This is a band called "Beirut." Their music reminds me of Europe in the years after the war, when Henri' and I drank wine in the cafes of Paris as we hunted down Nazis hiding in public as bakers, accordianists, and sommeliers. We need to get more of us with ukuleles to gather together to create our own counter-factual music, because we don't do anything else anyways. C'est La Guerre!
Indeed, I just don't understand the notion of a rock and roll hall of fame. I thought that rock music was supposed to be about rebellion, danger, and confrontation, things that seem antithetical to an institution that celebrates these artists 25 or more years after they have long ceased being rebellious, dangerous, or confrontational. The people that were true rockers are dead or in a mental institution. Not that I am encouraging hedonism a la Jim Morrison, but didn't these people get into this business for the immediacy of the music at the time they started doing what they did? Doesn't having a Hall of Fame go against this notion?
To be sure, as a historian, I am all about exploring and celebrating the past. But rock and roll's past doesn't seem suited to having a bunch of stuffed shirts decide that Iggy Pop, for example, should be given a black tie ceremony at 200 dollars a plate, with Cuban cigars and brandy, to celebrate how rebellious he was - isn't the music enough of a legacy? Which brings me back to Madonna - what is so great about her? The fact that she was consistently a media whore who so-so sang her songs? That she confronted American sexual mores by walking around naked and kissing women? That she won an Oscar? How is that rock and roll? I don't get it; I don't get it one bit...
My girlfriend, in her infinite wisdom, read my earlier circus blog and then hipped me to the reality of it all. The painted goats and the bearded worm women from Bavaria - all a dream of my fever-addled mind, apparently. Who knew? But the worst part was the laundry list of animal cruelty charges she read to me. Happy cartoon animals playing cards with the workers this ain't! Elephant beatings, killings, kidnappings, forced performances, clowns on drugs, child pornography with Spanky the Clown, interspecies orgies - the Ringling Bros is runnin' a regular Sodom and Gommorah of entertainment. I am thoroughly appalled, and so will not be going to this or any other circus, unless the animals have signed a waiver and have one of their representatives (maybe one of the monkeys) who will serve as a spokes-animal and tell me that it is okay to come to the show. Of course, if that were to happen, I would probably be too freaked out to go in! Needless to say, shame on the cruel ringmaster and his evil minions for their treatment of the animals and for destroying my dreams! I hope the elephants run amok in the Knoxville civic center - Power to the Pachyderms, baby!
Plus, the circus has all them freaks that solve crimes and stuff! So, I say, let's go to the circus, eat some corn dogs, and dance around with the painted goats and the bearded worm women from Bavaria! I can't wait - hope I get to do it! My only fear is that I might stowaway on the train with them as they leave town and help the clowns and acrobats and freaks as they travel throughout America, restoring faith in the world each night I am with them by selflessly setting myself on fire and jumping off 5-story platforms into a vat of rabid eel-monkeys dressed in pirate suits. I would do that for you, because I'm a giver...
After further investigation, I have discovered, and I am sad to report, that Dillard Clark has passed on to his final reward. I was unaware of this, having not visited with him for years. I was reminded that he used to tell me to keep my aftershave in the fridge to keep it potent. And, as my sister pointed out, he was a member of our church and contributed an original recipe to the church cookbook for cantaloupe pie. We have decided to make it, despite our hatred of cantaloupe, in honor of the man. I've included a video of the Beatles, Dillard's favorite band, here for all of us to remember him by as we get ready to make his unique pie. So, here's to you, Dillard, and hope you have found peace as much as you gave to others!
I also include "Legend of a Mind" by the Moody Blues - you'll understand why if you don't already.
Enjoy!
Now you know, and knowing's half the battle. Enjoy!
Let it be known that I have always (and probably always will) loved carnivals. I love the smells of greasy food, sweat, ride grease, and quiet despair and fear. I love the cheesy rides and the crappy games that allow you to win a cartoon animal toy stuffed with sawdust and broken dreams. I love the actual food - yes, even the food. I even once designed a carnival of my own (will upload the pictures at a later date). My father remarked that it was highly probable my family possessed significant amounts of carny blood. To be sure, he did not elaborate on why he felt assured of this particular fact. Yet, he seemed very sure of it, all the same. With this in mind, I recently went to the Tennessee Valley Fair, eager to be amongst my people. I had not been there since, probably, 1986. However, this most recent visit was not for fun. Instead, I volunteered to aid Boy Scout Troop 58 in their fund-raising job of cleaning the fairgrounds after the park closed.
I watched this video, hoping to show something of the fair's true nature. And, to be sure, the reporter's views were not unfounded. But, despite her rosy assessment of the Fair's participants, I witnessed a myriad of strange and disturbing sights, starting at around midnight as the people began to leave.
I could go into graphic details about the trash we picked up under the bleachers at the tractor pull area. I could rail about the dirty diapers I picked up in the parking lots. I could shock you with tales concerning the carny village we walked through at 1:30 in the morning. But the most disturbing thing for me was the amount of wasted junk food littered throughout Chilhowie Park. The United States IS the Hot Dog Nation, as we picked up (conversatively) close to 1000 half-eaten corndogs (funnel cakes...now that's another story entirely). It is little wonder that the rest of the world hates us, what with our wastes and our waists (I know I'm not Charles Atlas, but I can touch my toes and see my crotch without looking in a mirror). The amount of food lying in the dirt under the bleachers there was appalling. Lord help the bacon-clad men from my last post here - the tractor pull / rodeo crowd would probably eat them alive, literally.
Maybe we should reconsider cannibalism a la Soylent Green. We wouldn't waste food, it would minimize our food production costs, and we would only have to sweep up crumbs at the fair (instead of picking up half-chewed up corn dogs). Something to think about...
