Actually, my clairvoyance regarding the participants in this year's Super Bowl goes back a few weeks. I just had a weird feeling about it. Besides, it was my personal preference as to whom I might be watching at that game. At home, on TV, of course. You won't find me in Phoenix, Az. unless it's in the trunk of a '72 Ford Galaxy, rotting away and alerting Security to a foul smell. Not that I expect that or anything, it's just "The Worst Thing I Could Think Of" just now. Anywhere south of Flagstaff, I want nothing to do with.
Martin Luther King Day. Just once, I'd like to hear about all the fucked up things that guy did while alive. I mean: "Yea, he did allot of really good stuff" but, "He did allot of really bad stuff, too." I'd like to hear about that Bad Stuff, just once, in mainstream media. It'll NEVER HAPPEN. Think about it for a moment though... All the Dumb Assed Shit that people like Richard Nixon, LBJ, J. Edgar Hoover, etc. (The list would fill a paragraph) did during their protracted "15 Minutes Of Fame" got write-up's. Why not Dr. King as well? You can do your own homework. I'm not about to set myself up for some horrific Spamming Episode here. Been there. Done that. Got the T-Shirt.
Somewhat relatedly: I was going to watch "The Butler" with Forrest Whitaker and (Oh, no, not HER) Oprah Winfrey in it. Somewhere between thinking about Oprah's Big Mouth and Forrest's Weird Eye, I lost interest and watched something else. I'm sure it's a great story and all but, I simply "lost interest."
"They Tell It To Oprah..."
I've loved listening to Root Boy Slim (and The Sex Change Band w/The Rootettes) like, "forever." Past (don't have any now) roommates have threatened to: "Cut off my power" for listening to them for hours on end. Foster MacKenzie III, aka R.B.S., was a Frat-Mate of G.W. Bush, until the latter had Root Boy kicked out for "being too weird." As if.
I particularly like Root Boy himself and Ernie Lancaster, the guitarist. Ron Holloway, the sax player and the slide guitarist, Walt Andrews, are no slouches, either. The whole band just sort of "clicks" behind Root Boy Slim. He's been dead for a long while now. You can't floorboard an engine at 10,000rpm forever, Kids. RBSATSCB made the D.C. Bar Scene for awhile. They mostly played the East Coast.
Root Boy drove an Ice Cream Truck through the fence at the White House, Pee'd on The Pentagon and once stole a Street Sweeper, which landed him in a Psych Ward for a bit. Peanuts. The band did much weirder things, regularly. RBS Did "One Album and Out" with Warner Brothers and 5 others on smaller, different labels. Band members came and went. You can Google the discography.
I wish the buses were running today. I'd go down to the harbor, hang around with a couple PBR's, a sandwich, smell the rotting kelp and stuff. (Maybe kick a dead crab or something) Lots of disgusting smells around a good sized bay. I'm "right at home" there. I've lived on or near the water, near either Oceans or Bays, for allot of years now. Wouldn't feel comfortable anywhere else. There's always tomorrow. The kelp and Mushy Bay Smells will still be there. I'll do a Top Ten Smelly Bays post, sometime.
I need a couple of things at the grocery store anyway.
I have Lasagne to "put up." I let it "mature" in the 'fridge overnight. It's easier to portion out when it's cold, too. The 9"x9"x3" pan I made weighs in at about 7 pounds. Solid stuff. Sausage, 'burger, green peppers, onions, mushrooms, 2 lbs. of Mozzarella, 1 lb. of Ricotta, Parmesan, Malbec Wine Marinara sauce, the usual herbs, all baked off real slow. I'll have a good sized piece tonight (or not) and then freeze the rest. It's a good "I don't want to cook tonight" thing to have in the freezer.
Other than this drivel: "Ain't Nuthin' Shakin' But The Leaves On The Trees And They Could Be Jivin' Me Too."
My neighbor is having another one of his: "That's Not Really Reggae" days again. Thank God for good headphones. That shit all sounds exactly the same to me.
-Doc Odebeigh
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