"Don't take your guns to town, son, leave your guns at home, Bill."

 Political nonsense, so run away if that's not your bag. Also, I am not entertaining debate on this subject. I just don't want to, I don't feel I owe an explanation why, and that's that. Deal with it.

Blame The Vain

Once again, nothing too interesting to say. I should feel ashamed at putting this drivel out into the ether, but honestly, I don't give a shit. No one has to read it.

A boy and his dog

  I don't have anything particularly interesting thoughts buzzing around my head, so this isn't going to be particularly interesting. That's just how it is.

 A lazy, muggy Friday morning is on us as the NFL season opens this weekend, and work is probably going to suck. Of course, work always sucks, but that's neither here nor there. Otis and I got up around 8:30 a.m. and had us a nice walk. As I wasn't particularly hungry, he and I had a very pleasant nap, one he's still engaging in.

 He did very well on his own last night. He was pretty wound up and happy to see me, running to grab his rope so we could play. I left him in the kitchen, and he didn't tear anything up. I'll do that for a couple more days to let him get used to occasionally being alone, and then I'll let him have the rest of the place. I'll try to get him out to the vet next week for a check up.

 Other thoughts:

Spinoza slept here.

 Back in August 2011, I went to Europe. I'd never been to Europe, of course. Prior to a weekend trip to Montreal the year before, I'd never been out of the country. For this reason and that, I've rarely done much traveling. I regret that, even though often as not the reasons were valid, because I really do like traveling. I like going places I haven't been and I usually find a way to enjoy the journey. Just looking out the window, watching the world roll by is worth all the headache of travel.

 Earlier that year, my brother said he and his fiancée were going to Europe to go to her brother's wedding. (Got that?) Did I want to go? Sure, why not. A few years back, I decided to follow my whims more, which lead me to New Orleans, and since I had a decent amount of money saved up, I decided to go. After much to-ing and fro-ing, I found myself on a nine-hour flight to the Honky Motherland. I went to a couple significant places, not near enough, and saw a lot of neat things. That's for some other time. Now, I want to talk about Amsterdam.

Me reading Spinoza on a canal in Amsterdam. I did that on purpose.

 When I tell people I've visited Amsterdam, them that know I'm an unrepentant stoner get quite a knowing chuckle. Them that don't assumed I liked the town so much because of all the philosophy and art and probably the Red Light District. But, no, though most of it is the legal weed, I really enjoyed my time in Amsterdam.

 It is a damn confusing town. The layout makes no sense to me, and reminds me of a older college campus with its weird piling of new right next to, sometimes on top of the old. Plus, the roadsigns hurt my head. The Dutch language is difficult for me as opposed to, say, the Latin-based languages or even German. Dutch looks like dream writing, maybe it's just me. Anyhow, the combined effect made the town very weird to my own personal logic and I liked it.

Whitburn Codex #1 - Little David Wilkins, "Whoever Turned You On (Forgot To Turn You Off)"

 During a Facebook back-and-forth concerned a totally different country singer on Whitburn, my brother mentioned this cat's name as someone he'd been digging on lately. I hadn't heard him, otherwise I'd have been all over a dude named "Little David". Perhaps I thought he was from the pre-honky tonk batch. In any event, I decided to give it a listen and this was the first tune I clicked on once iTunes got itself properly warmed up.

 The title was too tempting, as a song called "Whoever Turned You On (Forgot To Turn You Off)" is either going to be a fairly awesome slice of sleazy honky tonk or it's going to be an embarrassing mess. Either way, I've got a good insight to what lies ahead in Little David's oeuvre via my own particular scanner dark. There's remarkably little fat on the Codex, most of it coming from the folks I'm most familiar with (like Willie Nelson or George Jones) or didn't care for in the first place (Eddy Arnold). These more obscure hopefuls are pretty easy to suss out after a listen or two. I don't know if that's due to my finely tuned honky-tonk bullshit detector or an immutable fact of the universe. I might also be talking nonsense, so take that into consideration.

 Regardless, Little David did not disappoint. This is a pretty nifty little honky-tonk two-stepper, with an awesome hook and an extremely dirty mind. Thematically, it's from the same school George Strait's early hit "The Fireman"; to wit, a good ol' boy finds himself dealing with a woman that another man left in an excited state of sexual agitation. However, where Strait makes a practice of dealing with this problem as it springs up all over his geographical area, while Little David is concerned with only one woman.

Whitburn Codex Intro

 Sometime last early last year, someone gave my brother a truly massive amount of mp3s, something like 50 gigabytes, called "The Whitburn Collection". My brother being my brother was less interested in the roots of the collection, which was indeed organized if haphazardly so - nor was he concerned if it had anything to do with the famous musicologist, author and record collector Joel Whitburn. My brother received parts One and Three of a four-part set, and the person he got it from couldn't adequately explain why he couldn't deliver the full set, but since he's a really good guy we don't fret much. We'd still like it, though, if anyone has any clue what I'm gibbering about here.

 Anyhow. After whittling out the relatively small number of tunes that duplicated stuff we already had and passing over other versions (single mixes, live stuff, etc.), we were left with 20 solid gigs of heretofore unknown country music. It's exciting and incredibly interesting. Not only is there so much country music I'd never heard - and I'm a man that loves him some country music - but it's a fascinating sociological snapshot of the music's time. Like all art, music - especially pop music and doubly so for country music - often acts as a mirror for the time of its creation. Some songs are timeless; some are inexorably tied to the events and opinions of the era and make little or no sense out of context.

 For me this has a deeper meaning. Though I was basically a child of the '80s, it wasn't really one John Hughes would recognize. I grew up in rural Northeast Mississippi, not far from where Elvis was born, in a dry country that bans MTV to this day. Worse, my family and neighbors in the little wooded river community I call home had little truck with popular culture and could've cared less about pop music. My brother and I both had our rock and pop likings, but our personal radios were always, always tuned to a country station. My parents were less stuck in the '70s and more unconcerned with the passage of time. Apart from the advances in baseball-watching technology, they could care less.

 So what I'm saying is this: country music, particularly from the '70s, plays a heavy role in my psychological make-up, as does dealing with and exploring the society and culture where that music grew and played. As I said, some songs are timeless, and they're just as relevant to us as when they were written. You know, everyone can relate to "Your Cheatin' Heart" and always will so long as hearts can break, that sort of thing. Some songs, however, deal with the world around them and, as often as not, fail miserably. The whole feminist thing hit country music right in the small of the back and even in today's conservative climate, the tunes dealing with "uppity gals who just need some good lovin'" is quite jarring. Lighter, as much affection as I personally have for them, songs about truckers and CB's really don't hold up.

 Which makes dealing with the Codex even more a chore. Plus, there is a whole lot of really, really bad songs on this thing. I mean, just embarrassingly bad. Some are songwriter cuts or deejay vanity projects, and hey, not everyone's Ray Price. Some are extremely poorly crafted tunes, some shooting for whatever the honky zeitgeist was and just whiffing it big-time. Some are merely examples of how the Industry has always foisted no-talent hacks upon a record-buying public that'll dutifully by the most horrific shit. *Shakes fist at uncaring sky*