The Isle of Marm

MOTHERS, Eh, Dingus?
(I remain dangerous at the Scrabble Board.)

I couldn’t remember why it was that I had a recurring dream about watching “Doontoon Abbey” with Groundskeeper Willie until just now.

Net work for the day: STILL 0. It’s gonna happen.

It’s been years since “The Devil’s Hands are Idle Playthings”, but I still think about it sometimes.  Based on this clock, sometimes for hours.  Damn you, Robot Devil!

The “you” was not clear.
The “far” and “pleasant” are to scale.
The “work” is still pending.

I sat and watched this little geometer¹ for almost 20 minutes yesterday.  Entertaining as it was, I later remembered what pulled me away from an interest in entomology:  I’ve since literally itched probably 16 and 16 square inches (206.45 cm ²) of skin raw.  Etymology is a much more comfortable hobby.

¹Geometer: ORIGIN late Middle English: from late Latin (…) geometra, based on Greek geōmetrēs, from gē ‘earth’ + metrēs ‘measurer.’

One could listen to this song just over 490 times today, if one were so inclined.

(201203160016—Final net tally: 394)

This song is the B-side on the single that also contained “Yakety Sax”. 

(That Yakety Sax.) 

Starálfur:  The best song in “Hopelandish”?

Perhaps.

You hear “Back in Black” in the morning and it sets a tone for the day.  An awesome tone.   While I believe this power is inherent to the music itself, I am open to the idea that it may be due to things associated with it, which include:

• The memory of a mixtape I made for someone I was ass-over-teakettle in love with back in 2001.  Said tape opened with “Big Balls” which may not have been the clearest way to say “yes, we’re friends, but there is a distinctly non-platonic thing that I would be curious about exploring with you.“  AND YET IT TOTALLY SAYS THAT, RIGHT?  I think it may have ended with “Back in Black”.  Or it was in there elsewhere.   It was, to say the least, an “uneven” tape.
• The phenomena of off-white whiteness, i.e., there is maybe only one song that makes me feel quite white/American as this song and that is Billy Squire’s “Stroke”. This is not Mexican music.  This is not Arabic music.  This is not something that would play in the family mini-van  (i.e., this is not my parents’ music.)  This is music I weirdly gravitated toward once let loose to roam the airwaves of upstate New York.  Ithaca’s choices were primarily College Radio/Prog Rock (or as I thought for an unfortunately long time, “Prague Rock”, as in “what do you mean this isn’t Czech”)  or “Classic Rock”; basically, stations with Metal Mondays.  Boom.  Or Clang.  Whatever.
• Lewis Black. (And Dennis Miller, but maybe that is just a playlist proximity based hold-over.)  Every time I see him, I am just gladdened by the fact that one can be so angry and not die from stress related complications.  His continued existence is like a tiny triumph. 
•  
•  
• etc.

I just got a grumbley stepper motor working (after a long phone conversation with an Eastern European about controllers and baud rates).  That is a bigger triumph, so I listen to this now before being back in data.  Then back to TCB’ing.  Minus the BTO.  Okay.

Chappelle’s Show, episode 2.3. 

If memory serves, that first skit was like walking home from downtown Berkeley through to Broakland, right down to the megaphone music of our neighbors.

Earth-Madness, Day 6: There are few ways out of my head.
There are 5, maybe only 4, more severe earworms I’ve had. Ever.
You get serenaded by a 3 year old and it’s stuck for days.
It’s too catchy for what it is.  And it makes…little sense.
I hadn’t heard this song since I was one wee little person.