In general I think it is kinda stupid. But now I work in a school (again, K-8 this time as an administrator), and it is the absolute bane of my existence. Not just the inappropriate costumes, the weapons, the gang garments being passed off as innocent costumes, but for me it is the kids whose parents couldn’t afford to make or buy a costume or were too checked out to do such.* That is why I hate this holiday, and most others for that matter. In my industry, Halloween is the beginning of the holiday season. The two months out of the year that magnify the inequalities amongst my clients and further separates the haves from the have nots. It is the time of the year when kids deservedly get a little extra pissed off that they either don’t have a family or the one that they do have sucks. Simply put: I was kicked, punched and spit on today. Usually I only get two out of the three.
*Yes, of course we do provide those kids with costumes this is not the point.
“Courage is not limited to the battlefield or the Indianapolis 500 or bravely catching a thief in your house. The real tests of courage are much quieter. They are the inner tests, like remaining faithful when nobody’s looking, like enduring pain when the room is empty, like standing alone when you’re misunderstood.”—Charles Swindoll
Social workers step in when everyone else steps aside to help people and families in vulnerable situations. They provide patients with education and counseling, advise care givers and make referrals for other services. And with social workers in short supply and programs underfunded, few must juggle the work of many, while reaping little reward.
Yup, that sounds about right. I also love that I had to go to grad school to make just enough money to cover paying for grad school.
“To me, making a tape is like writing a letter. There’s a lot of erasing and rethinking and starting again. A good compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do. You’ve got to kick off with a corker, to hold the attention (I started with “Got to Get You Off My Mind,” but then realized that she might not get any further than track one, side one if I delivered what she wanted straightaway, so I buried it in the middle of side two), and then you’ve got to up it a notch, or cool it a notch, and you can’t have white music and black music together, unless the white music sounds like black music, and you can’t have two tracks by the same artist side by side, unless you’ve done the whole thing in pairs and…oh, there are loads of rules.”—Rob from High Fidelity
Cleveland’s offense never looked comfortable, and the C’s just like acting a bit ornery on both ends. Paul Pierce was sharp, on either end, finishing with 23 points and 11 rebounds. Kevin Garnett looked exactly as he should, provided Utah never happened last season, Rasheed Wallace looked inspired after lazing through 2008-09, and the C’s looked every bit a champion. (Ball Don’t Lie)
Cleveland who? What was that you were saying about Shaq? I couldn’t hear, you gotta speak up next time.
Matt Cibula of PopMatters once referred to this track as “hip hop’s greatest posse cut.” I am not sure about that, but it does come damn close. Featuring a 19-year-old Busta Rhymes in what is surly one of the best tracks he has ever done.
I used to love you guys, I really did. I used to think I was one of you.
I remember ‘86. I grew up around a grip of Mets fans, believe me, I fucking remember that year. I remember Spike Owen, Mike Greenwell and Mo Vaughn. I know that Bill Mueller wasn’t “the best 3rd basemen in Red Sox history.” I remember the late 80s and pre-Nomar 90s when you could get tickets at face. I remember when the bleachers were full of punk dudes picking fights with one another, and I remember when my Dad didn’t want to sit there for fear of his 6-year-old getting wacked with a stray beer bottle. You had an edge. It was about the game or at least the beer and there wasn’t a pink or safari hat in sight.
I thought it was just in Boston that you were horrible. I thought I could get out and it would be over. I thought I could be a fan, again. I was wrong.
To put it simply: Red Sox Nation blows. You are horrible in Boston, and you are almost worse when you live somewhere else. You are the most insufferable, incredulous, hypocritical, bigoted, parochial bunch of douchebag fans in professional sports. Yes, (and I can’t believe I am say this) worse than Yankee fans (a lot worse) and even worse than those hardcore Dallas Cowboys fans from the Midwest with no connection to Dallas or the state of Texas. Yes, you are worse than those assholes.
You think Jeter sucks…at baseball. You still make fun of A-Rod and forget about Papi. You like the white players better. It’s not that you are a bunch of bandwagon jumpers, it is the type of people on the wagon. Not all bandwagon jumpers are like you.
I want to be clear that I don’t root against the Sox. That would also be douchebaggery. However, when asked, I just hang my head and make it very clear that I root for the Sox by default, and that I also hate their fans. This comforts people and they tend understand why I am so ashamed.
“Why wouldn’t Preservation Hall do a project with Tom Waits?” mused Ben Jaffe, musical director and son of Preservation Hall founders Allan and Sandra Jaffe, in a 2006 piece on the post-Katrina New Orleans music scene in the NY Times.
U2’s the Edge had just performed “Vertigo” with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band at a benefit to replace instruments destroyed by the hurricane, including those of five Preservation Hall members who had lost their homes. The famous French Quarter music club was one of the first to reopen after the tragedy, but they needed (and still do) more star power to stay financially afloat.
Ruess traveled by horse and burro in Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado during 1931, 1932, and 1934. He rode broncos, branded calves, explored cliff dwellings, trading his prints and watercolors. In 1934 he worked with University of California archaeologists excavating near Kayenta, took part in a Hopi ceremony, and spoke Navajo. Ruess trekked Sequoia and Yosemite National Parks and the High Sierra in the summers of 1930 and 1933.
At the age of 20, he went into the Utah desert with two burros and never returned. The horse corral he made at his camp in Davis Gulch, a canyon of the Escalante was the only trace he left. Some suspected he died accidentally by falling off a cliff or drowning; others thought he was murdered. Still others believed he crossed the Colorado River to the Navajo Reservation in Arizona and married a Navajo woman. In any case, his statements on life and adventure, combined with his unsolved disappearance, led to a kind of legendary status.
At the time that Ruess explored the remote canyons of the Southwestern United States, aside from Native Americans, Mormon pioneers and local cowboys, he was likely among the first “outsiders” to venture so deeply and completely into what was then (and to some extent still is) largely an unknown wilderness.
Now that Wilco has taken all the proper album release steps (touring, late night television, internet interview invasion, etc.) and the well of Wilco [The Album] puns has finally run dry, Jeff Tweedy and company are ready to bang out Wilco [The Follow-Up]. That’s not the title, sorry. I just couldn’t resist one more.
“We have a big session in January and [sic] start on the new record,” bassist John Stirratt told The Ampersand. “We’re trying to get on the ball as fast as we can because the touring has been pretty much non-stop.”
Stirratt imagines the album won’t come out sooner than 2011, but a fall ‘10 release is possible. The planned upcoming sessions will have to move swiftly, though, as Wilco are set to tour Canada (plus a free show at the Olympics) in February and early March. That shouldn’t be a problem, however, as Stirratt added, “we all have families, and we have to make the time really count in the studio. We work a lot more efficiently now. I imagine it would happen faster, in the way Wilco [the album] did.”
Sounds like Wilco has become quite the well-oiled machine. Here’s hoping they include a couple guitar duels on the new record. Okay, not really.
“They’ve got their little categories, like ‘conscious’ and ‘gangsta’. It used to be a thing where hip-hop was all together. Fresh Prince would be on tour with N.W.A. It wasn’t like, ‘You have got to like me in order for me to like you.’ That’s just some more white folks trying to think that all niggas are alike, and now it’s expanded. It used to be one type of nigga; now it’s two. There is so much more dimension to who we are. A monolith is a monolith, even if there’s two monoliths to choose from. I ain’t mad at Snoop. I’m not mad at Master P. I ain’t mad at the Hot Boys. I’m mad when that’s all I see. I would be mad if I looked up and all I saw on TV was me or Common or The Roots, because I know that ain’t the whole deal. The real joy is when you can kick it with everyone. That’s what hip-hop is all about. … They keep trying to slip the ‘conscious rapper’ thing on me. I come from Roosevelt Projects, man. The ghetto. I drank the same sugar water, ate hard candy. And they try to get me because I’m supposed to be more articulate, I’m supposed to be not like the other Negroes, to get me to say something against my brothers. I’m not going out like that, man.”—Mos Def