Months

The world is upside-down.

It used to be that the months of the year would proceed in an orderly fashion. If I had to rank the months, from most enjoyable to least, they would consistently follow (or closely adhere to) this pattern:

1. November
2. April
3. September
4. August
5. March
6. June
7. October
8. December
9. February
10. January
11. July
12. May

In recent years, I honestly think I have to change the rankings to:

1. October
2. May
3. June
4. December
5. July
6. August
7. January
8. November
9. April
10. September
11. February
12. March

I don't know why it all changed. I'm not saying this October is without its flaws. It's been a good month, a contemplative one. It still has 17 days to crush itself. I'm talking more about recent Octobers and Mays, not just this one. And how about that May? What a comeback!

Is there any song that ruins a good music day more than Peter Gabriel's In Your Eyes? The morning was rolling along, with some very fine songs being played by the British deejays on my sixth favorite iTunes radio station. A great song from last year was followed by a good one from 1983 and a better one from 1988. This led to a few choice 70s cuts hurled into the future by a song from last week. Then In Your Eyes. I turned off my computer speakers, shook my head derisively, and went back to work. I'll never forget John Cusack playing that song on the boombox during the pivotal scene in Say Anything. A fine romantic comedy nearly ruined by a poor choice in redemption songs. Who plays Peter Gabriel on a boombox?

Johnny and John

On September 11, 2003 John Ritter died of a heart attack at the age of 54.

On September 12, 2003, Johnny Cash died due to complications from heart valve replacement surgery at the age of 73.

On September 13, 2003, I wrote this:

Johnny and John in Heaven

Johnny Cash sidles up to a bar called Heaven. He orders himself a Mai-Tai.

John Ritter, nursing a whiskey sour, says "I expected you to drink something a little more, you know, a little more masculine, less fruity.”

Cash clears his throat as if to say "You don't know me, son, you know nothing about me.” But he doesn't actually say this. What he says is: "Ritter, do you remember when we first met? Back in '78. I was in a bad place then. You were king of the world. You had the looks, the hit show, Joyce DeWitt. I had a drug problem and my label wanted to drop me unless I did duets with those bastards Nelson and Jennings. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, it was at the Regal Beagle, on Pico. I was drinking what you're drinking now, a whiskey sour. You were all high and mighty, with your ascot, surrounded by starlets. So right before closing time I was at the pinball machine. And you said 'hey what's up, Man In Black?' Well, you broke my concentration, Jack. I was about to get a free ball! But it's water under the bridge now. I forgive you"

Ritter takes a deep breath and says "Johnny, the Regal Beagle wasn't real. It was just TV. And my name is John."

Cash cackles. "Aw, I'm just fucking with you, Jack. Welcome to Heaven. Guess you're surprised you got here so young. But it's not a bad place. We got a jukebox. And good food, courtesy of June. And an open mike every Tuesday night. Zevon hosts it and the only rule is No Poetry. Kind of harsh, I know, but it's alright. Phil Hartman tells me the other day Barry White did a slow jam, accompanied in dance by Greg Hines. It was almost poetry but not quite"

Ritter takes a swig from his drink. “Heaven, huh? I died before you. How did you get here first?”

Cash grins. “Well, let’s just say Heaven’s closer to Nashville than it is to Burbank.”

Ritter finishes his drink. “Are there any rules here?"

Cash clears his throat. "Yeah, we've got rules. Eight simple rules. One, I already told you. No Poetry on open mike night. Two, no bar tabs. Pay for your drinks when you get 'em. Now, we don't have currency in heaven. So for payment you do whatever the bartender tells you to. If he says cluck like a chicken, you cluck like a chicken. It depends on who's tending. Sonny Bono's an asshole, but Eazy E doesn’t ask for much.”

Ritter interrupts. “"Is that why Jesus made me do a pratfall for my drink?"

"Yes, Jack, that's why. Simple rule number three. No smoking, that which felled Warren and Ella and Lucy Ball. Four, no prima donnas. Hope and Kate Hepburn came in here thinking they owned the place. No one owns the place! At least not until Lenny Cohen gets here. Rule number five, we got a multimedia lending library. Books, records, DVDs. I think we've got season one of ‘Company.’ DVDs you keep for two nights, everything else is two weeks. Don't be late. Paul Robeson's the head librarian and he gets pissed if you're late. Number six, be civil. There are no wars in Heaven. If you come to a disagreement, work it out, in a non-violent manner. King's a stickler on this.”

"Martin Luther King?"

"Nah, Farouk. Simple rule number seven. No religion. Need I say more? And finally, number eight. There’s a test you have to take. It's just one question. The first week here you get a free pass. But then they ask you a question. If you answer it right, you stay in Heaven. You get it wrong, well, there's another bar down the street. And unless you want to spend the rest of your days drinking with Uday and Waylon and Hitler and Stalin and Lennon, you better get the question right. Now, thanks to June, I know the answer, so I'm okay. I would've gotten it right anyway. But I won't tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because of the night at the Beagle, with the pinball. Yeah, I know by the time the nineties came along, I had my comeback and you were struggling, so maybe you got your comeuppance. But hey, it's not my fault you didn't have a guardian angel like Rick Rubin.”

"But, Johnny, the Regal Beagle never happened"

"Again, just fucking with you, Jack. Still, I can't tell you the answer to the question. But I can tell you the question, so you can study. Are you ready? You might want to write this down."

Jesus hands Ritter a pen and a napkin. "It's John and yes, I'm ready"

“Do you promise to study?”

“I promise.”

"The question is: Furley or Roper?"

The Procrastinator

I have these ideas spinning through my head. Ideas for clever blog posts - stories, lists, manifestos. Each of these ideas will find a place on this page one day. You can't see them spinning through my head but they're there.

Today, I have to concentrate on the important stuff - preparing for a big event tomorrow, establishing the precise pregnancy length for a female marmet (marmette?), learning the source of that awful rain-dripping sound outside my window, attending a cerebral urban book reading, and working on my quads.

Analogy Quiz

(answers later today, in the comments section. or maybe tomorrow if I'm lazy)

1. The Departed is to film as ______ is to music.
a. Tom Waits
b. Chingy
c. Radiohead
d. Adam Ant

2. Echo Park is to Los Angeles as ______ is to the Democratic Party.
a. John Kerry
b. Dick Cheney
c. hindsight
d. The Passion of the Christ

3. Mike James is to the Minnesota Timberwolves as ______ is (are) to one's thirties.
a. Edie Falco
b. The Internet
c. Will Shortz
d. ties

4. The first verse of Leonard Cohen's Tower of Song is to the final verse* of Tower of Song as ______ is (are) to ______.
a. shame; sorrow
b. tardiness; apples
c. Michael Keaton in Batman; Christian Bale in American Psycho
d. pirates; pirate costumes

*the final verse being the one that starts out "I see you on the other side..." not the reprise of the first verse.

Breakdancing

Years in the making, months in the waiting.... I give to you: My Career As A Breakdancer in the pages of Eclectica Magazine.

If anyone knows what that picture is, let me know.

Note: Memories are fuzzy. Last names have been changed. But it's true. Yes it is.

Top 6.666 Spices/Seasonings/Herbs of the First 2/3 of the '00s

My post from earlier today was a little obtuse... full of references that would resonate with one person (myself) on this planet.

I should start over, give you something fresh and beautiful.

A list maybe?

Top 6.666 Spices/Seasonings/Herbs...



6.666. Cumin
the sleepy little add-in in the corner of the cabinet








6. Ginger
needs to be kept in line; still, a keeper







5. Garlic
open letter to all people in America:
garlic + moderation = good
garlic + no moderation = kitsch (and not the good kind either)






4. Dill
dill? what are you thinking? dill? I'll tell you what I'm thinking! what other infusion on earth can improve both pickled cucumbers and cheese?







3. Cinammon
the Mark Eitzel of spices - cool, crisp, possibly gay, best in winter and morning, too much makes you cry







2. Rosemary
I loved you once; I like you now... and forever







1. Basil
feels good to the touch, to the smell, to the taste - that's 3 of the 5 senses right there!; the David Foster Wallace of flavors - rich, surprising, more satisfying than is apparent at first; prone to footnotes

But You Know That They'll Stay

I've been listening to the new album by The Hold Steady, Boys And Girls In America. It achieves the status promised by its lofty title. Eleven perfect songs - ballads and rockers, thinkers and feelers.

I always wanted to be the one to write the ultimate song about the young women of Bloomington, Minnesota. But Craig Finn beat me to it with Southtown Girls, the Stairway to Heaven/Under the Bridge/Stars of Track and Field of the energy drink generation.

Southtown Girls (named for the consistently disappointing Southtown Shopping Center, near the corner of 494 and Penn) is a song of celebration and remorse, of expectations and platitudes, of eulogies and driving directions. I'm still not sure how Nicollet Avenue gets you to the ocean or which ocean it gets you to, considering it's a north-south street in Minnesota. Maybe the ocean is figurative. Still, someone took the trouble to make a literal map of Twin Cities references in Hold Steady songs. This is why the world is a better place now than ever before.

I hear the university band practicing outside my window here at work. Say what you will about my employer - their (perceived) elitism, their inconvenient location, their conservative architecture, the relatively poor academic performance of their student-athletes, the high tuition, etc. - but please acknowledge the fact that we have the best damn school band in the universe. Wow.

( )

One correction to my earlier post. My rap is actually called My (Name) Is (Ali).

Egomania

From my new picture two things are clear:

• I have huge eyebrows.
• I'm leaning against a truck. It's not my truck. I don't have a truck.

I think it's briefhistoryoftheriseandfall...'s truck.

The Twins lost Game 1 to Oakland. I know someone in Oakland. She has a dog and parents who favor gag gifts. I know someone near Oakland. She has no pets and believes in tough love. I know a third person near Oakland. Her apartment is messy but her intentions are pure. I know one other person near Oakland. He's impulsive and not to be relied upon.

Wait. I know one more person near Oakland. Actually I knew this person. Never mind.

I received some good news. The news will remain secret until more details are ready. Let's just say that a little bit more of b.p.blue's writing will receive exposure. I may make some enemies this time however. Damn. I don't need any more enemies.

I was called an egomaniac recently. Me? I've thought deep and long about this. Let's consider the facts:

1. I have a blog in which I talk about myself but not really.
2. I wrote a rap about myself. The rap has three unique verses and two slightly different courses. It's called My Name Is (Ali).
3. I'm writing a screenplay about someone with my name but not my life.
4. I keep forgetting to give to charity.
5. I sometimes forget to ask you how your life is going. But then I remember.
6. Roughly 27% of my fiction is really about me. Doesn't seem excessive.
7. My rap is excellent. Ask me to sing it for you.

Yes, I am an egomaniac.

(One more thing: I have an opinion about something that happened in the news recently that is so crazy, so contrary, so off-putting that I just can't express it here.)

Praise

A request has been made to change my blog photo. Something about the old one being too "nostrily." So here's something new.

Some random things:

The new Bonnie "Prince" Billy album is excellent. As is the new TV On The Radio.

The new movie Mutual Appreciation is amazing - the best obscure indie film since the one whose name I've forgotten because it's so obscure.

The Pacific Ocean is the best ocean there ever was.