In Which I Blog About Trees
Before I get to the trees, does anyone else suspect that Green Day is attempting to recreate the popularity of their unofficial graduation song, "Good Riddance," with their latest radio single, "Wake Me Up When September Ends"? In addition to leaving-high school-songs, they're now cornering the market on leaving-for-college songs. Green Day must be secretly plumbing the content of hundreds of teenage livejournals across the country, then marketing the emotions back to them. If that's true, then I say: congratulations, I've already bought into it.
Also before I get to the trees, I should tell you about the guys at Turner Field. Thomas and I went to the double-header against the Washington Nationals last night (a better name for them would be the Washington Representatives, honoring the older team the Senators; they could be called the Reps for short, and their stadium could be The House). We were seated in center field, where, in the stands behind us, they had cleared out a section of seats to film a television commercial during the game. The commercial must have been some promo for a Turner network, because all they were filming was a small crowd reaching for a falling home-run ball, which a selected 12 year-old boy catches in his glove. Unfortunately, the director wanted at least 100 hundred takes, so the filming lasted most of the second game.
Enter Two Drunk Guys. Earlier they kept trying to start The Wave without success. When the spectators across the aisle failed to continue The Wave after their 16th attempt, they started taunting them. "You're all a bunch of deadwood floating in the ocean!" they condemned in their stupor. They even tried to guilt trip them: "You guys comfortable? You want us to get you a beer? Hot dog? STAND UP!!!"
When the Wave failed to take, they started getting angry at the film crew and the extras in the commercial. "You actors gonna win an Emmy for this? Or is it a Grammy? OSCAR!" "This director here's brilliant. BRILLIANT."
"Y'all want to be famous actors? Well go to Hollywood. This is A'LANNA. The A-T-L."
Then very softly and soberly to the vendor shouting "Cold Beer! Cold Beer!":
"You have a really beautiful voice."
Obviously, it's hard to recreate the enchanting magic of Two Drunk Guys at a baseball game, but if you've ever been "Touched By Two Drunk Guys" at a sporting event, then you know exactly the certain je ne sais quoi they add to the experience. We left the stadium just when they started heckling the Nationals centerfielder Preston Wilson, and trying to buy him a Miller Light from the "Cold Beer!" vendor.
Before I wrap up, I checked out the Coen Bros. The Hudsucker Proxy from the Ocee Library but I can't make myself watch it. Neither can I make myself read for any extended time The Rhetoric of Fiction which would advance me to my irrational and unrealistic reading list for the last 12 days of summer, which includes Hemingway, Roth, Austen, Proulx, and the Old Testament. To top it off, I'm number NINE on the library's waiting list to check out Everything is Illuminated.
Oh yes, the trees. Well, I really just wanted an excuse to post a picture. Here in late August in Georgia, the trees have undergone such unrelenting heat since March that their leaves just start to wither and yellow, producing kind of a premature autumn. Exhibit:
A man named Van Morrison once called that "Indian Summer." I call it, "The Death March of Southern Vegetation."
Before I get to the trees, does anyone else suspect that Green Day is attempting to recreate the popularity of their unofficial graduation song, "Good Riddance," with their latest radio single, "Wake Me Up When September Ends"? In addition to leaving-high school-songs, they're now cornering the market on leaving-for-college songs. Green Day must be secretly plumbing the content of hundreds of teenage livejournals across the country, then marketing the emotions back to them. If that's true, then I say: congratulations, I've already bought into it.
Also before I get to the trees, I should tell you about the guys at Turner Field. Thomas and I went to the double-header against the Washington Nationals last night (a better name for them would be the Washington Representatives, honoring the older team the Senators; they could be called the Reps for short, and their stadium could be The House). We were seated in center field, where, in the stands behind us, they had cleared out a section of seats to film a television commercial during the game. The commercial must have been some promo for a Turner network, because all they were filming was a small crowd reaching for a falling home-run ball, which a selected 12 year-old boy catches in his glove. Unfortunately, the director wanted at least 100 hundred takes, so the filming lasted most of the second game.
Enter Two Drunk Guys. Earlier they kept trying to start The Wave without success. When the spectators across the aisle failed to continue The Wave after their 16th attempt, they started taunting them. "You're all a bunch of deadwood floating in the ocean!" they condemned in their stupor. They even tried to guilt trip them: "You guys comfortable? You want us to get you a beer? Hot dog? STAND UP!!!"
When the Wave failed to take, they started getting angry at the film crew and the extras in the commercial. "You actors gonna win an Emmy for this? Or is it a Grammy? OSCAR!" "This director here's brilliant. BRILLIANT."
"Y'all want to be famous actors? Well go to Hollywood. This is A'LANNA. The A-T-L."
Then very softly and soberly to the vendor shouting "Cold Beer! Cold Beer!":
"You have a really beautiful voice."
Obviously, it's hard to recreate the enchanting magic of Two Drunk Guys at a baseball game, but if you've ever been "Touched By Two Drunk Guys" at a sporting event, then you know exactly the certain je ne sais quoi they add to the experience. We left the stadium just when they started heckling the Nationals centerfielder Preston Wilson, and trying to buy him a Miller Light from the "Cold Beer!" vendor.
Before I wrap up, I checked out the Coen Bros. The Hudsucker Proxy from the Ocee Library but I can't make myself watch it. Neither can I make myself read for any extended time The Rhetoric of Fiction which would advance me to my irrational and unrealistic reading list for the last 12 days of summer, which includes Hemingway, Roth, Austen, Proulx, and the Old Testament. To top it off, I'm number NINE on the library's waiting list to check out Everything is Illuminated.
Oh yes, the trees. Well, I really just wanted an excuse to post a picture. Here in late August in Georgia, the trees have undergone such unrelenting heat since March that their leaves just start to wither and yellow, producing kind of a premature autumn. Exhibit:
A man named Van Morrison once called that "Indian Summer." I call it, "The Death March of Southern Vegetation."
7 Comments:
I love the new look! I know I was skeptical of the change, but I think it was for the better.
Woah, even the comment thing is all fancy.
If you're a moderate, I voted for Nader.
This is pretty! I still think the title is silly, but I can almost believe that you made this layout yourself. Except I know you didn't.
Also, I believe that you're a moderate. And pretty soon, you'll be a Straussian neocon. Just give it a couple months.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Kristen: I told you...
Daniel: Perhaps you are confusing me with liberal, free-wheeling Harold Gorringe.
Rita: I started to copy your template until I found the template you copied yours from. (Cut-and-paste bandits are we.)
It was nice you left a comment on my blog, and now I feel obliged to do the same, as I have been lurking around here from Rita's blog also.
I like the new picture on top. Very cool.
Kudos for all! We should comment more often.
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