I feel pretty disgusted by the whole Black Friday insanity of our consumer culture, and am very, very put off that some businesses tried to get a jump on Christmas (which is still a month away!) by opening on Thanksgiving.
I reject participating in any of it.
On the other hand, I am not opposed to having a large, lavish meal on Thanksgiving.
Why is one okay in my mind, but not the other?
Isn't it all, as Ben Folds sings about, just crass consumption?
Of all the dishes that I look forward to preparing, and eating, on Thanksgiving, I'd have to say that Peas are pretty low on the list.
Not that I dislike them. Just . . . they're peas. Who cares?
BUT, if I'm looking for something to keep things grooving in the kitchen as I juggle the pots and pans and mixers and hot plates . . . well, bring on the JBs and Pass The Peas . . .
One great source for battling the seasonal slowdown, is the reissue pile. Sometimes.
Sometimes the reissue of classic albums contain "bonus" content that is pretty weak. But sometimes there is a little bit of treasure buried there.
Paul Simon recently collected all his solo albums into one box. And each album has a few demo or live versions of the songs therein.
The label helpfully put all these alternate versions on one disc for promotional purposes, and though not every cut is radio ready, some of these stripped down take are a great listen and give you a new appreciation for the old songs.
I found about 7 cuts that are worth some limited airplay, bundled them up in a "packet" and they will cycle through the playlist at the speed that just one song might. So it's not heavy airplay, but the songs are so well-known that there's no need to build familiarity as if it were a new artist or new cut.
Instead, the friendly, loveable sound of Paul Simon provides a little bit of an anchor to a time when the playlist could start to tilt toward the unfamiliar.
I had forgotten about the thing, completely. But those ads used to be ubiquitous.
Perhaps the only worse deal that someone actually joining the Columbia Record Club, was the one I somehow roped my cousin into.
The deal was something like, "You can get 11 records for a penny."
But in the fine print you found out: you had to buy a certain number of albums at an overprice, AND they would send you a new album every month and make you pay for it unless you sent them a refusal saying you DIDN'T want it.
Because the number of albums you initially got was an odd number, I proposed to my cousin Christine that I'd give her the penny, and only take 5 of the albums and she could have 6. But in the fine print: she had to be the one to sign up for the account, leaving her on the hook for the payments and the refusals.
These 30 years later, she still speaks to me. But it was a pretty shitty deal to foist upon a family member. Sorry cousin!
Lousy deals aside, it may surprise you to know that the Columbia Record And Tape club was not so much a musical influence on me, as it was a comedic influence. I got my first comedy albums this way, including "The Best Of Bill Cosby" and Eddie Murphy's debut "Eddie Murphy."
As recently as today, I was appropriating material from the Eddie Murphy album.
(He does this brilliant thing where he asks an audience member who'd been hit by a car, "Where did you get hit?" and when the person responds with the street, Murphy gets a big laugh from the audience by saying that he meant where "on your body" did you get hit. It's brilliant because it works in reverse---if the person had answered with a body part, he could have said "I meant where in town did you get hit?")
And the albums weren't without their occasional musical moment, like this timeless classic, Boogie In Your Butt."
Here's another Weekend Post:
After yesterday's horror, it's good to return to the more understated late 90s/2000s, where stripes and glasses and choker-things were the wild accessories.
"All About Chemistry" ended up being Semisonic's final record, which was disappointing, because I think, like Fountains Of Wayne, there was a breakthrough hit somewhere in their future, that would have opened up an audience to a treasure trove of great catalogue songs.
Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories,
not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.
Many
of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an
Alternative/Modern Rock radio show. They're tunes that I hardly hear
these days, but are fun to revisit.
Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.
Here's another Weekend Post: After writing about Dan Wilson earlier this week, I thought I'd make the weekend posts about his two former bands.
As the kids would say, OMG!
I had never seen this video before.
With the hair and the "rocking out lip-syncing" this is such an 80s video. And it totally reminds me of that movie with Hugh Grant where he's the songwriter and they flash back to his 80s hits. Except I'm not sure they were joking in this video.
Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories,
not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.
Many
of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an
Alternative/Modern Rock radio show. They're tunes that I hardly hear
these days, but are fun to revisit.
Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.
If someone posts a video on Facebook and I see it in my feed, I don't usually click on it, unless I'm just killing time.
But if I see that same video posted multiple times by multiple people, I figure it's worth checking out.
And that's how I came across the video below, which explains, in a regionally/appropriately profane way, how to correctly pronounce just a few of the ridiculously mis-pronounceable town names in Massachusetts.
That brought up these two songs, that are much funnier if you're from here, but still work if you're not.
Former mvy News Director Toby Wilson introduced me to "Entering Marion" years ago. And Dana Edelman and his son now live on the Vineyard.
Enjoy. And put it in your Facebook feed several times if you want me to click on it.
Hear "How To Properly Say Massachusetts Town Names" on Youtube.
Hear Dana Edelman's "Massachusetts Song" here (I can't embed it here).
Sometimes it is such a relief to hear a good song.
Dan Wilson is one of those artists that I personally love. But none of his work has ever really fit on MVY. Or fit snugly, anyway.
His 80s and 90s bands---Trip Shakespeare and Semisonic---were a little too pop for the MVY world.
And when Semisonic's early-2000s "All About Chemistry" album didn't really break through, commercially, the band went on hold and it seemed like maybe Wilson's considerable song-crafting talents could have slide into obscurity.
Thankfully, he developed into an incredible co-writer and producer, reaching the highest highs in the last decade while co-writing and producing Grammy winning smash hits for The Dixie Chicks and Adele.
He's also worked with Jason Mraz, Mike Doughty, Taylor Swift and Rachel Yamagata, among other artists who can deliver a strong song with a pop sheen.
But listening to a song like Adele's "Someone Like You," even if you feel like that song is too much of a "pop hit," your ears would have to be broken to miss the fact that it is an incredibly well-constructed song, with an instantly memorable melody, with lyrics that pack an emotional wallop.
He could make a song that would fit on MVY.
And he did.
I haven't even dug into what "Disappearing" might be about, or plumbed the details of the melody and the arrangement. I have the feeling that the depth of the song will unfold for me in the coming weeks of listening. But I didn't have to think too hard about adding it to MVY's rotation.
I only had to hear the song once, to love it.
And that, if anything, is the mark of a Dan Wilson tune.
My wife and I were waiting to meet some friends at a bar this weekend. While our friends were extricating themselves from a different party to come join us, my wife and I had some time to sit in the bar, talk and listen.
We talked about serious things. We talked about light things. We talked about Christmas. We talked about the kids.
The usual.
A local band was getting set up at one of end of the barroom. But in the meantime, the PA system was rotating through a bevy of current pop hits.
I don't listen to too much pop music by choice. I don't hate it necessarily. It's just not my taste.
But I DO hear a least a sample of what's current, via my wife and kids.
While they don't like everything---they are discriminating---they like enough to make me feel like I am connected to the pop world so that I know who Macklemore and Ryan Lewis are, or what the fox say.
Some fun song would come on the PA and my wife would start grooving in her chair, a smile breaking out on her face. It wouldn't necessarily stop the conversation or anything. It was just a part of the scene and the mood.
Our friends showed up right around the time the band started playing.
The band's selections tended toward the heavier, moodier stuff, and both my wife and I noted a marked change from what the vibe in the room had been.
"What were they playing before?"
"Oh, you know, Pop stuff," I said. "Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars and such."
My wife started cracking up.
"No they didn't."
Really? I thought they did.
But no. She ran through the 10 or so artists we HAD heard. But Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars were not among them.
Basically, what she was calling me out on, was that to me, there isn't really any difference between hearing Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars, and hearing Fun and Katy Perry and Justin Timberlake (whose songs we DID hear).
Admittedly, unless I have heard the song a few dozen times (via my wife), then sometimes hearing songs from these artists is like trying to tell squirrels apart.
There it was. A little piece of legend wrapped in plastic. And I didn't have the money to buy it.
I headed back to my college dorm, knowing who I had to talk to.
"You aren't going to believe what I saw downtown."
"What?" he said. He was the kind of guy who believed he was cool, so he acted cool, nonchalant. But I knew his interest was piqued.
"The fucking BLACK album!"
He knew what I was talking about, immediately. And he knew what it meant.
I'd gone straight to him, because he was a fan of Prince, like me.
And we'd talked about the mythical Black Album before.
Word was that just weeks before its intended release, it was pulled from production. Few copies existed. Some stories said that Prince thought the record was too dark. Other stories had it that the record label had found it too vulgar.
Whatever the reason, it was not in stores. Until now.
Trolling through the import LPs at a downtown Amherst record shop, I found it. Like the Spinal Tap record that shares its name (and predates it by several years), the record was as black as black could be, with only a small sticker to indicate that this was a Prince release.
It was an "import" suggesting that it had been released in Europe. But more likely it was a bootleg.
And it cost $30.
I didn't have thirty dollars. But I knew someone who would want the record as badly as I did.
"And there's only one copy," I told him.
We made our way back downtown, post-haste, ready to split the cost of owning a rare and profane piece of art.
Neither of us actually owned a record player.
But a guy down the hall did.
He let us sit in his room and listen, so long as we did it one at a time, using headphones so he could keep studying. I got to go first.
I'd heard a few things about the contents of the record. Like, there was a dirty tune about his lust for Cindy Crawford. And that it was funkier than anything he'd released recently. And that he was dabbling in rap. And he'd done all kinds of crazy things to electronically alter his voice.
Like in the song "Bob George," where he talks (rhythmically) to a woman he suspects is cheating on him, with Prince.
I listened as the beats flew by and his voice was amped up, lyrics tumbling by at an over-caffeinated pace. I could hear him saying some nasty shit, but a lot of it was too altered and garbled for me to pick out.
As side one was drawing to an unrelenting close, my co-owner stuck his head in the door.
"How's it sound?" he asked coolly, but with an undertone of eagerness.
"Great," I enthused. "But he's doing some crazy stuff with his voice. And its short too. Side One is about to end and I've only been listening for 10 minutes."
My friend looked at the turntable, and, trying to remain cool and nonchalant, while injecting a slight tone of both disdain and glee, said:
"You don't play an LP at 45. You're listening at the wrong speed."
Like yesterday's track, there is something very distinctly New York about this. Never a hit, not even in its day. But I always loved the rhythmic nature of the song . . .
Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.
Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show. They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are fun to revisit.
Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.
Nearly 20 years later this song is still pretty incredible. Is there anything, anything, like this mix of dirty blues and strings?
Also . . . if you happen to be making some kind of retro-Run/DMC-type rap record, you should definitely take guitar-riff-with-strings section from the one-minute-mark and loop it. No need to thank me when you have a monstrous hit on your hands.
Hear the song on Youtube. Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.
Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show. They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are fun to revisit.
Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.
There's a Youtube video that's appeared on my Facebook feed a number of times in the last few days, featuring a comedian delineating the difference between couples who don't have kids, and couples who do. A number of times, he repeats the phrase, "You have no idea."
I'm sure there is also a rich comedy vein to be tapped by a married person, explaining to unmarried folks that they also have no idea what actually happens in a marriage.
Please examine the picture below.
I can tell you what's on the left. It's a LL Bean tote bag, with my son's name on it. We use the bag for when he does at overnight at Grandma's house. In it, is his coat. The bag is on the floor of my bedroom.
Not terribly unusual.
It's the object center-right that is confounding.
It is a large metal bowl. Normally, I would use that for food preparation. For instance, if I am making meatloaf, this particular metal bowl is excellent for mixing up ground beef and bread crumbs.
Occasionally, this bowl will be appropriated by the kids to house a bunch of Legos or Little People. Or be used as a drum.
Back to the picture: Inside the bowl is an thin old sweatshirt belonging to my wife.
I noticed this bowl-n-sweatshirt combination about a month ago.
Honestly, it didn't really register the first couple of times.
I live with an artist and two small children. And I am pretty slobby. Between us, the house is always in some level of disarray and disorganization. If not outright chaos.
Not that we never clean up. It's just that the speed of disorganization is much greater that the speed of organization.
In my daily bit of cleaning up and clearing up, I'd walk by that bowl and think about taking it to the sink to be cleaned. I'd think about grabbing the sweatshirt and tossing it into the laundry basket.
But for some reason, the sweatshirt in the bowl began to intrigue me.
WHY was this sweatshirt in a bowl? And who put it there?
I decided to wait it out.
Could this be the work of my wife?
Certainly. She often runs art lessons and camps out of our home, and one of the more popular projects she does, is tie-dying with the kids. Maybe that's why she needed the metal bowl, as a plastic one would stain.
If I threw the sweatshirt in the laundry, the process she had started would be broken, and might even fall off the checklist. Maybe this bowl was on the floor because she was going to get to it, when she found some time.
I let days pass. The sweatshirt remained in the bowl amongst other chattel on the bedroom floor.
Another thought occurred to me. Maybe this was the work of the kids.
Imaginative play is huge in our house. Sacred, practically.
I do think this comes from living with an artist.
Our basic parenting philosophy is that as long as it isn't dangerous or permanently damaging, the kids can use most anything in the house, to create their visions.
This is why it is not uncommon to find a number of building blocks attached to the bottom of a pair of shoes using hair elastics. They're homemade stilt-stompers! Or to find a zoo's worth of stuffed animals laid out across their bedroom floor, each one covered with a face cloth or dishtowel. "They're having a sleepover in their tiny sleeping bags!"
Was this a part of some child-created vignette? The sweatshirt was a baby, and this was a crib? It was a lizard and the bowl was a terrarium?
I left the bowl alone, more curious than ever.
Weeks passed.
Oh sure, any of the thousands of times I passed by the bowl, I could have said, "Honey/Kids, why is this sweatshirt in this bowl?" But I was more curious to know what would become of this bowl-n-sweatshirt combination.
Nearly a month went by.
The thought occurred to me that maybe no one put the sweatshirt in the bowl. I mean, no one put the sweatshirt in the bowl with intention. The sweatshirt just ended up in the bowl.
And if that were the case, then were my wife and kids also passing by the bowl multiple times a day, wondering like I was, "Why is that sweatshirt in that bowl? I don't know, but I'm sure whoever put it there, they had their reasons. I'd better leave it alone."
When you live alone, you know where everything is, and why you put it there. And if you don't, you only have yourself to blame.
But for those of you who are not married/don't have kids . . . you have no idea.
I learned to accept this early on in marriage/parenthood.
For instance, I barely flinch when, on Thanksgiving, I ask "Where is the potato masher?" and receive the answer, "With the print-making art supplies."
And when you have kids, you just acclimate to the condition of finding things where they don't belong. We even made up a little song about it, called "Why Is That Pea On The Bathroom Floor?"
One day a week or so ago, I noticed that the bowl was in the sink. And I saw the sweatshirt come out of the laundry.
I didn't ask why.
Sometimes things just appear where you wouldn't expect them to. And they disappear just ask quickly. It's just part of marriage/parenthood.
Epilogue:
I had resisted asking anyone in my family about the sweatshirt in the bowl. But after spending last night writing this post . . . well, the curiosity has overwhelmed me.
As I was sending my wife out the door to work, I corralled her and had her look at the picture for this post.
"Did you do this?"
"Yes. It has a big stain on it, so I was going to dye it."
Years ago, this would mean that the labels would effectively shut down for the couple of weeks around Christmas.
As the Christmas-sprawl spread earlier and earlier into the season (instead of just being the week or two before Christmas), so did the spread of Christmas music taking over the airwaves. It got harder to get a new record going after Thanksgiving. So the labels pretty much stopped releasing things then.
November became a place where only "safe" releases would be put out. "Best Of" albums, or records by artists so famous that the record didn't have to win over a listening audience because it would sell on name alone.
Now the Christmas season pretty much starts the day after Thanksgiving, so releasing anything in November, even marquee-act records, is pretty much a mistake. Paul Simon's new boxed set came out in October, for instance.
This movement has made the MVY playlist (and I'm sure this is true at other stations) hard to manage. Normally, songs run their course, and there are new songs to replace them. But in recent years, as tracks have burnt out in December or early January, there have been slim pickings in terms of new songs to replace the old ones.
In recent years, indie labels have had some success by releasing strong records in this gap. So last year there were a few new great albums from artists like Calexico, Bettye Lavette and David Wax to help us in the "off"-season.
This year, whether by luck or by strategy, November and December and into January should go a little more smoothly.
A number of really strong albums were released at the end of the summer, timed in such a way that the first single is peaking now, and the second single is ready to roll out.
Much easier than trying to bring attention to a new release, the folks who promote records are able to pick up the phone, call guys like me and say "The first Paul McCartney single had a great run on your station. Are you ready to switch tracks to 'Queenie Eye'?"
Other recent adds include second single from Frank Turner and Valerie June and third singles from The Lone Bellow and Bonnie Raitt.
When we got this new Amos Lee song in, I didn't have to think too hard about it. We'd already been listening to the album, I had heard the song a number of times already, the record had already been well received by critics and by our audience. So it's an easy add, and a strong song that can help anchor the station's playlist through until new releases start picking up again in mid-January.
For those who don't like to click through, I'll summarize. The reporter received a press release with a new album from Delicate Steve, and the press release was soooo over the top and intriguing, she had to find out more. It turns out that the release was actually written by none other than the great rock writer Chuck Klosterman, who was offered the gig and told that he could write whatever he wanted and didn't even have to listen to the record. The NPR story goes on to point out that many venues that booked Delicate Steve would post the ridiculously hyperbolic release on their websites, and many writers would lift lines directly from the writing, without knowing that much of it was complete fiction.
My first thought was: Yeah, I'm glad I don't waste my time on that stuff.
We get a ton of new releases into the station. And with most every CD that comes in, there is a "one sheet" accompanying it.
If I'm the one opening the mail, I throw the paper out without looking at it.
I feel terribly guilty about this.
For one, it's such an F-N waste of paper, mailed half-way across the country, to go directly in the trash, unread.
Secondly, these releases are often written by people I know, and interact with professionally. I know they spent hours writing and preparing these releases, thinking through the angle they were going to write about, often fighting with the band over even a sentence or a word about how they were going to be "portrayed." All that, and it goes directly in the trash, unread.
So I feel terribly guilty, but I also feel like they are a big waste of time.
With hundreds of releases coming into the station, can one release really say anything that makes a CD rise to the top of the stack?
Clearly, the NPR story suggests that only a one-sheet piled sky-high with bullshit is capable of standing out.
So why let the information, or the grasping attempt to describe sound with words (sometimes successful, often not), sway my opinion of a band when I can simply put the disc that's in the same envelope, right into the CD player?
Sometimes I feel guilty about not playing a song. Like this one.
It's nice enough. Even a bit catchy. But on its own merits, I don't think it rises above, among the many songs in the new pile.
But it's a charity single, with half the proceeds going to an organization called "Newtown Kindness." The band is based near the town of Sandy Hook, where last year's terrible school shooting occurred.
Not playing a song, is kinda like "voting down" a song. So is not adding "Nothing More" kinda like saying No to kindness and children? Enough to play a song that I don't think is that great?
No. But the guilty feeling does still kinda hang there.
Today is Veteran's Day. Maybe you've thanked a Veteran. But is there something more you could do?
My father-in-law passed away this fall. In making arrangements to have him buried at the National Cemetery at Otis National Air Guard Base, we visited the V.A. in Plymouth, as they were helping with his funeral expenses.
In talking with the very kind-hearted V.A. Administrator, and in looking over his affairs, she realized that they could have helped him so much more when he was alive.
"He was eligible for a number of other benefits."
While he had gone to V.A. hospitals for his health benefits, he hadn't explored his options beyond that. Maybe he hadn't known about them. Maybe he was too proud to ask. I don't know.
My father-in-law was hardly a war hero. He spent his entire time in the service, stationed in New York. As a photographer.
BUT, he served his country in the way that they had asked him too. Those benefits were there for his asking.
Since that day that the V.A. we have tried to reach out to the other veterans in our life---including my wife's step-father who is a Vietnam-era combat veteran---and encourage them to visit or call the V.A.
Veterans can be eligible for assistance with supplemental income, life insurance, housing, medical and prescription expenses, home loans, education help, job placement, and yes, burial.
They may not know of the benefits available. They may be too proud to ask.
Push them to do it. Do it for them. Take them down to the V.A. yourself.
I thought this guy might have a little more of a shelf life. There were some good songs, some good narratives. But not long after this record, he basically stopped making records because he felt he'd taken his style as far as it was going to go. Which, I guess, is a smart thing to do, rather than flog mediocre material.
Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.
Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show. They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are fun to revisit.
Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.
I know Michael Franti has had some commercial breakthrough success in the last few years. If you're only familiar with the last 2 albums, it's totally worth your while to go back to his 90s output, both with the early Spearhead record, and his previous group Disposable Heroes Of Hiphoprisy.
Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.
Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show. They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are fun to revisit.
Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.
If we play it on mvyradio, will folks tune in and go "What the hell is this oldies stuff?"
Or will it just feel similar to a She & Him track---it sounds retro, but is clearly modern enough to fit in the MVY playlist?
I will say, I respect the fact that both these artists, in their respective careers, have refused to be defined by the genres that made them famous, and are willing to go down paths that that traditional fans might find uncool/uninteresting.
So that does tip the "friendly feeling" scales for me.
But feeling good about the artists doesn't answer the original concern . . . what will it sound like to flip the dial to MVY and hear this? Good or bad?
My friend Amy Vanneman reminded me of the cautionary tale of Thidwick The Big Hearted Moose. I certainly didn't want anything living in there.
Literally, with 2 outs in the top of the 9th, during Game 6 of the World Series, I went into the bathroom and plugged in my electric razor for the first time in weeks.
I'm not a huge fan of shaving. I find it to be a messy hassle, a real drag on the morning routine.
Fortunately, I married a woman who likes a bit of facial hair on me, so I'm okay.
In fact, the last time I was clean shaven---shaved with a straight-edge razor---was my wedding day 8 years ago.
Since then, every week or two I use an electric razor to shave down to a 5 o'clock shadow and then let it grow for another week or two.
This was the longest I'd ever let it get. I was doing it for the Sox---so I said.
But c'mon, I might as well be truthful, if this year's "thing" was to grow a rat-tail or get a Neil Diamond tattoo or walk around with a ferret dressed as Paul Revere, I wasn't likely to do it.
I like the Red Sox. But I'm a bigger fan of not shaving.
So after the razor was charged up over night, I sheared my face.
On Monday I was filling in for Barbara Dacey during The Lunch Hour. I'd decided to use her Essential MVY feature---where she delves more deeply into a particular artist or theme---to explore the Wilco album "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot."
At the end of the hour, as I was recapping and switching gears back to regular programming, I had a little revelation as to why I'd been making a mistake over and over.
All fall long, as I've introduced the new Amos Lee track, I'm stumbled over the title. But saying the two titles back to back explained the reason . . .
I'd played Wilco's "I'm The Man You LOVES You," in the Wilco set, and came out of the Wilco set and into "The Man Who WANTS You" by Amos Lee.
All fall long when I've introduced the Amos Lee song, I've stumbled over "Loves," because my brain wants to say "Wants."
I'm not sure I'll get any better at not mixing the titles up. But at least I understand why.
And they have a few of them at the pre-school he attends.
My wife and I were crying/laughing the day his teacher, Sally, sent this picture home. He apparently wears this ensemble on a regular basis.
My wife posted this picture on Facebook, and I couldn't resist putting up a song quote. Had to laugh when I saw that Sally posted the picture, too, and thought of the same quote. "I see you got your leopard skin pillbox hat/Well, you must tell me, baby/How your head feels under somethin’ like that?"
Baseball is a slow game. So despite the excitement of the World Series,
there was plenty of time between innings and between pitches, to think
about songs that would make fun (but ultimately stupid) music cues for
some of the players, like Dustin Pedroia.
Baseball is a slow game. So despite the excitement of the World Series,
there was plenty of time between innings and between pitches, to think
about songs that would make fun (but ultimately stupid) music cues for
some of the players, like Jarrod Saltalamacchia and Jon Lester.
I'm sure a guy nicknamed "Salty" has heard this one before. But hey, it's performed by a guy named Lester, too!
Baseball is a slow game. So despite the excitement of the World Series, there was plenty of time between innings and between pitches, to think about songs that would make fun (but ultimately stupid) music cues for some of the players.
Since Xander is from Aruba, which is part of the marijuana-friendly Netherlands, I'm most certain that he never bogarts a joint . . .