Fairytale of New York

The first of my post-Christmas posts.... For now, because I continue to battle a brutal head cold (a description that fails to do the situation justice), I'm embedding this most seasonal of tunes by one of my all time favorite songwriters... the man, the myth the snaggletoothed legend, Shane McGowan.

This man knows how to write a song. He knows how to belt it. And he knows how to drink, yeah. I had the pleasure of seeing the Pogues perform in Chicago last year. They graced the Congress, where security is a right joke (a.k.a. a joy). Best I could tell, all things banned in theory are encouraged in practice. "No Smoking" = thank you for chain smoking, "No Cameras" = cheese!, "No Underage Drinking" = no bracelet needed (my friend forgot her ID but had no problem boozing). Finally, "Leave Space b/t Audience and Stage" = go on and hoist yourself up there. Even running a little late, we wormed our way up front where I proceeded to lose myself in Shane for a good hour and a half. "Tremendous" was the word a friend of a friend used to describe their show the night before, and I steal it now. It's not often anymore that I'm THAT floored by seeing someone perform in the flesh, but I was genuinely giddy to my bones. Sure, his words were garbled, he's practically unrecognizable, and he has trouble staying upright. what's your beef?

I so coveted the experience of seeing him that I convinced Gracie, fellow Shane lover, to fly us up to NYC to catch the St. Patrick's Day concert. Boy was that an evening to remember. Gracie was so hungover from festivities the evening before that she spent the first half of the show huddled in a corner delicately puking into one of the Pogues sweatshirts she'd so generously purchased. That was before the security team (a little more observant than the Congress lot) discovered her. For the rest of it, she was laid out on a cot in the back. Diagnosis: heat stroke. Seemed reasonable in light of the crowd. A far cry from the Chicago audience (put 'em to shame!), they were drunk to hell and rowdy as schoolboys. I put myself in the thick of it for as long as I could handle a pummeling from overweight men too old to be pummeling me and flying cups drenching me with stank cheap beer. I loved every second of it. While I soaked up every minute (and beer), Gracie was nursed back to a decent state of health. Speaking of health, Shane did the NYC show from a wheelchair. Even in a wheelchair Shane delights.

And then there was the rickshaw ride home and the adorable Russian derriere....

Jon Lajoie, Where've Ya Been All Me Life?

On second thought, go to Jon Lajoie's website (a.k.a. "Regular Everyday Normal Guy"), and check out the whole enchilada. If you can stop yourself from watching every.single.video (at a barely-audible level), you deserve a raise.

He gets nervous in social situations, mothafucka!

Who Needs a Blog When You've Got a Blob?

Gobs of gratitude to ASWBA for introducing me to both the Blobfish (giving wiki a run for its money as my bff) and Phil Nugent's observation that: "That thing looks like Ziggy at 70." Is the little fellow drooling?