The term Va Va Voom is pretty outdated, but I think it fits well for 1960 and Ms. Ekberg. Also, Andy Warhol and Velvet Underground-adjacent model slash artist slash etc. Nico was in it, playing herself. The beatnik cool factor on that is pretty much through the roof.
Last edited by suitedjustice; 01-03-2025 at 02:16 AM.
I made it a year without—to paraphrase Homer—the cause of, and solution to, many of my problems.
My longest streak prior to this was 14 months. I've decided that—having come this far—I may as well try to break that record and make it 15 months without the booze. Let's Goooooooo.
Yay!
Quote:
Originally Posted by rickroll
anita ekberg is something
Yup. There are two good reasons to watch that movie.
live version of a song my okie alky pawpaw always played
(to clarify he was not a musician just had access to a record player)
the first place to be searching for answers
is anywhere indirectly adjacent to
the way a languid and aged kris kristofferson
cunningly flicks drinking lyrics with his tongue
apologies in advance if i missed appropriate pagination
in my rush to post his lyrical genius
Spoiler:
You ask me if I'm happy now
That's good as any joke I've heard
It seems that since I've seen you last
I done forgot the meaning of the words
If happiness is empty rooms and drinkin' in the afternoon
Well, I suppose I'm happy as a clam
But if it's got a thing to do with smilin' or forgettin' you
Well, I don't guess that I could say I am
Did you ever see a down and outer waking up alone
Without a blanket on to keep him from the dew?
When the water from the weeds has soaked the papers
He's been puttin' in his shoes to keep the ground from comin' through
And his future feels as empty as the pockets in his pants
Because he's never seen a single dream come true
That's the way that I've been feelin' since the day I started falling
From the bottle to the bottom stool by stool
Learnin' hard to live with losin' you
You wonder if I'm better off
With freedom now to do the things I choose
Well, all my times my own and
I got nothin' left but sleepin' time to lose
There's no one here to carry on
If I stay out the whole night long
Or give a tankerous damn if I don't call
I'm livin' like I wanted to
And doin' things I want to do
And nothin' means a thing to me at all
Did you ever see a down and outer waking up alone
Without a blanket on to keep him from the dew?
When the water from the weeds has soaked the papers
He's been puttin' in his shoes to keep the ground from comin' through
And his future feels as empty as the pockets in his pants
Because he's never seen a single dream come true
That's the way that I've been feelin' since the day I started falling
From the bottle to the bottom stool by stool
Learnin' hard to live with losin' you
I like the jam at the end of the Merle Haggard song. He always had a good band backing him up.
I'm also a fan of Mr. Kristofferson. He wasn't the greatest actor in the world, but that didn't stop him from making some good coin on that particular side gig. He was Rubber Duck in one of the first movies I saw in the theater, Convoy, which, combined with Smokey and the Bandit and BJ and the Bear, made young me abandon dinosaurs for truck drivin' and CB radios.
Kristofferson's biggest talent, I think, was his songwriting. He wrote this absolute gem, and then Johnny Cash made it his own.
Hopefully you can bring the hustle to the next level.
Thanks, Da_Nit! Happy New Year to you and yours.
My modest check came in. I'm starting back at the casino on Friday. To date, I've not proven myself reliable enough to write about putting in hours. Going forward, I can only make amends by doing the thing and then writing about having done it.
I've mentioned the accepted wisdom around talking about ones dreams: they're boring and you'll bore people with them. But there is one strange archetype of dreams which my buddy Will first brought to my attention that continues to fascinate me, and that is the little car, or the tiny car.
Both of us, Will and I, don't drive normal-sized cars in dreams. Many times within them I take public transportation: typically a bus that follows a labyrinthian route to anywhere but where I want to go. But when I do drive in dreams, I drive a tiny car, sort of an adult-sized version of a fortunate toddler's sit-in toy car.
More often than not—as Will has mentioned—the car will get stuck, and I'll have to manually pick it up and place it somewhere else to get it going again. What is it about normal-sized cars that make them verboten in my dreams?
It's your subconsciousness rejecting American consumerism.
It might be that my mind doesn't want to expend the processing power to generate an environment inside of a big car, along with a separate exterior environment, both of which would have to respond to my driving movements, whereas a tiny car is all, or at least mostly, external.
I mean, this is the same dreaming brain that has my best friend turn into a complete stranger halfway through a conversation, then forgets about them entirely to focus on something different.
I'm also a fan of Mr. Kristofferson. He wasn't the greatest actor in the world, but that didn't stop him from making some good coin on that particular side gig. He was Rubber Duck in one of the first movies I saw in the theater, Convoy, which, combined with Smokey and the Bandit and BJ and the Bear, made young me abandon dinosaurs for truck drivin' and CB radios.
Kristofferson's biggest talent, I think, was his songwriting. He wrote this absolute gem, and then Johnny Cash made it his own.
agree, and it ain't just the lyrics
it's listenin' for the needle weaving sylables and rhythm warp and weft while recording words on a baloom
Yesterday, I finally returned to the tables; but first, I had to pour two quarts of oil into my Jeep. The old girl reliably burns up a quart a month, which is better than leaking, I suppose, though it's not a great contribution to the world's air quality. Still, I rode the damn bus in Las Vegas for years and years. i should have some sort of carbon credit banked for that.
When I lifted my Jeep's hood, I heard something plop to the ground, and I also found that my oil cap was missing. I must have left the cap off when I last filled the oil, and the closed trunk must have kept it from falling out for these last two months.
I started looking for the cap on the ground, and I could not find it after a short search, so perhaps I'd been wrong about the plop. I imagined making a trip to NAPA for a new one.
"2005 model? They don't make those oil caps any more. You'll have to go to a junkyard" is what I imagined I'd hear, as I tend to project bad case scenarios when it comes to running errands. It's one of the reasons why I procrastinate.
So instead I got down on my belly and crawled around on the ice and the mud and I eventually found my oil cap leaning against the back of my front tire, exactly the same color as the tire and hiding in its shadow. I would have backed over it on my way out to get a new cap.
Wetter and dirtier for my efforts, I took off for the casino, where I promptly punted off around $350 getting KK in pre vs an aggro player's AA. Standard.
Last edited by suitedjustice; 01-14-2025 at 12:57 PM.
Plan B get a job as a librarian at some small Western Massachusetts town library or small liberal arts college in some town I’ve never heard of that the Blue Jean Committee is from.