The Christmas Song

It’s time again to start posting vids of Christmas music. Here’s the breath-taking voices of The King’s Singers

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Sweet Home Indeed

Well ‘Bama, you did it. Or I should say, black female voters of Alabama did it but hey, let’s credit half the state at least. An accused pedophile who really doesn’t know how to ride a horse and carries a toy gun will not be joining the US Senate. The Republic stands!

About this song. Most take it as a rebuke of Neil Young but really it’s about Ronnie Van Zant, telling his hero Neil that they’ve got this and don’t lump us in with the racists. Young later concluded they were right. From Wiki:

“Music historians point out that the choice of Birmingham in connection with the governor (rather than the capital Montgomery) is significant for the controversy as “In 1963, the city was the site of massive civil rights activism, as thousands of demonstrators led by Martin Luther King, Jr. sought to desegregate downtown businesses… [and] was the scene of some of the most violent moments of the Civil Rights Movement. Segregationist police chief Bull Connor unleashed attack dogs and high-pressure water cannons against peaceful marchers, including women and children; just weeks later, Ku Klux Klansmen bombed a black church, killing four little girls.”

In 1975, Van Zant said: “The lyrics about the governor of Alabama were misunderstood. The general public didn’t notice the words ‘Boo! Boo! Boo!’ after that particular line, and the media picked up only on the reference to the people loving the governor.” “The line ‘We all did what we could do’ is sort of ambiguous,” Al Kooper notes. “‘We tried to get Wallace out of there’ is how I always thought of it.”[5] Towards the end of the song, Van Zant adds “where the governor’s true” to the chorus’s “where the skies are so blue,” a line rendered ironic by the previous booing of the governor. Journalist Al Swenson argues that the song is more complex than it is sometimes given credit for, suggesting that it only looks like an endorsement of Wallace.[5] “Wallace and I have very little in common,” Van Zant himself said, “I don’t like what he says about colored people.”

Music historians examining the juxtaposition of invoking Richard Nixon and Watergate after Wallace and Birmingham note that one reading of the lyrics is an “attack against the liberals who were so outraged at Nixon’s conduct” while others interpret it regionally: “the band was speaking for the entire South, saying to northerners, we’re not judging you as ordinary citizens for the failures of your leaders in Watergate; don’t judge all of us as individuals for the racial problems of southern society”.”

So congratulations to Doug Jones and the state of Alabama. You’ve made us all proud.

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Avengers: Infinity War Trailer?!

Take my money! My nerdy parts are engorged and tingling.

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Caturday – Luna is a Lady of Leisure

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It is unseasonably warm this weekend but the cats don’t trust it. They go outside for short stretches and come back inside to to rest and replenish. Luna went outside early this morning and then came back in about an hour later to catch a nap. Now she’s back outside.

Joffrey was out for about fifteen minutes and now is on my chest as I type this. Ever try to type with an eighteen pound purring monster on your chest? It ain’t easy.

Hope you’re having a great holiday weekend.

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I Give Thanks!

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First of all thanks to all my readers and followers. I have no idea who most of you are but I appreciate that you stop by whether it’s for the cats, the commentary, or a fruitless search for a photo of Tricia Helfer’s butt.

I give thanks for my wife who cooked an awesome and inspiring meal this day, for loving and caring for a dolt like me, and making my day every day.

I give thanks to friends and family from all over who, despite the distance, do an often stellar job of keeping in touch with us. We will likely be living here, well often the cliched beaten path, for the rest of our lives. Yet so many make an extraordinary effort to stay in touch and that means so much to both of us.

And thanks to our two dogs and the multitude of cats that make our lives so interesting, entertaining, and loving.

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Slippery When Slippery

 

Minus the catastrophes, this was my little bus this morning. It was below freezing and a wave of rain swept through the road I was going back and forth on. I can handle that pretty well with a car but with a heavy bus half-full of sleepy children it’s a different matter. I drove with caution and didn’t get into any trouble but DAMN my heart was palpitating.

And now it’s on to a four day weekend, over-eating, football, and sleeping in. Just what my poor cardio system needs.

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Rot in Hell Charlie

Charles Manson has died at the age of 83. Now he answers to a new boss.

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Manson was diagnosed with a couple of mental illnesses included schizophrenia and yeah, he was subjected to a horrible upbringing. But some rise above it, others do not. Most mentally ill people are a danger to themselves. Manson was a manipulative little shit with delusions of grandeur, a racist, a misogynist, and the motherfucker never showed a single bit of remorse or self-awareness his entire incarceration. May he now be subjected to all of Hell’s particular delights.

The late 60s in CA was a crazy time. Great for music but the social upheaval was substantial. And some could feel the coming of the monster in the air. I saw this quoted today and it’s worth posting:

“This mystical flirtation with the idea of ‘sin’—this sense that it was possible to go ‘too far,’ and that many people were doing it—was very much with us in Los Angeles in 1968 and 1969…The jitters were setting in. I recall a time when the dogs barked every night and the moon was always full. On August 9, 1969, I was sitting in the shallow end of my sister-in-law’s swimming pool in Beverly Hills when she received a telephone call from a friend who had just heard about the murders at Sharon Tate Polanski’s house on Cielo Drive. The phone rang many times during the next hour. These early reports were garbled and contradictory. One caller would say hoods, the next would say chains. There were twenty dead, no, twelve, ten, eighteen. Black masses were imagined, and bad trips blamed. I remembered all of the day’s misinformation very clearly, and I also remember this, and wish I did not: I remember that no one was surprised.”—Joan Didion

 

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