The Ice Is Breaking Under My Feet

It all started at Christmas.

I may have mentioned that I bought sort of a family gift. Record Archive carries these grab bags; 10 CDs for five bucks or something along those lines. I thought it’d be a fun thing to do for Christmas, as a bunch, to listen to new music and to see what we liked, what we hated, and what we just had to have.

It was a suprisingly rich trove. Maybe two out of the whole bunch were coasters. Was some really good indie jazz in there.

Then there was Castanets.

When I was younger and chasing bands in North Carolina, The Ray Mason Band woulda been tired of me stealing their set lists.

Let me show you why, courtesy of Ray’s YouTube channel:

Mailbox Blue, my friends:

Not to mention the title track:

This album is so well-conceived and wonderful, with witty writing and a delivery that never fails to engage. I immediately grabbed this CD, and, sorry, but it ain’t ever going back.

So I tracked down ol’ Ray on the Internet and sent him a mash note.

I told him the whole story, the grab bag, how much I love his CD and, mainly, I wanted to let this local Massachusetts musician how far his music had reached and how.

And, lookie what was in my mailbox today.

Music is the best.

Meanwhile, this happened today.

It was a day perfect for calling in to work. Not an option. Not on launch day.

(Except that we didn’t do squat today, you know…due to the snow… #catch22)

She: How much [snow] do you think you got? Me: All of it.


Am trying to shop more these days at the Aldi store.

Took a leap of faith today and purchased a roast from there, and it resides currently in my slow cooker with a stick of butter, one envelope of ranch dressing mix, five pepperocinis, and one envelope of gravy mix. Easiest recipe in the known universe.

Now Aldi is over on State Street. I drove over and had to take a bit of a detour because Rochester Police had taped off an entire block. I assumed they were investigating a murder.

I sure do hate to be correct about such things.

Oh well. What can I tell you about a shopping trip that cost me $60? And that included a roast. Did I mention the roast? Smells good in here.

So I thought I’d talk a little bit about speeches.

Before I was sent out the door with my box at a previous job, I’ve seen some of these speeches they give. I’ve seen Condoleezza Rice speak. Al Franken. Bill Bradley. Bill Clinton. One of them astronauts. The Capital Gang. Freddy Mercury. Just kidding.

And what I can tell yinz about those speeches is that they’re rather unremarkable. Their purpose is to put butts in seats. They are not particularly informative nor educational. Most of them are canned speeches the person tells at dozens of events all over the country.

Except for Bill Clinton. When he speaks, they turn off the teleprompter.

For the most part, though, these speeches are pablum. They are crafted to fill up an hour so that the event’s attendees can say they saw so-and-so at the whatsit convention or meeting. So they can, for example, say they shook Bill Clinton’s hand. Wait. That’s my story.

My point: Those of you who are losing CTRL over your bowels because you are dying to see the transcripts of Hillary Clinton’s speeches to various groups are going to be incredibly bored. There will be nothing there. I rush to mention that these speeches are not part of the public record and that the Secretary may have no legal claim to actually release these transcripts, of course.

Besides, here’s my real problem with the “speech-gate” nonsense: Hillary Clinton may have spoken to Goldman Sachs, but she also spoke to my former employer, the nation’s premiere trade association for the scrap recycling industry. (You may remember it. A lady threw a shoe at her.)

Does that mean that our nation’s for-profit recyclers are in Hillary’s pocket too?

If so, why did she shift on TPP? I guarantee they would not like that.

Reckon they wasted they money, eh?


So, here’s a hint from Abelard.

I have a folder on my desktop called “Instant Trash.”

See in the olden days, I’d see a picture or a meme or something I wanted to share on the FacedBook. And I would need a place to save it first. And generally, I would save it on my desktop. Which made my desktop messy.

Now, those files go into “Instant Trash,” which I know I can delete the contents of which any time because those are files I did not mean to keep long, just long enough to put up to FacedBook. Thus: “Instant Trash.”

Desktop looks like this now.

(Background by Simple Desktops.)

You are welcome.

One day, humans will evolve to possess exoskeletons impervious to bullets. Which will leave some damned frustrated rednecks in more ways than one.

Lip Up Fatty

When the English ska band Bad Manners played Italian television, they were told the Pope might be watching.

During the performance, front man Buster Bloodvessel showed the cameras his ass.

They never played Italian television again.

I always knew I liked that band.