Evil plot uncovered--only at MY(P)WHAE!

Just to clarify--the plot was uncovered by this blog, not at it. Here's what happened: Earlier today, I drove the Ford van to a nearby town to get a haircut. (Why did my van need a haircut, you ask? Ha, ha.)

My haircut over, I left the barbershop and started walking in the wrong direction, prior to turning around and saying "Oh, that's right--I parked over there" and proceeding toward my van. Back in it, I drove to the town Goodwill, where I found four bins of LPs sitting on the floor. Four ordinary- and innocent-looking bins.

Ha! Yes, they looked ordinary. And innocent. But in one of those bins, I found... this:





















Recognize the singer/pianist in the lower right-hand corner? No? Sure, you do. Let's get a closer gander:





















Hillary, a member of the New Life Gospel Singers? A part of the Bible-literal elite? Who would have guessed? That she can actually sing, I mean. No wonder she wants us to believe otherwise. She doesn't want anyone tracing her back to this group. Or connecting her with this photo. Too late!

Until today, I didn't believe a word of the imminent-theocracy stuff all over the progressive blogs. I know many fine conservative Christians, and none of them are bent on taking over the country and making everyone listen to praise music.

But now we have proof of a Christian-Right takeover in the works. (Hardly proof of any such thing, you say? Isn't this nothing more than a photo of someone who looks amazingly like Hillary? And, even if it were Hillary, how would it prove that she intends to turn our nation into a theocracy if and when she's elected?)

Good points, but the imminent-theocracy folks are already convinced such a takeover is around the corner. And many of them don't seem to like Hillary. Those two factors considered, I think I can sell them on this.

I mean, I think I'll succeed in getting the truth to them. I think they'll believe me, even if others don't.

Now we know. Unfinished Task is the title of track 3 on Side 1. I think we know what unfinished task the album jacket is referring to, don't we??

Nice try, Hillary. If not for my van needing a haircut and my blog needing some freshly-thrifted vinyl, your secret might have remained just that--a secret. But a secret exposed is an ex-secret. And soon, the whole Blogosphere will know your ex-secret.

I expect I'll be hearing from CNN, MSNBC, et al. before long. At last--my fifteen seconds of lame. I mean, fame.


Lee

Hilarious review; Patty Duke; Lee and Bev's House o' Spiders

Isn't Life Terrible posted a hilarious review of this very blog--and I mean that in the best sense. As in, genuinely funny, and very well-written. I don't know who Don is, but I appreciate the write-up. Thanks, Don.

(Wait a minute--bad music? But I never post bad music! Do I?)

Don't miss Don's hilarious (there's that word again) review of Patty Duke's Billie, which I've never seen, and which I only know about because Dominic Frontiere wrote the music for it. The Dry Humor Police must have arrived moments after he posted that one.

Apparently, Patty sings in this picture--something she also did on vinyl for at least a couple of albums. Let's just say that Patty made Annette Funicello sound like Lesley Gore. A superb actress, terrific person, and (in my opinion) flat-out ravishing. But she could not sing.

Neither can most people, of course. And that doesn't stop us.

The latest animal news is all about spiders, not cats. And spiders aren't animals. But why get technical?

Basically, our little spot in the country has become our township's House o' Spiders. They're everywhere. They're crawling up my hands as I type thi.... No. I'm kidding. But they are showing up a lot. Come Halloween, we might charge admission (to people, not the spiders. "Come Visit the House o' Spiders, If You Dare!!")

The kitchen sink. The kitchen floor. The bathtub. The bathroom sink. The carpet. The back porch. The bathroom window. The bathroom ceiling, even--I know, because one collided with my head (or vice-versa) this morning. Next thing I knew, his or her web was dangling from my person. "Hi, spider," I said.

Most of the time, they're wolf spiders. I came across a wolf spider convention in the basement a week ago. "Don't let me interrupt anything," I said, as I walked over to check the water softener salt-level light. "And just who are you?" they asked.

Wolf spiders have two modes, and two modes only: total self-possession and panic. I don't think they even notice people until we make a sound or move, or both. Then they head for the hills, colliding with the first solid object in their path. And, often, rushing back, only to realize they're heading back toward the person they're trying to get away from, at which point they double around and bam into something else. Eventually, they find something (like a trash can) to semi-hide under, where they remain indefinitely, as if we didn't know they were there. "Gee, maybe if I hide here in more or less full view, the big monster will forget I exist."--Wolf spider.

Their predator-evading skills leave something to be desired. Luckily, for them, we tolerate wolf spiders in our midst. We figure they're here to eat less desirable insects, and they have our blessings. And the cats leave them alone, mostly--that's how commonplace they've become. Rudy and Andy are busy hunting moths, anyway.

Possibly, they're coming in to escape the arriving cold. It's also possible that I messed up the local spider ecosystem when I brushed all of those cobwebs off the basement ceiling. These might be displaced spiders. However, wolf spiders don't make webs, do they?

Who knows? I know nothing about spiders. I just run into them constantly.


Lee

The Return of Vinyl--Columbia Tokyo Orch., Roy Clark, Pat Boone, Shirelles, John Denver--more!

Or, rather, my return to vinyl after a month or so of ripping 78s. A better title might be, "A Return to Vinyl: One Blogger's Return to the Sound Media of His Generation."

But this is all about the return of vinyl to this blog. Or this blog's return to vinyl.

Actually, "Back to Vinyl!" would have been an ideal title--it would have covered all the bases. Wish I'd thought of it.

Then again, it's not a very peppy title. It could be interpreted as "Oh, we're back to vinyl. (Yawn.)" So, maybe "The Return of Vinyl" is best, after all. "Return" sounding more triumphal, sort of. And I just realized I forgot to upload the photo for this post. Let me do so now.




















As usual, uploading the photo messed up the text (by adding extra spaces). I just readjusted everything in HTML mode. (Grumble, grumble.)

Anyway, "Back from Shellac" would have been the wrongest title of all. It might have conveyed a sense of "Whew. Thank goodness we're done with those stupid 78s." I mean, someone might read it that way. Me, for instance. Seeing as how I'm slightly burned out on 78s at the moment.

But enough title-obsessing. What's done is done. Unless I decide to change it later. But that's just water under the fridge.

So, the moment I discovered the Shirelles had recorded for Decca prior to Sceptor, I just had to have their one hit for that label--I Met Him on a Sunday. To eBay went I, where I won a copy on my second try. Luckily for my wallet, it's a pretty common record, at least on eBay. We will be hearing both sides of that eBay-won single.

And we'll be hearing John Denver. And Pee Wee King. And Pat Boone. The Columbia Tokyo Orchestra. The Pipkins. Della Reese. What do you call a playlist like this? A MY(P)WHAE playlist--what else?

Speaking of returns, fall is back. So, why did I include a song called Whip Out Your Ukulele (Here Comes the Summer)? Because, um.... Well, because "summer" is a state of mind, not just an issue of Earth's closeness to the Sun. That's why. (You believe me, of course.)

Anyway, we're back to shellac. I mean, vinyl. Vinyl's back. Let us hear the returned-to vinyl in all of its returned-to-ness:

Link to folder: The Return of Vinyl.

PLAYLIST

I MET HIM ON A SUNDAY (RONDE-RONDE)--Shirelles, 1958.
I WANT YOU TO BE MY BOYFRIEND--Shirelles, 1958.
(YOU DUN STOMPED) MY HEART (Williams)--John Denver, 1969.
THE BALLAD OF SPIRO AGNEW (Paxton)--John Denver, 1969.
BALLROOM BABY (Glasser-Hall)--Pee Wee King and His Band, 1956.
ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY--Pee Wee King and His Band, 1956.
TOKYO BOOGIE WOOGIE--Columbia Tokyo Orch. feat. Shizuko Kasagi, 1948. (45 reissue)
GOMEN-NASAI--Columbia Tokyo Orch. feat. Richard Bowers, 1953.
GOING TO NEW YORK (J. Reed-M. Reed)--Pat Boone, 1963.
A WHOLE LOTTA WATER (J. Smith-B. Smith)--Pat Boone, 1963.
TIE ME KANGAROO DOWN, SPORT (R. Harris)--Pat Boone, 1963.
TWO LITTLE KISSES (R. Toombs)--Pat Boone, 1963.
WHIP OUT YOUR UKULELE (S. Styne-Robert Allen)--Mitch Miller and the Gang, 1964.
THE PEOPLE DAT YOU WANT TO PHONE YA!--The Pipkins, 1970.
HERE COME DE KINS--The Pipkins, 1970.
GREEN LIGHT-GO--Ralph Marterie and His Marlboro Orch., 1956 or 1958.
CATTLE CROSSING--Ralph Marterie and His Marlboro Orch., 1956 or 1958.
LOU'S BLUES--Ralph Marterie and His Marlboro Orch., 1956 and 1958.
OVERDUE BLUES, PART VII--Roy Clark, 1966.
HOLD IT--Roy Clark
EVERYBODY LOVES SATURDAY NIGHT (Campbell)--Percy Faith Orch., w. Paulette Sisters and Burt Taylor, 1953.
YOU MEAN ALL THE WORLD TO ME--Della Reese, Glenn Osser Orch., 1961.

The Ralph Marterie material is from the retitled stereo edition of the 1957 LP Jumpin' Trumpet, which was recorded in 1956--though some of the stereo tracks were redone in 1958.

I think I got that right. Anyway, the whole story can be found here: The strange tale of Jumpin' Trumpet/College Dance Favorite.

The melody of You Mean All the World to Me was swiped from Schumann's Traumerei. Here's a performance by Vladimir Horowitz.

The pop tune doesn't quite measure up, but it's still nice....


Lee

Join the cool crowd--bash religion!

Off the top of my (bald) head, I can think of two groups which might be astounded by the latest "controversy" over faith. First, the great liberal theologians of the 19th century, who probably wouldn't know what to make of the early-21st-century atheists who think they're shocking someone by pointing out that A) God probably doesn't literally exist in the Big Bearded Guy Overlooking Everything sense, and B) the Bible is filled with contradictions. Their response would probably be 19th-century German for "Duh."

Go here to read the rest of my exciting and witty essay.


Lee