. We're borne along a post-religious, almost dystopian landscape, a witness to monotony, horror, and a certain black comedy. A "little faith" is good "to make us laugh," but not much more. It tags along as we embrace the easy banality of destruction in our modern world, setting "a fire just to see what it kills." The narrator, marooned, is "stuck in New York as the rain's coming down." In a surreal take on a childhood game like cops and robbers, he and his fellow citizens of the bored, lonely city "play nuns versus priests until somebody cries," just because there's nothing else of value to do. The only hope, distant as it is, is to leave everything behind, even "our excellent souls," and "head to the coast." It's either that, or remain stranded in "line at the Vanity Fair." Even as the storm rages, the pretty girls are sucked into the sky, and Radio City sinks.
"Little Faith" is a storm in many ways. It begins with jagged distortion, almost like white noise; the aural equivalent of the curling colors on a Doppler radar screen. Its religious language is nothing but debris. Nuns and priests are temporary tools, meaningless except as playthings, quaint curiosities, or just more flotsam caught up in the rain-soaked gutter. Along with the soul, they're to be discarded at the first sign of weather.
Well done! The only piece missing is the secondary theme of Ohio-to-Brooklyn, captured in the tantalizing verse "Leave our red Southern souls/Head for the coast/Leave our red Southern souls/Everything goes." There are several threads on the Internet devoted to the question "Is Cincinnati a midwestern city or a southern city?" While the consensus slightly leans toward "midwestern," the electoral maps confirm that Southern Ohio is generally as red as neighboring Kentucky but Cincinnati qualifies as purple. I would also add that the contrast between the "jagged distortion" and the orchestration of cello, violin, viola, trombone and cornet perfectly expresses the uncomfortable tension that lives inside a person of "little faith."
The next song is about . . . having a kid. Long-time readers are fully aware that I have neither the desire nor the maternal instincts to give birth to a child or adopt one, but my refusal to enter the ranks of motherhood isn't entirely a matter of wanting to avoid the havoc a kid would wreak on my sex life. I never take on a responsibility unless I'm fully committed to seeing it through and raising a child is an enormous responsibility.
Matt Berninger learned this fundamental truth when he became a parent during the break between Boxer and High Violet. "'Afraid of Everyone' is anxiety and paranoia and not knowing how to deal with it, that's what that song's about. And desperately wanting to defend yourself and your family from the chaotic forces of evil, and you don't even know what they are, or who's right or who's wrong and what to believe." (Spinner UK)
I have many favorite Matt Berninger vocals, but his vocal on "Afraid of Everyone" stands out because of its transparency—the feelings are raw and unfiltered, the desperation undeniably genuine. Most songs about parenting are all sweetness-and-light and lean strongly towards the sentimental; "Afraid of Everyone" eschews sentiment in favor of honesty, acknowledging the push-pull between fear and love at the heart of the parental experience:
I defend my family with my orange umbrella
I'm afraid of everyone, I'm afraid of everyone
With my shiny new star-spangled tennis shoes on
I'm afraid of everyone, I'm afraid of everyone
With my kid on my shoulders I try
Not to hurt anybody I like
But I don't have the drugs to sort
I don't have the drugs to sort it out, sort it out . . .
Your voice has stolen my soul, soul, soul
Your voice has stolen my soul, soul, soul . . . (repeated several times during the closing build)
In addition to Matt's stirring lead vocal, the vocal contributions of frequent collaborator Sufjan Stevens also stand out, a cascade of harmonic swoops and spot harmonies that give the song a patina of beautiful melancholy.
We return to the Buckeye State for a fuller treatment of the experience of leaving one's place of origin and finding a new home where you don't feel quite at home. Most of the band members weighed in on "Bloodbuzz Ohio" in a piece featured in Uncut Magazine, so let's start there:
- Berninger: "It's about being stuck between an old version of yourself and the one you're becoming. I was trying to shed my skin. That's what the first line about lifting up my shirt means to me. I definitely didn't feel like the same person I used to be. I didn't feel like an Ohioan anymore and I definitely was not a New Yorker. I was married with a baby, living in Brooklyn, which was still a foreign land to me, and on the verge of becoming a rockstar if I didn't blow it."
- Aaron Dessner: "To me it was a lament, an existential nostalgic love song about where we're from, about family and the way America is so frayed and divided. So you can be family in blood but estranged because of social values. Obama had just gotten in, but we were coming out of the Bush years and the financial crisis had meant people had worked their whole life and watched their savings just disappear. Hence 'I still owe money to the money to the money I owe'."
- Scott Devendorf: "There's a homesickness to the song. We're a band from Ohio that formed in New York. So we were channeling the feeling of being away from a place you knew in another life."
Starting in the late 90s, Brooklyn became something of a music mecca for indie musicians. Having spent some time in both Cincinnati and Brooklyn, I can understand the culture shock the band members must have experienced. On a personal level, I relate most to Matt's comment that Brooklyn was "still a foreign land to me," because that's what Seattle felt like to me when I moved there from San Francisco. The two cities may appear to be alike, but there were many cultural assumptions I brought with me from The City that simply didn't apply to life in Seattle. (Fact: I never went to a restaurant in Seattle where I wasn't the best-dressed person in the joint.) Matt explained the term "bloodbuzz" as "like something about like your history or family or what's in your blood," and for most people, the bloodbuzz comes from the culture and family of your origins. Part of me will always be a San Franciscan in the era from 1981-2006.
The music is marked by another strong build blending orchestral textures with rough guitar, but the star of this show is Bryan Devendorf, who provides the bulk of the song's intense forward movement in a start-to-finish display of virtuoso drumming. The contrast between Bryan's fervent, high-speed beats and the steady held-notes from the string section creates a fascinating backdrop for Matt's restrained vocal, which carries with it a tone somewhere between detachment and disappointment as he revisits his old stomping grounds. The rising tide of music stops briefly for the first line of the third verse, where Matt reflects on the experience of going home:
I was carried to Ohio in a swarm of bees
I never married but Ohio don't remember me
I still owe money to the money, to the money I owe
I never thought about love when I thought about home
I still owe money to the money, to the money I owe
The floors are falling out from everybody I know
The combination of those floors falling out due to the collapse of the housing bubble and the strange obliviousness of the Democrats to the suffering taking place in the Rust Belt would eventually form the great divide that gave us Donald Trump. "Bloodbuzz Ohio" was understandably the first single from the album and did fairly well on the charts, but apparently no one thought to give Obama or Hillary a copy.
"Lemonworld" adds a touch of lightness and a bit of whimsy to the mix, a song Matt described as "basically a dirty song about my wife." Of all the songs on High Violet, "Lemonworld" is the one best suited for a group sing-a-long, assuming your acoustic guitarist remembered to bring a capo and place it on the first fret so they don't have to deal with the awkwardness of a song in A#. The chorus is easy to remember and has plenty of doo-doo-doo-doo's for those who drank too much. You will need at least one sober person to take the verses, which lack the repeated lines you might have come to expect in a song by the National. This shouldn't present much of a problem because lines like "This pricey stuff makes me dizzy/I guess I've always been a delicate man" and "Lay me on the table, put flowers in my mouth/And we can say that we invented a summer lovin' torture party" are certainly memorable. Go for it!
"Runaway" may be "the most understated, spacious song on the album" according to Aaron Dessner, but despite its lovely combination of arpeggiated guitar and beautifully arranged horns, the meandering lyrics fail to justify the five-and-a-half minutes of recording time. The song could be about climate change . . . or a relationship gone sour . . . or who knows?
"Conversation 16" began life as "Romantic Comedy," but as the tale unfolds we find that it's really a romantic dark comedy and about as far away from Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan as you can get. The male half of the heterosexual marriage serves as the narrator, and in the process of narration reveals aspects of his personality that he has (probably wisely) kept secret from his wife. The first verse gives us the immediate impression that the parents are utterly incompetent and indifferent to their children, but in a surprising twist, the narrator reveals dark thoughts that a RomCom dad would never admit:
I think the kids are in trouble
Do not know what all the troubles are for
Give them ice for their fevers
You're the only thing I ever want anymore
Live on coffee and flowers
Try not to wonder what the weather will be
I figured out what we're missing
I tell you miserable things after you are asleep
In the chorus, the narrator tries to blame life in the big city as the cause of their discontent ("Now we'll leave the silver city 'cause all the silver girls/Gave us black dreams") but the next verse reveals that the real problem is that their marriage is a show marriage designed to project marital bliss to the watching world. Unfortunately, the dark feelings bubbling underneath the narrator's presentation lead to a faux pas which can only be corrected by staging a ménage à deux version of a scene from Fellini's La Dolce Vita—while making sure their friends are are paying attention:
It's a Hollywood summer
You'd never believe the shitty thoughts I think
Meet our friends out for dinner
When I said what I said, I didn't mean anything
We belong in a movie
Try to hold it together 'til our friends are gone
We should swim in a fountain
Do not want to disappoint anyone
At this point, we're pretty convinced that both man and wife are hopelessly not in love, and while the hubby seems to have a few loose screws, he's no more neurotic than the rest of us. That perception is blown sky-high as the direction shifts from Fellini to George A. Romero:
I was afraid, I'd eat your brains
I was afraid, I'd eat your brains
'Cause I'm evil
'Cause I'm evil
Well! I know that it's common to refer to people who mindlessly conform to social expectations as zombies, but I wasn't expecting one of the zombies to admit it! The narrator seems to pooh-pooh that admission in the next verse, where he describes himself as a "confident liar," but in the following line uses a threat of suicide in a pathetic attempt to gain sympathy: "Had my head in the oven so you'd know where I'll be." The pathos continues with his "poor me" apology that he's lousy at romance and in the sack, but he assures his wife that "You're the only thing I ever want anymore," because downtrodden women always think it's their fault if the guy can't come up with a hard one.
I'm thinking "dark romantic farce" might be a better description of "Conversation 16," and I will admit that the song does tickle my funny bone. The music has a certain melodramatic flavor, accentuated by the strong bottom sound of a bassoon and the seven-part choral vocal designed and performed by Arcade Fire's Richie Reed Parry. The Devendorf brothers keep things moving with their unsurprisingly stellar rhythmic contributions, and I get the distinct impression that Matt enjoyed playing the part of the wannabe zombie.
"England" is a rather bitter reminiscence of a long-lost love, a failed long-distance relationship, or both. She "must be somewhere in London . . . loving your life in the rain"; he's in a "Los Angeles cathedral" where "Minor singin' airheads sing for me." The lyrics hint at a dramatic life change for her, as she "Put an ocean and a river between everybody else/Between everything, yourself and home." In this situation, "home" means the home where they once lived together, now transformed into an unbearable place for him ("Afraid of the house spend the night with the sinners/Afraid of the house 'cause they're desperate to entertain"). The music has a certain stateliness about it, a mood reinforced by Thomas Bartlett's piano contribution and the chamber strings. While the arrangement is solid (except for the out-of-place rough guitar that appears in spots) and I like the song, I'm not sure it was a good fit for the album from a thematic perspective.
There's no doubt about fit when it comes to the closing song, "Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks," though the Berningerese title may baffle the uninitiated. "Vanderlyle" is the first name of the character depicted in the song, the result of Matt's painstaking search for a name with a cadence that echoed "Pennyroyal" from Nirvana's "Pennyroyal Tea." The character's full name is Vanderlyle Crybaby, for reasons that will become apparent shortly. That leaves "Geeks," which Matt added to the title "because a lot of people thought that I was saying 'geese.'" I have no reason to doubt his explanation, but it glides over the fact that geeks are core to the song's meaning.
So, let's talk geeks. "The word geek is a slang term originally used to describe eccentric or non-mainstream people; in current use, the word typically connotes an expert or enthusiast obsessed with a hobby or intellectual pursuit. In the past, it had a generally pejorative meaning of a 'peculiar person, especially one who is perceived to be overly intellectual, unfashionable, boring, or socially awkward'. In the 21st century, it was reclaimed and used by many people, especially members of some fandoms, as a positive term." (Wikipedia)
The article's author did a nice job but should have taken one more step to tie it all together and another step to say the unsaid. "Geek" is a positive term because geeks have embraced their perceived eccentric, non-mainstream orientation in the same way the formerly pejorative term "queers" has been embraced by the gay community. "Yeah, I'm different and proud of it!" What's unsaid is that geeks are generally perceived to lack emotional intelligence—they're so obsessed with their computers, hobbies and intellectual pursuits that the emotions of others are experienced as unnecessary noise and many of their own emotions are suppressed or simply too complex to communicate.
And just because geeks and queers have embraced their non-mainstream orientation doesn't mean that they don't experience the pain that comes with that embrace, the pain that comes from daring to be different.
We're introduced to the main character with two measures of somber strings bowing held notes and a low-register piano establishing a slow waltz. In a stunning display of poetic economy, Berninger paints a clear picture of Vanderlyle in a few brief phrases:
Leave your home
Change your name
Live alone
Eat your cake
We can infer that Vanderlyle sought a clean break from both an environment that was alien to him and the identity he faked in that environment. Now he finds himself alone in unfamiliar settings, and the ironic line "eat your cake" implies that he is unable to "eat his cake and have it, too." This perception is confirmed in the first rendition of the chorus, where the narrator (possibly an acquaintance) empathizes with his plight and urges him to let the pain come out—an empathy reflected just as strongly in the rising strings and vocal harmony that accompany Matt's heartfelt vocal:
Vanderlyle Crybaby cry
Oh, the water's a-rising
There's still no surprising you
Vanderlyle Crybaby cry
Man, it's all been forgiven
Swans are a-swimmin'
My take is that "Man, it's all been forgiven" is in response to Vanderlyle's feeling that he fucked up by leaving the safety of the known for the uncertainty of the unknown; he's a human being in desperate need of the catharsis expressed in a good cry. The narrator then adds, "I'll explain everything to the geeks," which tells us three things: that Vanderlyle is a geek himself; that he's worried about the reaction of his peers if he reveals his emotions; and that the narrator has his back.
At this point, the music settles into a more clearly defined waltz thanks to Bryan's subtle drumming and the addition of a few more layers (strings, acoustic guitar and bowed electric guitar). The narrator offers additional comfort, repeating the couplet "All the very best of us/String ourselves up for love" four times. The implication is that the cause of Vanderlyle's relocation involved a failed relationship. Some have interpreted "string ourselves up" as a hanging, but I think "stringing the Christmas lights" is closer to the truth. We all try to make ourselves attractive to a potential lover, but there's always the risk that that "stringing up" will fail to impress the other or compromise our integrity by presenting a "false self." The second version of this verse reads "Hanging from/Chandeliers/Same small world/At your heels," which seems to confirm the false self hypothesis.
All I know is this: by the time we arrive at the final rendition of the chorus and the achingly beautiful music has swelled to its peak, I can't help but let it all out in tears. I would certainly characterize "Vanderlyle Crybaby Cry" as a great song, but that's my personal opinion, not a critical evaluation. As is often the case, we define a particular song as "great" because it reminds us of an emotionally packed experience in our own lives, and I can't listen to this song without going back to my decision to leave the United States and move to France. Like Vanderlye, I left my home and changed my name, adopting my French mother's maiden name as an act of commitment to my new life. And though I'd been to Paris many times, my first few weeks there were filled with anxiety and a deep uneasiness (though my catharsis came from an entirely different source). After listening to the frequently difficult but truthful depictions of life in our fucked-up world that fill High Violet, I will remain eternally grateful to the National for closing the album with an empathetic message that allowed listeners to achieve catharsis.
During my research, I read hundreds of comments from listeners who had also experienced catharsis while listening to the songs on High Violet. Those listeners frequently described their personal favorite as "beautiful."
If you're wondering how an album immersed in anxiety, relationship difficulties, disconnection from home and the belief that all is not right in the world can be beautiful, you might want to take a minute to reconnect with John Keats. Truth can be beautiful even when the truth is ugly; the Grecian urn contained images of "happy love" and cruel sacrifice. Artists often express truths that we mere mortals find elusive, and when we experience truth as expressed through art—whether in music, poetry, theatre or the visual arts—it is a beautiful experience indeed.
I have no hesitation whatsoever in calling High Violet a beautiful album.


text:
After the draw at St. Andrews I contended that Liverpool needed to change the way they played to get results. They were too narrow, with no pace and their full-backs went nowhere. It led to a dour game of football and a nil all draw that kept Liverpool in the lower regions of the table. The problem then was a lack of invention, a resistance to change and a team still getting to know each other, yesterday that all changed.
When the game kicked off and Chelsea kept the ball bouncing around their defence for 1 solid minute I felt a cold sense of dread as I expected a dour game of Football as Liverpool would kill the game by sitting behind the ball. I was wrong, whilst the plan was to allow the Chelsea back line (and Mikel) on the ball the rest of the team would be hussled and harried all over the pitch. I thought Kuyt would be on the right, he wasn't. He popped up 'in the hole' and played off Torres whilst providing the Energy in the middle of the park to keep Ramires (one word, woeful) off balance whilst allowing Lucas and Gerrard to keep Florent Malouda quiet. It was a terrific team effort and showed a cohesion and unison that had been hitherto missing.
Also, I didn't expect to see young Martin Kelly in the line-up which was as brave as it was successful. With Malouda being choked in midfield, Kelly and Meireles (nominally on the right) kept Zhirkov and Ashley Cole quiet, which was a truly remarkable achievement given his particular form this season. Throwing the young Englishman into a match against the Champions could've easily back-fired and left Hodgson in the lurch. It wasn't the only brave decision that Hodgson has taken over the past fortnight – his decision to leave Torres and Gerrard out in Naples was justified by the result as was putting his captain on the bench for the return leg. It has been said that it is better to be lucky than good but there is no luck involved so far in this Anfield turn-around.
In terms of the match itself it was (sigh) a game of two halves – the first Liverpool showed verve and dynamism during the game. Martin Kelly was encouraged to get forward and Kuyt exploited the space he was afforded to exquisite effect as he released Torres. The second goal came from a similar position as the much maligned – by me – Raul Meireles was in the same position but laid the ball off to Torres. In the second half the tables were turned, Didier Drogba's introduction coincided with a 'you shall not pass' performance from Liverpool's defence and midfield. Helped by the ever-excellent Pepe Reina, whose stop from Malouda was only eclipsed by Cech's later save, Reina has and always will be key this season if only he had captured that ball on opening day(without his lone mistake, Liverpool would be joint fifth).
Of course, all this Liverpool talk takes out of the equation the other team on Sunday. If this was Liverpool's best performance of the season (almost certainly so) then it was Chelsea's worst. The forced omission of Drogba (reports of a fever) and the continued absence of Essien and Lampard stripped Chelsea of any industry in midfield, Ramires looks a very good player when he has time but he was roughed up on Sunday to good effect, something that would not work on Essien. Nicolas Anelka continues to be a riddle inside a mystery wrapped in an enigma. On the right side of an attack he can drift in an out of a game but as the central attacker he needs to be more disciplined and going up against a fired-up Jamie Carragher he was ineffective to say the least. However he was Fernando Torres in comparison to Salmon Kalou whose completely inept display rivalled only that of Theo Walcott over the weekend for record breaking futility.
Speaking of 'El Nino', this really couldn't be an analysis without the temperamental Spaniard. Channelling the form of the striker who burst onto the Anfield scene against, who else, Chelsea. Torres picked apart the Chelsea rear-guard, on a day that John Terry would like to forget, he hussled and harried and generally looked like he was fit. His omission from the Europa League has been a success as he really hasn't been ready for two games a week; in fact he was barely ready for one game. If he continues this level of fitness his form will continue, look at the picture at the top is that a man dissatisfied with his club? For me, he has been carrying an injury rather than being unsettled (of course I thought that about Rooney).
Finally, how is this winning the Liverpool way, well as I indicated earlier I've written about Liverpool before this season and had this to say:
"On the player front Liverpool still rely (too) heavily on three players. Steven Gerrard ( who is now playing better for his country than his club), Fernando Torres (who is far from his imperious best) and Pepe Reina"
Perhaps I can add Dirk Kuyt to that list but the point remains salient, Liverpool are relying heavily on their very best players (then again who isn't) but until now they had not been performing. In one match it all clicked, Liverpool took the lead through Torres and then showed the defensive resilience which has not been evident until now either. Under Benitez this was Liverpool's forté, relying on Torres, Gerrard and at one point Alonso to unlock defences whilst relying on Finnan, Carragher and Hyypia to be consistently solid at the back. This was the form that led them to a European Cup and to second in the league. A lack of investment strangled the quality out of the squad so only the core remains. The players have changed, the squad is thinner but the future looks brighter for Liverpool fans.
Yesterday, the formation had changed, the team has been refined and more importantly form and confidence has been restored. Whether this is due to new ownership, a time to adjust to Roy and his training or just a regression to the mean (Liverpool couldn't be that bad all the time). Whether this positivity is as 'knee-jerk' as the negativity was earlier in the season, only time will tell. For me though the changes have been made since St. Andrews, they've worked and there is only one man to take credit for that, Roy Hodgson.
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text:
CELAYA: Over a dozen gunmen went on a shooting spree in the Mexican city of Celaya on Tuesday, killing 11 people, including eight women at a hotel and its two bars. More than 50 shots were fired in the ambush which lasted lesser than a minute.
The shooting is being linked to cartel warfare, reported the New York Post.
Some of the 15 gunmen, who were hooded threw Molotov cocktails in the bars, badly burning one of the establishments. Graphic photos of the crime scene have emerged on social media which revealed women heaped in pools of blood between tables while another body was seen on the sidewalk.
Seven women and three men were pronounced dead on the spot itself after they were shot dead. The eleventh victim, a woman, passed away, later in the hospital, security and government officials reported. Five other people were injured in the shooting, reported New York Post.
Photos posted on social media suggested the killers belonged to the Santa Rosa de Lima gang seemingly accusing the bars' owners of supporting the rival Jalisco cartel, according to The Associated Press.
The bloodbath came just hours after three dismembered bodies were found nearby in plastic bags — also containing warning messages left on cardboard.
Pieces of cardboard with messages "alluding to a criminal group" were also found at the crime scene, reported New York Post. According to security officials, Mexico's National Guard, and the Defense Ministry, alongside Guanajuato state security forces were in search of the gunmen.
Reportedly, the city of Guanajuato has turned out to be one of the most violent areas of Mexico in recent years as drug trafficking gangs continue to fight for control.
Government data reveals 933 homicides recorded in the first four months of 2022 in Guanajuato. In the month of March, seven charred bodies were recovered. The dead bodies were found abandoned in a pick-up truck in Celaya. (ANI)


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text:
Tag: Republican
Here Lies the United States of America (1789-2017), Killed by Donald Trump
Ask yourself why it makes you more comfortable to have a man as POTUS who has been reported as actively pursuing your vote because it will make you feel more comfortable as an American who is afraid of losing real or perceived influence in the country simply based on your race.
My Fantasy 2016 Election
I don't have the candidates of my dreams this year, and that's okay…well, no it's not, but I'm experienced enough by now to work within whatever situation I find myself to learn how to be content and make the best of a bad situation.
Episode 48 | Benghazi – Worst Thing Ever?
Bengazi? Really, tho? Y'all Republicans are just going to ignore the over 100,000 dead from 9/11, Afghanistan, and Iraq and use the 4 dead Americans from Benghazi to raise money? Oh. Okay, sis.
Conservatives Want To Save America
On the heels of yesterday's Obamacare enrollment numbers success (!) comes news that the Supreme Court, in a butt-hurt 5-4 ruling, determined that rich people can contribute to politicians without limit.
Deadbeat Dad Joe Walsh Thanks God For Racial Profiling
…You think that this is good police work to assume the worst of all blacks and Latinos in your city, and that is completely okay, forgetting that most violent crime in the country is committed by white people…against other white people. You say nothing about how we might need to start racially profiling white people outside of NYC and Chicago. Again, you'd be Joe Walsh, whose kids don't know what it's like to have a father provide for them.
Kumar Won't Leave White Castle
Racists are really trying my patience this week. Stop and Frisk was struck down in NYC and the last person I'd think who'd be sad about it would be a minority, Democratic Obama Administration employee and actor, but that's exactly who is sad – Kal Penn. Kal Penn, Orson Scott Card, and Peggy Noonan are some scared white people. Except that no one has told Kal Penn that he isn't white lately.
Pat Buchanan Is Satan's Boy-Toy
Pat Buchanan, noted Conservative American racist and alleged Christian, throws his support behind Russian President Vladimir Putin for his anti-gay laws. I don't have the time for his shenanigans and I am sick of Pat Buchanan's fraudulent and bigoted Christianity.
Christians and Republicans, Sitting in a Tree…
I was inspired to do this blog post today based on another blog post I read from Forward Progressives about how Republicans are not Christians, but they used Christianity to blindly guide Christians into voting along with the party and tying their beliefs to a political party. Christians and Republicans never should have gotten hitched. The […]
Rand Paul Really Wants To Be Elected President in 2016
U.S. Senator Rand Paul is continuing to build his political brand out in these streets. He spoke at Howard University (an historically Black university in Washington, DC) today and from what I gleaned from the speech (taken from direct quotes and summaries), it seems that he proposed some solutions I could pay attention to. He […]
State of the Union: My Take
Last night, President Barack Hussein Obama II delivered the first State of the Union Address of his second term. Overall, honestly, I was "meh" with the speech. He highlighted some things that are moving the country forward (thanks in no part to the Republican party), and I liked some of his proposals. I just wish […]


text:
This season's (and next year's)
United obituary
at the new place.
Thanks to everyone who's moved their bookmarks, blogrolls, and readers. Please tag along the rest of you.
Posted at 08:04 AM in DCU/Soccer, DCU10, My Complicity | Permalink
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Hey Man, game post is over at the NEW PLACE. Thanks if you've already moved your bookmarks, blogrolls, and eyes over there, thanks in advance in hopes that you do if you haven't.
Posted at 09:25 AM in DCU/Soccer, My Complicity | Permalink
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On Moreno's last game.
For those of you who read me for soccer only - who hate the politics, hate the other stuff - and who've bookmarked or blogrolled or readered me at the DCU category level, I've moved HERE and set up a label DCU so you can do the same there.
Long story short: typepad can't do what blogger does re: make blogging easier for me. I'm selfish this way. Thanks in advance for tagging along.
Posted at 08:45 AM in DCU/Soccer, DCU10, My Complicity | Permalink
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Alright, I think I've successfully blogrolled everyone at THE NEW PLACE who is still alive and who was on the blogroll at the this old place. If you don't see yourself at THE NEW PLACE in the right-hand column under BECAUSE you're in the left-hand column BECAUSE because it makes things easier from a me organizational point-of-view. If you are on the old blogrolls but don't see yourself on the blogrolls at THE NEW PLACE, please send me an email (blckdgrd ampersand gmail dot com), or if you are being Kind to me and I'm not reciprocating, and/or you want to Hey Sailor me, send an email too.
I realize that moving to THE NEW PLACE at a time when I'm getting more hits than ever smacks of self-destructive stupidity, but getting angry at motherfucking typepad was motherfucking unfun and I can find unfun by the motherfucking bucketful without motherfucking typepad's help, and the look there is better and Ba'al bless the updating blogrolls, they're both boon to you bloggers I pimp and a lazy man's dream.
I recognize the inconvenience. Sincere and flattered thanks to friends who've already rewired their bumps to THE NEW PLACE, advance thanks to everyone who will move their bumps and eyes to THE NEW PLACE too.
Links and music will be posted here for at least another week (though not updates and link updates in posts), though no promises.
UPDATE! Though to be a pest, if you want to hear the new Fever Ray cover of Gabriel's Mercy Street that I literally just heard for the first time, go here.
But not the poem, because motherfucking typepad fucks up the line-breaks every goddamn time, and I don't need the arrgh to deal with it. The poem from which the post's title is taken is at THE NEW PLACE.
Another one of dozens of my five favorite songs ever:
Posted at 09:45 AM in aargocalyptic, Ask Fleabus, Autoblogography, Books, Current Affairs, Daggregator, DCU/Soccer, Mocomofo, Music, My Complicity, obamapology, obamapostasy, Poem | Permalink
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Well, here's yesterday's obamapostasy. Today's Columbus Day, so it might not be until tomorrow Obama scolds me for my shallow fealty and selfishness, my blindness at his obamawesomeness, my traitorously irresponsible threats to not vote this cycle.
Speaking of threats: It's happening (go on, look), but it's still in the very early exploratory stage. I haven't yet discovered all the ways blooger sucks, but tell me, old bloogers, is there a way to set links so they open in a new window? That's one thing typepad does that, as far as I can tell, blooger doesn't. That's not a deal-breaker, and I love the self-updating blogrolls (and if I move I'll be pinging some of you less - though reading new content, of course - because I've been using your self-updating blogrolls as a shortcut) (though the work and aargh of creating those blogrolls, both as a conscientious effort of Kind and as pain-in-the-ass time-wise is both mighty incentive and, subsequently, mighty disincentive). I like I can make photos and youtubes bigger and need break long lines in poems less often. I love that if I can find the poem I'm looking for online (so I don't have to type it) it formats in blooger with none of the grief formatting in typepad causes. I dig the url.
I haven't written about tablets here in a while which by no means means I've stopped writing about tablets. I'm a rube for a new tablet, as if it will make better what I scribble in it. I don't think I've ever gone as long between reformating BLCKDGRD's appearance since I switched to this template three years at least ago. Typepad doesn't allow archiving in an old formats when switching to a new format - if I widened the middle column every Fleabus photo fit for the old format will be too small, line breaks in poems will be fucked. I worry about shit like this. But mostly I'm bored and I have a new tablet.
I'll will cross-post both places for at least a couple of months, but if you're inclined to be Kind, those of you who've blogrolled me, bookmarked me, subscribed to me, I apologize for the inconvenience and thank you in advance for your taking the trouble to move with me.
Carl Phillips
As when a long forgetfulness lifts suddenly, and what
we'd forgotten—as we look at it squarely, then again
refuse to look—is our own
inconsequence, yes, it was
mostly like that, sex as both an act of defacement and—
as if the two were the same thing—votive offering,
insofar as the leaves
also were a kind of offering, or could
at least be said to be, as they kept falling the way leaves
do: volitionless, from different heights, and in the one direction.
Elric moved his stuff out of our basement yesterday and I found three CD racks I hadn't seen the four years and remembered a bunch of bands I hadn't thought of in a while, like this one:
Posted at 09:02 AM in aargocalyptic, Autoblogography, Books, Current Affairs, Daggregator, DCU/Soccer, Fuck-Me Jig, Mocomofo, Music, My Complicity, obamapology, obamapostasy, Poem, Posts I Wish I Hadn't, Shoot Me Now, STFU Kurt Morsink | Permalink
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The Moreno/McDonald incident that led to the red cards in the 8th minute was off-ball, so I didn't see it, and you know who else didn't see it? Alex Prus, the referee, who, after consulting with a side-line ref who was at least 40 yards from the incident, red-carded both players. Maybe the players deserved it - TV replays only show the elbow to Jaime's head - but the bigger question is why would MLS assign Alex Prus to a DCU game just two weeks after Alex Prus shit the bed at RFK?
The man in the middle was referee Alex Prus, who, just two weeks ago, tossed both coaches during the United-Houston Dynamo match at RFK Stadium. United officials were baffled as to why Prus was working another one of their games so soon. On a side note, after tonight's match, Prus hosted a previously scheduled seminar upstairs at RFK for, I believe, local fans and refs.
What a motherfucking rinkydink league.
Not that it mattered. United was never going to score, San Jose was going to score eventually - the most interesting aspect of the TV replay is listening to the contempt The Bowtie, who usually is such a fucking homer, had for both United's offense and defense. (Maybe it was because Dave Johnson, who is a bigger homer than The Bowtie, wasn't on the call and The Bowtie felt liberated.) Listen to The Bowtie scold Graye for Wondolowski's first goal, scold the entire defense for Wondolowski's second goal, listen to Tony Linarzi and The Bowtie berate Pablo Hernandez for dancing in the box rather than take an open shot - I'm told to STFU about Hernandez until he's surrounded by better players and can be fairly accessed, and I like his motor, I like his first touch, but shoot the fucking ball.
And Troy Perkins, who had no chance on the first San Jose goal but was fully responsible for the second, thank you, you were the only United player who as much as clapped at LOUD SIDE! after the game, who actually walked over and into the crowd. United sucks - and I mean SUCKS! - and we're still there. Which makes them ingrates, which makes us rubes.
Posted at 08:55 AM in aargocalyptic, DCU/Soccer, DCU10, My Complicity, STFU Kurt Morsink | Permalink
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So I log onto motherfucking typepad this morning and there's a new editing platform and it sucks unto blow and blows unto suck. Compare the space between the above Fleabus photo and the text of this post with the space between the Fleabus photo and text in this post. An eighth of an inch of motherfucking aargh, and there's no fucking fixing it. Motherfucking typepad has always sucked, dropping colors, dropping fonts, dropping links, dropping margins, dropping formatting, eating text, eating posts, and now it sucks more with a motherfucking upgraded editor? I'm paying $150 a year for this motherfucking suck? Fuckity, I can get all the motherfucking suck I want in this world for free (though if we want the 5% discount on next year's United season tickets we need to get it in by November, though I'm buying that motherfucking suck one way or the other).
Well, this is the last year I'm paying motherfucking typepad for the suck unless it's not. If I migrate I'll migrate slowly (I have eleven months of paid-for suck remaining), and once I figure out and format Blooger (which I'm told is still suckful though far less suckful than when it pissed me off in 2006, plus it has those cool self-updating blogrolls) or Wordpress, I'll cross-post both here and there for the first couple of months as I hassle you to update your bookmarks and blogrolls, though, knowing me, I'll probably spare you and me and just stay here and pay for and eat and spit my aargh for my daily aargh.
Denise Duhamel
Men are legally allowed to have sex with animals,
as long as the animals are female.
Having sexual relations with a male animal
is taboo and punishable by death.
As long as the fish are female
saleswomen in tropical fish stores are allowed to go topless.
Adultery is punishable by death
as long as the betrayed woman uses her bare hands to kill her husband.
Saleswomen in tropical fish stores are allowed to go topless,
but the gynecologist must only look at a woman's genitals in a mirror.
The woman uses her bare hands to kill her husband,
then his dead genitals must be covered with a brick.
The gynecologist must only look at a woman's genitals in a mirror
and never look at the genitals of a corpse—
these genitals must be covered with a brick.
The penalty for masturbation is decapitation.
A look at the genitals of a corpse
will confirm that not much happens in that region after death.
The penalty for masturbation is decapitation.
It is illegal to have sex with a mother and her daughter at the same time.
To confirm what happens during sex,
a woman's mother must be in the room to witness her daughter's deflowering,
though it is illegal to have sex with a mother and her daughter at the same time.
It is legal to sell condoms from vending machines as long as
a woman's mother is in the room to witness her daughter's deflowering.
Men are legally allowed to have sex with animals—
why it's even legal to sell condoms from vending machines, as long as
everyone's having sexual relations with a male animal.
The number 41 greatest music act according to KEXP's silly-ass fund-drive gimmick list happens to have made another one of dozens of my five favorite songs ever:
Posted at 12:03 PM in aargocalyptic, Ask Fleabus, Autoblogography, Books, Current Affairs, Daggregator, DCU 11, DCU/Soccer, Fuck-Me Jig, Mocomofo, Music, My Complicity, obamapology, obamapostasy, Poem, Posts I Wish I Hadn't, STFU Kurt Morsink | Permalink
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On my neighborhood's listserv:
Ideas? Anyone has Ideas?
Yes, no-kill rescues, and I sent her links. And fuck motherfucking puppy mills and the motherfucking crackers that support them because they hate the Humane Society.
An acquaintance told me he and his wife have found a new apartment, one where they can have pets, they're getting a purebred terrier and a bluepoint cat from reputable breeders, and no, I didn't ask had they considered rescues because what would asking have served beyond satisfying the scold in me.
Whoa, on Obama's mendacity of hope:
I'm not sure Gibbs has a coherent idea of what he means by the "left,"
but if opposition to permanent war, extrajudicial assassination of
American citizens, boundless state secrecy, and unlimited corporate
bailouts constitutes "leftism," then so be it. True to their Clintonian
principles, President Obama and his advisors have spurned the Democratic
Party's liberal base and have sought to govern by appropriating the
policies of the Republican right. Just as Bill Clinton enacted NAFTA and
destroyed welfare, Barack Obama has pushed through a health-care
program that was inspired by the Heritage Foundation and largely written
by the insurance lobby—and he shows every sign of being willing to
vandalize Social Security in the name of deficit reduction even though
the program has nothing to do with the federal budget deficit. Obama has
embraced the Bushite war on terror and has refused to roll back the
unconstitutional executive usurpations that so outraged his supporters.
And yet Democrats expect liberals to toe the line and shut the hell up
lest the Republicans take advantage of their dissent. In fact, for the
most part, the "professional left" of policy intellectuals, public
interest advocates, and opinion journalists have done just that.
All good and fine, but then he adds:
What's fascinating about the Democrats is how consistently they have
squandered enormous political advantages. The party's leaders have
apparently internalized Republican propaganda to the point that they
feel they do not deserve to rule; consequently, when Democrats come to
power, they always negotiate with themselves prior to meeting their
opponents, make the tough-minded decision to betray their most loyal
supporters, and profess shock and anger when the GOP—which never makes
the mistake of publicly spurning its base—refuses to accept the
purported bipartisan compromise. What results, of course, is that the
Democratic Party, over and over again, enacts some version of the
Republican agenda.
And that sums up the rube I try but fail to finally shed, the rube who gets screamed at because I don't quite want to shed it enough, the rube who gets lectured to by my dearest mentors who remember when progress (defined in their case by the civil and labor rights won post-Depression) was not only demanded and expected but achievable, the happy, fat, and domesticated rube who likes to play at being feral.
I sit on the tracks,
a hundred feet from
earth, fifty from the
water. Gerald is
inching toward me
as grim, slow, and
determined as a
season, because he
has no trade and wants
none. It's been nine months
since I last listened
to his fate, but I
know what he will say:
he's the fire hydrant
of the underdog.
When he reaches my
point above the creek,
he sits down without
salutation, and
spits profoundly out
past the edge, and peeks
for meaning in the
ripple it brings. He
scowls. He speaks: when you
walk down any street
you see nothing but
of shit and vomit,
and I'm sick of it.
I suggest suicide;
he prefers murder,
and spits again for
the sake of all the
great devout losers.
A conductor's horn
concerto breaks the
air, and we, two doomed
pennies on the track,
shove off and somersault
like anesthetized
fleas, ruffling the
ideal locomotive
poised on the water
with our light, dry bodies.
Gerald shouts
terrifically as
he sails downstream like
a young man with a
destination. I
swim toward shore as
fast as my boots will
allow; as always,
neglecting to drown.
This was in my head yesterday afternoon as the 102 degree fever was crashing. counterstream has been playing a lot of contemporary choral music lately, so you are forewarned, though I've listened to Monk for years and this is one of dozens of my five favorite songs ever:
Posted at 08:16 AM in aargocalyptic, Ask Fleabus, Autoblogography, Books, Current Affairs, Daggregator, DCU/Soccer, Ferals, Mocomofo, Music, My Complicity, obamapology, obamapostasy, Poem | Permalink
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United never won in Denver when they were good, go figure they win in Denver when they suck (and thank you for sucking in front of an open net, Drew Moor).
I'm ambivalent whether Saint Benny of Olsen should be given the head coaching job in full, but these half-talents bust their ass for him. Colorado's to blame that they assumed all they need to is show up to win, but United won the majority of 50-50s, acted like the team that wanted to win more, and that's to Benny's credit. Whether Benny is ready to coach a team of superior talent to championships is an open question - whether Benny is ready to develop a young team into superior talent is an open question - but this team works harder for him than they ever did for Tom Soehn or Curt Onalfo.
Najar is special, and he seems to know how to avoid taking shots; the only concern I hear about Najar is his size vis a vis standard MLS brutality. He was clearly, demonstrably, the best player on the field. Another bump-up for Quaranta, better but still so-so for Bošković, but Pablo Hernandez, oy: gacks a sitter in the 78th minute then dives and fakes an injury. Get up, chunker.
And O! Who knew Colorado was so fun to hate? I mean sure, fuck Pablo Mastroeni (I'm still angry about the stupid red card v Italy in WC06), and fuck Conor Casey, but adding fucking Jeff Larentowicz and fucking Wells Thompson? Fuck Colorado.
Three games left, two at home, next Saturday v San Jose then Chicago on the road (remember when a late season game v Chicago was big?) then finale a week later at RFK v Toronto. There's a chance United could catch Ningland or Chivas and not be the shittiest. Yay! Ambition!
Posted at 08:52 AM in DCU/Soccer, DCU10, My Complicity, STFU Kurt Morsink | Permalink
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Dear Cowardly Emailer clever enough to send an email without return address (not that I'd have emailed you; I remark only on your cowardice),
Why yes, this blog does suck, thank you. I've always said so. I don't know what I want this crappy blog to be, funny or serious, happy or angry, light or heavy, conciliatory or accusatory, open-minded or parochial, honest or disingenuous, coherent or incoherent, rude or ruder, loud or louder, self-aggrandizing or self-scourging, informative or white noise, etc.... but I do know that I don't want this blog to be either funny or serious, happy or angry, light or heavy, coherent or incoherent, conciliatory or accusatory, open-minded or parochial, honest or
disingenuous, rude or ruder, loud or louder, self-aggrandizing or
self-scourging, informative or white noise, etc...
These are the funniest, most serious, happiest, angriest, lightest, heaviest, most in need of conciliation, most necessarily accusatory, most open-minded, most parochial, most honest, most disingenuous, most coherent, most incoherent, the rudest, loudest, most self-aggrandizing, most self-scourging, most informative, the most static-filled white-noised days of my life. I'm canary, I'm weathervane, I'm Cassandra, I'm Fool. That you took the trouble to tell me this crappy blog sucks is a sign this crappy blog is suc(K)ceeding at some level. My thanks are not either/or either.
Posted at 11:17 AM in aargocalyptic, Ask Fleabus, Autoblogography, Books, Current Affairs, Daggregator, DCU/Soccer, DCU10, Music, My Complicity, obamapology, obamapostasy, Poem, Posts I Wish I Hadn't, Project Goad, STFU Kurt Morsink, We Are the Enemy | Permalink
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text:
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text: Central Receiving handles all incoming supplies, equipment and freight purchased on CMU purchase orders. Central Receiving also assists departments with the return to vendor of items that were bought on a purchase order (PO). Departments should work with Central Receiving on all PO related returns to ensure that the correct returned goods procedure is followed. Additionally, our staff is here to help with Freight Claim Filing, and general freight or shipping questions.In addition, Central Receiving affixes equipment inventory tags to CMU owned equppment for property management and inventory tracking purposes.


text:
Senator Patrick Leahy, the chairman of the Judiciary Committee, has decreed that the confirmation hearing of Elena Kagan shall commence on Monday, June 28. Though the committee's ranking Republican, Jeff Sessions, is grumbling about wanting more time to research and prepare (they always say that), Leahy is ready with numbers. "Last year, we proceeded with the hearing on the nomination of Justice Sotomayor 48 days after she was designated," his statement reads. "Senate Republicans said that hearing was fair, and was conducted fairly. This year, I am scheduling the hearing to start 49 days after the nomination was announced." SO SHUT UP.
Kagan Confirmation Hearings Start June 28 [Caucus/NYT]


text:
The Great Migration is a natural spectacle like nothing else on the planet. It's hard to imagine a phenomenon of that breathtaking scale; one just has to see it.
My last visit to Masai Mara as a skipper for 'The Great Migration' photography tour for Toehold is an experience etched in my memory. The very first evening in the Savanna proved to be an overwhelming experience as we saw a beautiful lioness sitting by a thicket. Her hues were in contrast with her surroundings, which made the sighting a great photo opportunity as well. A while later, we saw the lioness mating with a handsome lion.
The next morning, as we journeyed into the expanse of the Mara plains, we saw a lion with its wildebeest kill. During the Great Migration Tour, death is a constant feature we witness. The place is teeming with bountiful prey and predators and we must only be fortunate to see the wildlife in action.
The significance of seeing a black rhino in Masai Mara is beyond words. Especially so because it is critically endangered.
As a fitting end to our amazing day, the sunset was spectacular with its fiery colors. That's another great thing about the place – the light is almost always great and the sunsets and sunrises are breathtaking days after day.
The next day, we were besotted with a cheetah relaxing in the grassland. She later moved up a mound to join her small cub. They both sat in languor there and we had a great time watching and photographing them.
We were fortunate to see the migration happen right before our eyes. Hundreds of wildebeests began crossing the river. It's not always guaranteed to witness the natural moving grandeur of this scale but there we were, muted by the magnificence of it, the massiveness of it. The wildebeests, which become prey to the lions and cheetahs and leopards and hyenas as they migrate, cross the river heroically. It's a rather moving thing to see.
Whenever I'm in Kenya, with the participants of our Toehold photography tours, I love introducing them to the cultural aspects of the place as well. And meeting the Masai tribe is one such humbling, priceless experience.
The Masai people are the very symbol of this part of the African land. Their unique mud houses, their way of dressing in robes, their bold accessories and jewelry, their exotic ethnicity – all these details add richness to our experiences as travelers and photographers. Capturing the Masai folks in enchanting portraits is a joy.
The following day, we saw a somber-looking quiet baboon, another cheetah, and a pair of lions.
Kenya always promises great light, great subjects for photography, and visceral experiences season after season. When Africa calls, there's no negotiation. One simply flies across the oceans to set foot in that ancient part of the planet.
Fact File
The travel is either by Emirates or by Kenya Airways.
If Emirates it's from Mumbai Via Dubai to Nairobi and Kenya Airways – its Mumbai to Nairobi
Flight charges are around 30-40k
There are 3, 4 stops that the Toehold tour take Ambrosi, Lake Nakuru, Masai Mara, Mount Kenya Toehold Kenya package rate are from 3000$ to 4200$ (for 4- 6 days package)
– Sachin Rai, Wildlife Photographer, and COO at Toehold
This article appeared in Metrolife-Deccan Herald on 24 May 2018.


text:
Milton was settled in 1640 by Puritans who began the settlement of Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1630. Originally a part of the town of Dorchester, Milton was incorporated as an independent town in 1662 and remains as such today, although it borders in the burgeoning city of Boston on the north along the Neponset River. For well over two centuries after its founding, Milton remained a primarily agrarian community with farms and open lands, as well as industrial activity along the Neponset River at Milton Village; it included a gristmill, a gunpowder mill, a paper mill, and a chocolate mill - all thought to be among the first of their kind in New England. After the Civil War, however, Milton's population began to rapidly increase due to the convenience of the Milton and Dorchester branch of the Old Colony Railroad, which provided railway access to Boston with a depot at Mattapan Square and passenger stations at Central Avenue and Milton Village. Today, the former railroad line is perpetuated by the surface trolley connecting Ashmont Station and Mattapan Square and has stations on both the Dorchester and Milton sides of the river. A horse-drawn streetcar began running in 1856 from the Lower Mills to downtown Boston via Dorchester Avenue, so the ease of transportation allowed people of all walks of life to live in Milton but to commute to the city for employment. (Paragraph from Anthony Mitchell Sammarco's book Then and Now Milton)
Milton still retains a good many 19th century country houses and estates and early 19th century workers' housing, including the Forbes House and the Suffolk Resolves House, and field stone walls forming property boundaries are not uncommon.
Milton is a town that faces contemporary issues while not abandoning its historical past. We welcome you to our community.


text:
Minnesota wins the laurel wreath for being the greenest state in US, based on its level of park acreage, amenities offered and accessibility to residents. St Paul and Minneapolis, in fact, are the top-ranked cities across the country. California comes in a strong second, with 5 cities on the top 25 List, and a mammoth 99% of its population living within ½ mile of a park. And Madison has to be the most kid-friendly city with the highest number of playgrounds.
Check this infographic for statistics of parklands across the nation.
Infographic by – PlaygroundEquipment


text:
Off late, I find myself hearing A LOT of conversation about Vitamin D deficiencies. What started off as a rich man's disease or an upper middle-class disorder has now clawed its way into everyone's lives. In fact, pills, powders and Vitamin D shots have become quite the trend off late. If I had to make a guesstimate, I would say that 80% of my clients have a Vitamin D deficiency and if I had a 100-rupee note for every time I overheard someone talk about their Vitamin D deficiency, I would have been able to make at least that one trip to Greece which I have been aching to take for a while now.
Anyway, let us first get some basics in order:
1. Vitamin D is a vitamin (duh!). Vitamins have some specific tasks which they are supposed to do in the body (energy, disease protection etc.).
2. Vitamin D specifically is meant to help with immunity, building strong bones and ensuring that your muscles, heart, lungs and brain are all working well
3. Vitamins and minerals are MICRO-nutrients which means that the body needs them in small amounts.
4. Vitamins are of two types—either fat-soluble or water-soluble. Vitamin D specifically is a fat-soluble vitamin which means that for the cells to pick it up or absorb it and for it to perform it's necessary functions, a small amount of fat is needed as a carrier.
Have you ever seen a trail of baby ducklings follow the mommy duck? Think of Vitamin D as one of the baby ducklings and the fat as mommy duck. Baby ducklings (fat-soluble vitamins) can't reach the other end of the pond/lake in the absence of the loving and guiding mommy duck (fat). Remember this fact and this metaphor and as you keep reading, you'll know why I chose to elucidate on this specific pointer.
5. Most lab tests measure Vitamin D in nano-grams/milliliter wherein an amount in the range of 30-100 is good. Anything below is insufficient/deficient and anything over could be toxic. As previously mentioned, most of us are deficient and I often hear people joke about how deficient they are. "Well, my Vitamin D is like REALLY low! I remember it being a single digit number!" "Oh my God. That's terrible. Mine is low but not THAT low.
Now that you've understood the basics, let's answer some comprehensive queries:
1. Why are so many people getting deficient in this vitamin?
Recently, my apartment got revamped and my parents and my brother can't stop talking and raving about their suave new purchase--black-out curtains! Basically curtains that would make it impossible for sunlight to reach your bedroom. In fact, even if you need to take an afternoon nap, these babies can create an illusion of it being night time because they make the room so dark. Now isn't that fancy? Unfortunately though, by doing this, you're seriously depriving yourself of Vitamin D. That's reason #1.
Reason #2: We are excluding the mommy duck (fat) as though she were a step-mom and acting like we no longer need her. If you're going to have fat-free milk and fat-free yogurt, how in the world will your body cells pick up the fat-soluble Vitamin D?
Work on these two pointers and that in itself should be of enormous help in upping your levels.
2. What are some food sources of D? What's the best source and why?
Very few sadly. Cod liver oil and fish oil are good sources. Ghee is a great source! Add it back onto your diet so that you don't go weak in the knees (bone health, get it?). Industrialists have started fortifying (artificially adding) Vitamin D into milk, cereal, breads and packaged juices. Although nothing beats some good, old-fashioned time under the sun.
There is a reason why Vitamin D is called the 'sunshine vitamin.' It's the best source of Vitamin D and the safest because if you're absorbing Vitamin D from the sun, there is no chance of overdosing or toxicity. Nature is so beautiful and perfect that once your bodily needs of the vitamin are met, the chemical will stop converting the inactive form of Vitamin D to its active form.
3. What happens if I have excess Vitamin D in my body?
- Abdominal pain
- Confusion
- Lethargy
- Muscle weakness
- Constipation, diarrhea or both
Shall I go on?
4. So my levels are sort of low. Big deal! How does it change my life?
Statement above was made by one of my really bold clients. He went onto add that he feels tired anyway and he could just live with a little more tiredness. "I probably won't even notice." I wasn't about to just sit and watch while that's the kind of neglect he decided to put his body through and I don't intend to do that with all of you either. So news flash: it doesn't end at fatigue. You risk getting cancer, Alzheimer's, depression, weak bones, heart disease and an array of other diseases. Doesn't seem like much of a party now, does it?
5. Anything else I need to know about D?
Studies show that it gets metabolized most optimally at the back of our thighs so put on those short shorts and step out for some sun time.
Get Started with Fitness:
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