rock and roll musings by Tim Byrnes

Christmas Is For Suckers: A punkrockblues Holiday Special

   I am right now, this very minute eating the absolutely best peanut butter brownie I've ever had in my long and sorry life, warmly ensconced in the friendly glow of the regular customer and the computer screen. The Library here in Fowler has been a great friend and friendly place to me during the squalls of the everyday war, the small stuff I complain about when I should be writing about music or counting my blessings, for Christ's sake.

 

     There's that name again.

 

     Anyway, music, hmmmmmmm. Lately ain't nobody moved me except John Mayer and, boy, ain't he the shit? Boy can do it all, he said like Foghorn Leghorn, only in type. Haven't really been listening to music lately 'cause, for some reason, the 1st thing I packed was my stereo. The move's been postponed until after the 1st of the year for various reasons, all of them good and sure to lead to a better state in the long run.

 

     How vague was that, huh? Might be I oughta run for something.

 

     My buddy Carl Simmons can tell ya, if ya ask him, that for all my misanthropic ranting I'm the guy who cries at phone commercials, ok? 'Here Comes a Regular' by the Replacements reduces me to tears as does 'Somewhere That's Green' from 'Little Shop of Horrors' so let's say I'm not really immune to sentimentality, just that most the time I know that my strings are being pulled, though that knowledges makes the heart rending any less effective. Like I say, perception is all. Which leads me to the following question I've been avoiding asking for a looooooong time.

    If perception is all, why have I chosen the perceptions I have?

     In my defense I'm going with 'faith is like a record collection, it reflects the needs, desires and oftentime the failings of the collector. In this case, the collection is one of beliefs, shared assumptions, iconography, tradition and..........' In other words, kill the spirit with words. Which leads me to Christmas. The word and the hype have killed whatever spirit the highjacked day purported to hold. I'm too tired to even feel left out anymore. I see the commercials for all the chainstores ('America Shops While Iraq Burns', indeed) and all I can muster is a slight case of resentment 'cause everyone's dressed better than me. It's like getting mad at St. Patrick's Day. 'Let the rummies march!', as my old man would say.

 

    Let the masses shop, it's Christmas for Christ's sake.

 

Posted by: timbyrnes at 18:28 | link | comments (6)

I've Got Some Good News and Some Good News: Yes This is punk rock blues

      Greetings, poetry lovers! Sorry I've been away, it's been a busy, busy couple of weeks. First to announce w/greatest pleasure the following news: Bleeker Street Kitten came meowing up to the house last Sunday, skin a mite baggy but looking none the worse for wear. The next day MacDougal X. Cheese returned after a 5 day absence, ornery as ever - have you ever heard a cat growl while he was eating? - but glad to be home, especially w/the temps dropping to 0 and below at night and not warming up much during the day.

     When last we met I had just 'adopted' my ex-neighbor's abandoned cats, right? Well, second to announce w/greatest pleasure this following news. All cats, including Speedy Firbank my outside stray are now comfortable ensconced in Chateau Byrnes, warm, well-fed and finally not trying to kill each other on sight. Funny what a little love and attention (and a policeman named Buster) can do, huh? In any event I've spent the last week and 1/2 helping them get acclimated w/each other so their upcoming move will be less traumatic.

    Upcoming move, you say?

    That's right, cyberspace, and here's third to announce w/greatest pleasure the following news: my ex-wife Lynn has invited not only Buster, not only Bleeker and MacDougal, not only the Killer Camille and her brood, not only Speedy Firbank, King of the Mild Frontier, but yr skinny scribe also to move back to La Junta where there are, among other possibilities, many, many more job opportunities for the likes of me.

    As I told her when she asked (and, yeah, it took about .00005 seconds for me to say 'yes') I have no expectations. Hopes? Oh yeah, I have hopes, but no expectations. And having lived much of my life w/those sentiments reversed I gotta tell ya, I'm loving this. A second chance I don't deserve, but as has been said, if we got what we deserved who among us would escape the hangman's etc.?

  Along with the chance to again be w/the woman I love (and never stopped loving) and a more robust job market I will also have at home internet access and, as a result will post more often. Right now I'm too freaking happy to carp about Pink Floyd (but aren't they just horrible?) or preach the antigospel of the Afghan Whigs ( but, honestly, they ruled! Check 'em out), but I wanted y'all to know that the journey has taken another turn and didn't think it'd be fair to not share the lightness of heart I hold now after so many months of dumping darkness.

   In music notes: right now Sigur Ros sounds more like my life than Sonic Youth. And that's a good thing.

tb

Posted by: timbyrnes at 18:37 | link | comments (4)