I found a link to the entire collection of Live8 performances available for download as separate files this morning. (Look on the sidebar to the left.) Having just gotten back from Ireland two weeks ago, and having missed the Dublin U2 concert by three days, the recent events in London just bring me down completely. Without getting too maudlin or stupid here, that shit sucks. In view of the effort and intentions of Live8, the idea that a bunch of assholes could target innocent people again to make a political point is just sad.
I don’t know if Live8 had the same political and international impact that Live Aid had in ’85; I know that the BBC documentary Jen and I caught in Ireland on Live Aid did a great job of reminding us just how much the world stopped to watch, get involved, and make a difference—and that feeling seemed to be missing this time around. Maybe it’s because I’m not plugged into MTV or the music scene (or because I’m not in High School anymore) but it just didn’t reach me like it did when I was 14. Did anybody else have this feeling?
That having been said, it’s great to see Pink Floyd onstage together again; Dave Gilmour looks wierd with short white hair, but he sounds a million times better than Roger Waters. Bono needs to take those stupid nail salon sunglasses off once and for all. Richard Ashcroft sounded great with Coldplay. Paul McCartney doing “Helter Skelter” stood the hair on my neck up. I’m still having a hard time with Chris Cornell and Rage Against the Machine, but it wasn’t too bad. (He can scream with the best of them, but he has a problem with the whole ‘spitting venom at the Man’ thing.) Green Day sounded tighter than a snare drum—props to them on their latest album. The sound feed in Toronto was the worst I’ve ever heard. Who was the tone-deaf tool singing with Stevie Wonder on Higher Ground? I can’t say I was otherwise all that interested in the U.S. lineup—(*cough*)Linkin Park(*cough*)Maroon 5(*cough*)Toby Keith(*cough*)—and what’s up with “Tami the HIV Positive Muppet?” I’d like to make a suggestion to the Henson folks: if we want to teach tolerance for other folks, we should probably concentrate on teaching our kids how to live with ASSHOLES first. Let’s try “Chip, the Conservative Christian Republican,” or maybe “Jasmine, the Ex-Sorority Girl Pharamceutical Rep.”
Just a suggestion.
Live 8 Video Downloads
Man, that’s cool, but it’s gotta be a bandwidth PIG.
Today is one of those days I wake up with a random song stuck in my head, courtesy of an overactive subconscious. This happens to me on an average of about 4 days every week, and it gets annoying quickly, as the songs are usually bad ones. This morning’s Soundtrack of Doom: “Philadelphia Fever” by Elton John.
The Fourth of July party was successful this year; Jen and I worked hard to get the house ready for visitors, make food, and stop to enjoy ourselves. Friday we put off the inevitable one more day and I took my bride to see Episode III, which we both enjoyed. Saturday and Sunday we moved furniture back into the living room (for what felt like the 15th time), organized all the piles of stuff that had been thrown in random places before the floor sanding, and attempted to make the kitchen look as pleasant as possible. During one of my trips outside to the garbage cans, I found our sleep number bed stacked neatly on the exam room porch (we have two small porches off the back of the house, and the exam room porch seems to be the Universal Deposit Area For Unannounced Deliveries) and moved it inside. It could have been around this time that I pulled the Achilles tendon, but I don’t know for sure.
The parade itself was longer than last year’s, and the overall tone was a little more PC than last year’s: there was no POW-MIA float with a bamboo cage and coolie-hat, AK-toting ‘Vietcong’ guard. The huge Reagan stuffed puppet did not make a return appearance. However, the Governor and his lousy hair showed up with a gaggle of sign-toting supporters and three Secret Service Suburbans in tow (no doubt scanning the crowd for hidden Catonsville sleeper cells) and there was a ‘float’ sponsored by a local Gentleman’s Club: a six-wheeled, shit-brown Hummer H2, followed by the Hustler Honey or whatever they call the local talent, astride a Harley chopper with a huge “FOR SALE” sign on the side. There’s nothing like free publicity, even when your model is three sizes too big for her leather ass-chaps. A wholesome family event, indeed.
Overall, though, the parade was fun, and it felt good to sit in the sunshine and enjoy the day.
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I finally took five minutes to figure out why the detail popups on my design pages weren’t working; some bad CSS implementation and a gremlin in the HTML b0rked the script, so the page hasn’t been working for about six months now (d’oh!)
I uploaded some select pictures from the 4th of July parade in Catonsville this morning, and I’m just now getting to mentioning them here. Thanks to everybody who came and we hope you all had a good time!
This weekend was a blur of preparation for the annual 4th of July parade barbecue on the Lockardugan Great Lawn. The challenge was to get everything ready for the party and put our house back together in three days’ time. I’m pleased to say we got it all done in time and had a great afternoon to boot, but there was one casualty: I pulled my Achilles tendon at some point on Saturday as I was moving furniture around. Sunday morning I woke up to a swollen ankle and a day of hopping around on one foot.
I wish I could tell you exactly how it happened, but there was no Joe Theismann moment when I heard it pop. The nurse practitioner couldn’t really tell me much yesterday, so I have an appointment to see a ‘specialist’ today who can diagnose any major problems. In the meantime, I’m not driving anywhere (it’s the right foot, naturally) so I’m playing hooky.
Build Your Own Chat-Cord
VoIP using this gadget and your existing phone. Cool.
Hung Over On The Auld Sod.
Saturday morning Jen and I woke with some pretty serious hangovers—the beers, mixed drinks, and shooter had all conspired to lay us pretty low. We staggered downstairs to the restaurant to have some breakfast, then back usptairs to shower, and made it to the checkout desk with five minutes to spare. I got on the house phone and made a reservation at a B&B in Cahir for the evening, and we got on the road at about 1pm.
Because of the late start, we didn’t have much time or range to sightsee, so we picked an easy destination and stopped at the Lismore Cathedral and Castle. The Cathedral is off the beaten path and very quiet; we were two of only a few to explore when we were there. The grounds of the cathedral are sectioned off so that the tourists don’t trample the grass around the headstones, but the interior of the church is peaceful and cool.
Walking down the street, we found the Lismore Castle after some hunting, and gained admittance to the gardens. (The castle is owned by the Duke of Something-Or-Other, and predictably, he doesn’t like tourists wandering through the halls.) However, the gardens are open to the public, so we ventured inside and walked the grounds. It’s the garden (and the yard) you wish you had—acres of exotic and not-so-exotic plants growing in plots that made sense, but weren’t overly planned or maintained—the whole place had the air of a fashionably overrun English garden. We got to climb one of the gatetowers from the original outer castle wall and peek over the edge (this would have been a dream come true for a 10-year-old Bill, let me tell you) as well as look in the windows of the castle (lots of drywall, unfortunately).
From Lismore we headed further north to Cahir, where we were pleased to find our B&B choice was an old-school storefront beautifully rehabbed into a private residence—best of all, it was walking distance to all the local pubs.
After checking in, we asked for a food recommendation and were pointed to a local pub which featured food better than the standard fare, and got seats at a table in the cozy bar section. I’d have to say this was probably the best meal we had in Ireland (in my opinion); tasty food served well with good beer. Returning to our room, we fell asleep to a documentary on Live Aid and Sir Bob on the Beeb which lasted at least three hours. (This is where Jen got the phrase “Feckofffeckofffeckoff” stuck in her head. Good times.)
idiot king – Duh.
cash is king logo – This one I don’t get.
squirrel movable pvc garden – Right, I can see that, I guess…
frigidaire air conditioner annoying beep – Heh, I don’t remember writing about all these together, but it makes sense…
idiot – Again, duh
diy casette adapter – I don’t remember writing about this either…
soul coughing idiot king – Once more, with feeling: DUH
kill the wabbit metallica – Ha ha
disposable digital video camera – Must have been on the linkblog
blisters tickling itch – Eeeeeewww.
I guess I should be happy it’s not pr0n search terms or sales links or other crap like that, but I’m not writing about any of those things, either.