How's Your Shadow Puppetry These Days?

One famous Sunday evening, gathered around our television sets, many in my "Boomer" generation were convinced that we’d had revealed to us our mission in life. When Ed Sullivan famously announced, "And now…here they are…" and four mop-headed Liverpool lads waved their fretted wands about and casted their spells on us, the music stores next day were selling guitars like snow shovels after broadcasted blizzard warnings. As we passed the showroom window of a Denver music store, I remember my parents asking me what instrument I would like to play. I answered, "Drums." to which mother remarked, "That's not an instrument." No offense to drummers; I'm quite sure she intended that as drums are not typically melodic instruments, especially as she'd heard them played through the cacophony of screaming teen girls on Ed Sullivan.

I remember that before we were treated to the headlining Beatles, we had to endure spinning plates to the tune of Khachaturian's "Saber Dance". The farther we traverse away from that time period, the more it seems incredible that plate-spinners, musical spoon-players, Señor Wences, and the like could actually get booked on the same venue along with great fab four. Then one wonders if the Beatles were viewed as just entertainers by booking agents: Rock Band/Plate-spinners…six for half-a-dozen.

Hunger Games - *B.A.N.A.S.

On the unofficial anti-holiday known as Tax Day, my wife and I anti-celebrated by taking in the 2012 blockbuster film "Hunger games"—along with one of my oldest friends and music associates (and his wife). At that time, HG was about to reach its fourth consecutive weekend at number one. At a time pre-dating current super widespread international and domestic piracy threats, four weeks would equal maybe ten weeks. Just a little less recently to our movie date, I was quasi reticent to even spend the money on that particular movie because of the subject matter—namely the ostensibly hackneyed premise where humans are being hunted by privileged humans for the sport enjoyed by a ruling sect. There is a popular expression: "I've seen that movie". Based on its trailer, I felt this way about the much ballyhooed "HG". The first of this story of the genre I can remember is "The Most Dangerous Game", bonus-beloved by me for (my interpreting) its use of "Game" as double entendre. Much later last century, along came Da pre-governating Tohminator, along with Hogan's Heroic Feud-meister (the late Richard Dawson); they begat "Running Man"—that incidentally begat an annoying dance move that shows up at times on Saturday Night Live when former Nicklodian'ian Keenan Thompson asks the musical question, "Whazzup with That". This rendition was great. Contrary to my misgivings and to my pleasant surprise, what I saw instead was a new work that did use an overused premise but created something new. Therein is today's object lesson brought to us by Tinseltown.

Record/Water Sales

2011 was a record-breaking year for water sold in the States. With 9.1 billion gallons of bottled water sold, bottled water sales broke the previous 2007 record of 8.8 billion gallons sold in the U.S. of A.

[Source: Blue Living Ideas]

When I was in my teens, there are two things in particular that were facts of that time in life that now are no longer so: few people bought their water in bottles and most people bought their music in packages. Today, the reverse is true. Music flows over the Internet as free and freely as once did water. A fact of commerce is that “If you want something good, you have to pay for it"…otherwise you're stealing. It's not only the product or service, but it is the non-replenishable time given to provide tools, materials, and creativity to provide the former.

GIFTED

And the award goes to…

…GOD!

Accepting for God is…

Since our recent release of "The Mμne-Pi Parables"—our latest SIDzCarbonatedMilk project, we have received many accolades, critical acclaim, and much high praise for the music, lyrics, and performances contained and showcased within. As producer, performer, and composer/arranger of "TM-PP", much praise has been lauded me. I immediately share the credit with the rest of the cast—as indeed I must. Although any waning sense of honesty and fairness would impel me to extol them so, I also really believe it serves to encourage us all—especially considering our being an indie operation that is blessedly free of the artificial Baby, you're beautiful hype machines that seed and feed to cultivate cold stars. [As such, just monetary reflections in sales commensurate with said praises and acknowledgements have not just yet been as immediate.] Addressing my own laudatory launches, the reactions from my "band-mates" tend mostly to be humble deflective shuns of my praise toward them and immediate reciprocal projections of said praise. They will ah-shucks the delivery of commendations and express their appreciation for my making them a part of what they will tell me "…is an excellent project." I know them; I know that their reactions do not at all fall under the classification of false modesty. It's just a matter of their being well balanced between manners and candor in a society that frowns upon even the faintest whiff of arrogance.

The Mµne-Pi Morality Manifesto

Morality µ (= resistance) Nimbly Engaging Pure-hearted Intellectualism


We’re through the looking glass, people.
     But is it because a predatory secular society has re-trained brains to perceive mirror-wise through skewed views?  As I groom, primp, perfect, and prepare in my bathroom mirror, I am guided by the image of my movements therein reflected.  I have seen myself operating reverse in it for so long that interpreting my inverse movements has become more natural than ever is my negotiating from the vantage of two mirrors that show true directions in real time.  Similarly, secular humanism’s reversing effect on moral truth has yielded a bumptious bumper crop of meandering minds guided by moral compasses that always point…wherever.

My Brain is a Fat Man!

...full of things, needs the fat bran.

[from the Men in Martian Ice CD*]

"What it is?", we used to say, back in the day when we'd wear our hair that way...long and limp...crowned with flowers, 'fro-on-the-go with the pick up and sticking out a defiant Black power salute to the lifting of spirits, lifting up hair, looking like lions' manes...muh main mans--lifting and lifted the spirit of racial pride.

Like pride, the family of lions, lies ongoing promoting dogma which ignores the dynamics of perceived reality (as opposed to the static nature of eternal truth).

Born in that time, was the notion that if we all just hung out together painting happy pictures on canvases of cloth and/or nubile immodest bodies...if artists ruled the government...the world would be at peace. ...forgetting that only a few decades before, that experiment was tried by a little artists' collective called the THIRD REICH fronted by evil A. Hitler...lethal to their captive audiences.