Another Peanuts, this time with a pile of alliteration:
Who wouldn’t resent being called a tiny tot?
Meanwhile, the girls seem to be musically informed.
An annual feature on this blog looks at Christmas music — from the sacred and serious to the trashy. Now John McIntyre, on his Baltimore Sun blog, invites opinion:
Tell me what Christmas music you find most loathsome.
McIntyre asks whether there is anything worse than “The Little Drummer Boy”. That song gets lots of other votes (including mine), but there are other candidates, like “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”.
I didn’t understand his erratic behavior or the intensity of his moods, which shifted, like his speech patterns, from speedy to laconic. But I understood his devotion to poetry and the transporting quality of his performances. He had black eyes, black T-shirt, pale skin. He was curious, sometimes suspicious, a voracious reader, and a sonic explorer. An obscure guitar pedal was for him another kind of poem. He was our connection to the infamous air of the Factory. He had made Edie Sedgwick dance. Andy Warhol whispered in his ear. Lou brought the sensibilities of art and literature into his music. He was our generation’s New York poet, championing its misfits as Whitman had championed its workingman and Lorca its persecuted.
Here are Smith and Reed in 1970, looking impossibly young and cool:
(Mostly not about language.)
Seen on Smallville this morning, an episode (centered on character Jimmy Olsen) that switched into film noir style for most of its time. This is a trope — duly noted on the TV Tropes site — that has appeared in episodes on other tv shows: Charmed, Moonlighting, Monk, Castle, plus some shows that drew on the style throughout (Peter Gunn, Angel, Veronica Mars). A borrowing of a characteristic visual style and thematic content from one (historical) medium into another, intended affectionately rather than mockingly.
In yesterday’s NYT, an obit, “James A. Emanuel, Poet Who Wrote of Racism, Dies at 92″ by William Yardley, concluding:
In his later years, Mr. Emanuel claimed to have invented a new form of literature: the jazz haiku, stanzas of 17 syllables he read to the accompaniment of jazz music. Like the music, they felt improvisational even as they respected structure:
Four-letter word JAZZ:
naughty, sexy, cerebral,
Googling on “jazz haiku” pulls up a considerable number of haiku about jazz.
In the NYT yesterday, “Rutgers Updates Its Anthem to Include Women” by Ariel Kaminer:
No one song could ever capture all the motivations that bring students to a college campus, all the experiences they have there or all the ways those experiences changed their lives.
But “On the Banks of the Old Raritan,” the alma mater of Rutgers University, is particularly inadequate. “My father sent me to old Rutgers,” the song proudly began, “And resolved that I should be a man.”
Women were first enrolled in Rutgers in 1972 and now make up half the student body. It was time for fresh words.
From Frank McQuarry on Facebook this morning:
“I love, I love, I love my little colander tool….”
An allusion to the song “Calendar Girl” — and a lead-in to Pastafarianism and recent politics in Russia.
A New Yorker cartoon by Emily Flake:
The reference is to Miley Cyrus’s performance at the recent Video Music Awards.
Recent deaths: writer Elmore Leonard and pianist Marian McPartland, great stylists in their respective fields.
From yesterday’s “Metropolitan Diary” in the NYT”, “At Kerouac’s Old Place, No Scatting Allowed”, by Carol Knauder:
I love the unintentional typo of the sign in the courtyard of my sister’s West Village apartment building, where it’s rumored Jack Kerouac once lived.
Taken at face value, though, I do wonder why a no scatting zone would be necessary in this day and age. I then imagine under the sign an illustration of Ella Fitzgerald scatting inside a “No” symbol — a circle and a diagonal red line through the picture — stifling her singing “Bu di di bi bu bi dibi…” from “How High the Moon.”