“Rock Rock Rock” was the first video tape I ever purchased. Got it for $9.99 in a sale bin, then I saved up for a VCR player so that I could watch it. Classic performances by classic rockers wrapped around an unbelievably crappy story. It’s 90 minutes of fast-fowarding awesome (but I suggest you follow the plot at least once).
Rockabilly LA. Considering that Los Angeles had just about nothing to do with the advent of Rockabilly except to lure the hayseeds into fraudulent recording contracts, we’ll post it anyway.
So where do we go from here? How ’bout some vintage country ‘lectra blues?
That’s R.L. Burnside from 1978. Let’s go one more. This one’s from 1998.
That should hold y’all for a while. Have a great weekend, folks.
Hi, Pat. I see that your love for Coca-Cola is still alive and well. Why do you love it so much?
Pat Reidy: Well, firstly, I really like the flavor, but I also think that it represents one of the best publicity campaigns that there’s ever been in the world. It’s international, it’s intelligent, and uses everything to promote its brand. People see a T-shirt, a toy, a poster or whatever, and want to drink a Coke. Coca-Cola invented Santa Claus, and that says everything.
[…]
Yes, please. Tell me about the steps I need to follow in order to be a professional Coca-Cola drinker.
You should always drink it really cold; always from a glass bottle, or maybe from a can, but never, ever from a plastic bottle. The best Coke is the one that comes from the tiny glass bottle. I always buy the 355-milliliter glass bottle, though.
How many Cokes do you drink a day?
I don’t drink it much nowadays. I drink one 355-milliliter bottle a day and I really enjoy it—you have no idea. Unless there’s a party or a special occasion; then I drink more. But that’s what I do now, because for years, when I had to teach 12 hours a day, drinking Coke was my salvation. I used to drink 15 355-milliliter bottles a day.
Was it ever bad for your health?
Never. Back then there was no water. There was no purified water and they didn’t sell water gallons to keep at home. So between drinking boiled water or Coke, well, there is no contest, really. I also cook with Coca-Cola.
What do you cook with Coke?
You can cook many things with Coca-Cola. I even have recipe books. My specialty is a hamburger that I make with my secret recipe. I fry it on my grandmother’s pan—which is huge—with Coca-Cola instead of oil, a bit of English sauce, pepper, garlic salt, and onions. It’s wonderful. I call it Pat’s hamburger. I also use it in soups. I love it.
I was born in the North, lived in the South, have ancestry in both, and this fabricated hoopla over the Rebel Flag is completely inane and without warrant. It’s a symbol of regional pride and self-sufficiency. To reinterpret the Rebel Flag as something other than that is absurd, and it IS fabricated hoopla.
The War of Secession ended, the Union was preserved, slavery was abolished by The 14th Amendment, and all at a great cost in lives and expense a century and a half ago. It was a brewing war of economic inequity and the Southern States decided they’d had just about enough of it. Then someone popped some warning lead across the bow of a ship heading to Fort Sumter.
Here’s a mind game. Since the majority of the Southern population was dirt-poor in the 1800s (few could afford a mule, let alone a slave) what would have happened had they turned to subsistence farming for a few years and stopped cotton and tobacco produce from moving to the industrial North who weren’t sharing the profits and benefits? The Union would have invaded the South to quell the protest.
What if the North had merely coughed up some bucks to reimburse slave owners to free their slaves from bondage? Much unnecessary death and destruction could have been avoided.
Of course it didn’t turn out that way, hindsight and all, but to condemn a symbol of pride to augment a specious left-wing political agenda (i.e., dividing the Nation once again) is abhorrent in my opinion.
If we don’t stop this nonsense soon, eventually we’re gonna have to ban Elvis, Duane Eddy, Billy Idol, all of CSN&Y, and most of the Democrat Party including Hillary (unless she can crank out her version of “Wedding Bell Blues.”)
It appears that someone/some people have created a YouTube channel about the town of Great Barrington, MA that has a video for EVERY business in the town.
The song is the same in all of the videos and each video is just filled with some exteriors of the business.
It’s true. Business in Great Barrington is greater than great, and here’s proof:
Watch the entire play list. I know where I want to go on my next vacation, and I’ll check each establishment off my bucket list one at a time. Wait for the Great Barrington Cemetery
It’s greater than great.
Sinabung has been erupting sporadically since 2010, when it killed two people, but farmers refuse to leave its deadly slopes because the land is so fertile.
That’s Sinabung, as in Mount Sinabung, Sumatra, Indonesia.
John Mayall, 1970. Yeah, John, I agree, up until the point where the SCOTUS decides to rewrite them by fiat, then all bets are off and you’re left to figure out what happened. No more Room To Move.
Terry Gilliam‘s 1985 movie Brazil was prescient. It was originally promoted as farce, but too much of it has come true. It’s a must see IMO, especially in light of the recent judgments handed down by the presumed last bastion of logic, The United State Supreme Court. Once the Supreme Court fails to uphold Constitutional Law (as it did again this past week) the whole system of law collapses.
When the very people we elected to office to combat the corruption and cronyism refuse to do so and participate in the same, we are lost.
When the clear and precise words of The U.S. Constitution may be interpreted with alternative and convoluted meanings that have no foundation in the English Language by appointed (and supposed apolitical) jurists, we have no more recourse.
The majority of U.S. news outlets have become the equivalent of PRAVDA, and Washington D.C. might as well be renamed Obamagrad.
I pity you younger folks who have been indoctrinated into accepting this insidious propaganda and for the precedents that have been set. I hope that, as you grow older and wiser, you read history (real history, with all its warts, moles, lesions and scabs, and not the rewritten kind) and understand what’s coming down on you, your children and grandchildren, and try to repair the damage before those of us who know what’s happening are all gone. If you don’t figure it out soon, it’ll be too late, and I guarantee you’ll regret it.
For those of you who know what’s coming down, find a safe place to hide your reference books and eyeglasses, learn something about farming so you have a cover occupation, and remember that government-sponsored atrocities also happen in modern times.
Hello, I am Ms. Twitter, daughter-in-law of Mr. Twitter and wife Significant Other of Mr. Twitter II. I have been put in charge of something very important and I’ve been very important for some time.
See that door behind me? That’s the #TwitterGulag. It’s where I send people whom I decide have violated Twitter’s Terms Of Service, written by my 12 year-old niece, Denada. She hates everyone for no particular reason, but she’s still my niece, and I am still in charge.
I send email messages to those of you with Twitter Accounts whom have been flagged as inappropriate and non-compliant with my unspecified political point of view. I ensure that your Twitter accounts are appropriately blocked, banned and deleted, and that you are required to jump through tiny little email hoops to get your pathetic Twitter accounts reinstated.
It never happens.
At the same time, I allow the most egregious violators of our TOS to fly free and clear no matter what offensive garbage they post or how much targeted harassment they get away with, despite your whining complaints. That makes me laugh, because there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. Yeah. Complain to @Twitter or @TwitterSupport and see what happens, loser.
But here’s the fun part. Once I decide you’re banned, your entire history goes away and you get to start all over. It’s like you never even existed. You are nothing more than a squeezed spent pimple on the Junior High Boys’ Restroom mirror to me, and the school janitor takes care of you.
Tacky Raccoons 