Edged in Blue

[Originally posted to Northcoast Exile April 21, 2006]

Actually, I don’t buy into the knee-jerk corporate bashing trend going on.  It is to liberalism what trashing gays, Muslims, and the media is to conservatives.  Basically, it’s an excuse not think.

Case in point:  Starbucks.  Every single person I’ve heard bash Starbucks and list its myriad of evils, without fail, starts off with “They sell burned coffee!”  I’m sorry.  That’s roughly the equivalent of the conservative chestnut of stupidity, “lies of the liberal media.”  Congratulations.  By digging out either of those mindless slogans, you automatically cease to have any credibility.  Now shut up and go hug a tree or burn a book somewhere.  You bother me.

That’s not to say there aren’t corporations that are on my bad side.  Oh, buddy, there are plenty after the jump.

(more…)

[Originally posted to Northcoast Exile June 6, 2005. Unfortunately, I wound up scrapping this book, and Graham Powell never had a chance to get out of the gate. Oh, well. At least Graham got Crimespot live.]

Yea, verily, I did thus utter the sacred incantation on this very blog - the Seven Sacred Words - to call upon the Muse.

And lo did she come unto me in the middle of the night and whisper in mine ear. And thus, her whisperings begat Chapter 10.

Yet I despaired, for as I sat in Starbucks after working, admiring the beauty and the grace of that creature known as “MILF,” lo, did I despair, for I knew not how to follow the first scene in Chapter 10.

And yea, verily, the saints, they did appear: Hammett with a venti Yukon blend and MacDonald with a carmel frap, flanking the man himself, Chandler, who thus opted for a skim no-whip mocha, with triple expresso.

And yea, verily, did St. Raymond say unto me, “James, James, why doest thou despair so? Doth thy wallet cry out in agony from this overpriced java?”

An verily, I said, “No, St. Raymond. I have set up my protagonist in a bar and have no way of turning the situation.”

“Truly, truly, I say unto you,” St. Raymond said unto me, “first, you really did pay too much for a venti decaf. You could have gotten it at the IHOP up the road for $1.20 and all the refills you wanted. Second, James, remember my words and heed them well. When thou knowest not what to do, throw in someone with a gun.”

And thus, the Three Wisemen hopped in Hammett’s SUV and drove to Deja Vu because yea, verily, couch dances are half off on Monday nights. MacDonald was heard to exclaim, “Don’t tell Margaret where we’re going.” To which Hammett replied, “Isn’t it bad enough she knows we’re in Cincinnati?”

And lo, I took the advice of the Three Wisemen and threw in some guns. Two characters ate lead, then dirt sandwiches. And I looked and I saw it was good.

26,000 words.

Verily, I say unto thee, Graham Powell, who art thy daddy?

[Originally posted to Northcoast Exile May 8, 2005.]

I’ve had a rough couple of weeks as a writer.  Makes the day job go easier, but my goal is to eventually quit the day job.

Anyway, it’s been frustrating, but I’ve mapped out my writing plans for the summer.  I also posted these 6 simple rules above my desk to remind me writing ain’t easy.

1.)     Failure is effortless; success is a pain in the ass

2.)    There’s a reason first drafts are called “rough”

3.)    You can’t please everyone

4.)    No one ever made money planning except consultants

5.)    Your worst enemy is the guy who says your work is perfect

6.)    Never listen to a Monday morning quarterback

[Originally posted to Northcoast Exile on April 13, 2005.  This was the most popular post on the old blog that didn't feature a naked soccer mom.  I wish I'd saved the comments, but something tells me this subject will generate reams of new ones. - Jim]

John Scalzi, in his Reader Request Week post for today, tackles his weightiest subject to date:

“Beatles or Rolling Stones?

Superman or Batman?

‘He or she’ or singular ‘they’?”

Let’s get the first two out of the way. Batman, because when Superman has to be Clark Kent, he’s a wimp. When Batman has to be Bruce Wayne, he’s still a bad ass and not to be screwed with.

They. Linguists and grammarians need to just get over it. English lacks a proper gender nonspecific pronoun. Sorry, but “it” doesn’t cut it. So if we can have a royal “we” and an all-purpose “you,” English can survive a generic “they” for gender non-specific third person.

Now to the heart of the matter: Beatles vs. Stones. Beatles. Hands down. They were all working class stiffs. Quite frankly, they reinvented rock. Poppy? Hell, yes, and so what? Without The White Album, Sgt. Pepper’s, and the criminally underrated Abbey Road, rock simply would not be rock. That’s not to say the Stones didn’t do their part. “Sympathy for the Devil,” “Satisfaction,” and “Gimme Shelter” anyone? But… Well, let Scalzi tell you:

“The Beatles had the stones (so to speak) to break up and stay broken up, meaning that their canon is undiluted from years of post-creative suckage.”

Scalzi cuts off the Stones productive years at Tattoo You. I say Steel Wheels had merit, but, like Pink Floyd’s Momentary Lapse of Reason, it was designed to be an album you’d expect from the band. The only difference is that David Gilmour used that phrase as a title. Mick and Keith really did have a momentary lapse of reason. It’s the double whammy of musical crap called Dirty Work and Undercover, both the worst Stones albums I’ve ever heard. (And yes, I include the two post-Wyman yawn fests. “Anybody See My Baby” my ass!)

A lot of bands should have packed it in or at least shed deadweight. Much sooner. Led Zep probably needed to call it a career anyway when John Bonham died. Page just wanted to play guitar, and Plant had already developed his own sound. Pink Floyd did a Wall too far with the bloated Final Cut in 1983. One wonders if the follow up would have been stronger if Roger Waters had either quit sooner or let David Gilmour and Richard Wright have their way. Genesis… Invisible Touch? I’m still pissed off about the title track off that song. What was that? Phil Collins and Mike & the Mechanics rejects? (To be fair, We Can’t Dance was decent, but the post-Phil Calling All Stations was a huge mistake.)

Prog bands generally outlive their usefulness. Somebody tell me why Emerson, Lake, & Percussionist and Yes are still around? Have you heard their post-eighties work? Tragic. Have you heard their eighties work? The Asia albums that never were.

I’d call for Metallica’s demise, but I want to see them live. I’d also call for Guns & Roses demise, but then I like them again since they became Velvet Revolver.

The band that should be around, but can never be again, is Alice in Chains. Remember Alice? This is a rant about Alice. I miss the hell out of those guys.

UPDATE: I wrote this before A Bigger Bang came out. While not earth-shattering or by any means a classic, it is a decent album. If the Stones had gone from Tattoo You to Steel Wheels to A Bigger Bang, skipping everything in between, this post would have been very, very different.

[Originally posted December 29, 2006 on Northcoast Exile.  Hard to believe it's been a year.  And I still question if the war was ever worth it.]

[The most tasteless blog post yet here. After what this country's gone through under the most dubious of reasons to get rid of this bastard, I think I'm entitled to mock his death. So long, Saddam, and don't let the gates of Hell smack you in the ass.]

WMD BLUES

[To the tune of "Cocaine Blues"]

With apologies to Johnny Cash

Early one mornin’ while makin’ the rounds
I took a shot of cocaine and I gassed some Shiites down
I went right home and I went to bed
I stuck that lovin’ nerve gas launcher ‘neath my head

Got up next mornin’ and I grabbed a gun
Took a shot of cocaine and away I run
Made a good run but I had lead feet
They chased me down a rabbit hole outside Tikrit

Late in the hot joints takin’ the pills
In walked a man from Capitol Hill
He said Saddam your name is not Jack Brown
You’re the dirty hack who gassed those Shiites down

Said yes, oh yes my name’s Saddam Hussein
If you’ve got the warrant just a-read it out plain
Gassed them down because they pissed me off
I asked them “Who’s yer daddy?” They said “Bugger off!”

When I was arrested I was dressed in rags
They put me in a Hummer and drove me back
Had no friend for to go my bail
They slapped my dried up carcass in a Baghdad jail

Early next mornin’ bout a half past nine
I spied the Marines coming down the line
The Major coughed as he cleared his throat
He said come on you dirty hack into this brand new court

Into the courtroom my trial began
Where I was handled by Iraqi men
Just before the judges started out
I saw the dirty head judge start to look about

In about five minutes in walked the man
Holding the verdict in his right hand
It read genocide in the first degree
I hollered Lawdy Lawdy, have a mercy on me

The judge he smiled, and I gave up all hope
I’d get to swing at the end of a rope
My carcass’d swing just above the ground
I can’t forget the day I gassed those Shiites down

Come on you’ve gotta listen unto me
Lay off that nerve gas and let that cocaine be

Saddam “Shotgun” Hussein, 1937-2006

[Originally posted on Northcoast Exile, December 24, 2006]

I pulled on Santa’s sleigh

Christmas Eve was dark, and the snow fell like cocaine off some politician’s coffee table

Rudolph looked to the sky. He had a shiny nose, but it was from too much vodka

He said, “Boys, it’s gonna be a rough one this year.”

I pulled on Santa’s sleigh

The elves scrambled to pack up the last of the lumps of coal for deserving suburban brats

And a bottle of Jamie for some forgotten soul whose wife just left him

Santa’s like that. He’s been there.

Oh, he still loves Mrs. Claus, a spent piece of used sleigh trash who

Makes good vodka martnis, knows when to keep her mouth shut

But it’s the lonlieness, the lonliness only Santa knows

I pulled on Santa’s sleigh

And the workshop reeks of too much peppermint

The candy canes all have the names of prostitutes

And Santa stands there, breathing in the lonliness

The lonliness that creeps out of the main house

And out through the stables

Sometimes it follows the big guy down the chimneys

Wraps itself around your tannenbaum and sleeps in your hat

I pulled on Santa’s sleigh

We all line up for the annual ride

I’m behind Vixen, who’s showin’ her age these days

She has a certain tiredness that comes with being the only girl on the team

Ah, there’s nothing wrong with her a hundred dollars wouldn’t fix

She’s got a tear drop tattooed under her eye now, one for every year Dancer’s away

I pulled on Santa’s sleigh and

I asked myself, “That elf. What’s he building in there?”

He has no elf friends, no elf children

What’s he building in there?

He doesn’t make toys like the other elves

I heard he used to work for Halliburton,

And he’s got an ex-wife in someplace called Santa Claus, Pennsylvania

But what’s he building in there?

We got a right to know.

I pulled on Santa’s sleigh

And we’re off Off into the night

Watching the world burn below

All chimney red and Halloween orange

I’ve seen it all

I’ve seen it all

Every Christmas Eve, I’ve seen it all

There’s nothing sadder than landing on a roof in a town with no cheer.