(second block, fourth letter of the prisoners' quadratic tap code...)

...am here to tap through the walls.

Thu Apr, 05 2007

"He's No Fun; He Fell Right Over!"

Man, when I was at this desk today, I just read nonsense after rotten nonsense, or; I read about nonsense after rotten nonsense. I've got seven wads of Firefox lit up right now, with enormous trains of links running all damned day from way this morning, all the way from nerveless squints twittering about "sentimentalist ranting", to long tall Dell kool-aid drafts. The damned Brits. (That was about reading about rotten nonsense.) Erbles. Full scale Erbonics. (That's been running ten days, now. I haven't gotten him to jump off a bridge yet.) "A Whole Herd of Pragmatists! We're Givin' 'Em Away!" (That was about nonsense after rotten nonsense. Well, unprincipled nonsense.)

I got an e-mail from someone formerly of a dangerous big-city police department in the fucked-ass-up news lately. There is no serious point in publishing it, and it would be scary to his peeps if I did.

Observed Balko's desultory point at that Huff joint, and I'm always happy when someone's making noise about that, but the way they ignore history like Mission Creep, and Democratic responsibility for mandatory sentencing makes me go long on Spleenco. They're twits: it's the sheer accident of a stopped clock (bushitler) that they're making some of the right noises on this.


Just rubbish, all over. And all that ain't the half of it.

For the last three hours or more, I was rolling back & forth between my stacks and this ridiculous trash and the ridiculous trash surrounding it: The Washington Post is about to run you a song and a dance about Dean Acheson's pet, key author of the original United Nations charter, and Soviet spy: Alger Hiss, being trod upon unto the next generation, at least, by the eeevil forces of reaction. It's astounding. They're just never going to give it up. So, we get the seventeen hundred-word slap-up presenting the assertions of Hiss' stepson who was ten years old in 1937.

It just makes me so damned weary. There's this, ahem, person, who's gonna come around in the Associated Press denying that she's found anything in a dozen, or maybe a couple more, files that Putin says she can tell you about since George Bush got to look into his soul. [sigh] These people keep talking about "KGB" files when everybody knows that Hiss was GRU. Jeezis. It's like they don't even try. But they're so earnest about it, though. No no, gettaloada this: "Her stating of the negative in all this is so strong that it almost becomes a positive," said the next Trod Upon Generation (Tony Hiss).

The person scratching for The Washington Post winks at you when she lets you in on the fact that the Soviet spy was never indicted for espionage (can you hear the heavy breathing?), and you can go bet on whether she knows about the statute of limitations. Not me.

It just pains me right down to the bones, ladies & gentlemen, at the end of the day I've had (although you oughta go read this because some of it's not bad), to see that sort of bloody drivel sloshing out of a newspaper of which that barking monkey Chris Matthews said this:

"You know this used to be a liberal newspaper, The Washington Post, back in Nixon's day, with Ben Bradlee and others back there, Meg Greenfield, the editorial page editor. It is not a liberal paper. It's a hawkish paper."
(Hardball -- 4/5/07)

You know? It's just too much for an American boy to take, and have to holler about.

So, it's the Les Paul for me, to bleed my fingers with all that, plus Jethro Tull's "Minstrel In The Gallery".

Oh, did I mention that Will and Ariel Durant are going to hell in a hand-cart? Reeemarkable. An American boy cain't get no respect, and I've about had it. Later for all that though.


Various guitars I see floating by, mostly Gibson and mostly eBay.

Early Norlin ES-335 -- 1970, in Walnut ("ES-335TDW"). This is a period-piece look and feel, and arguably the sound as well but that's to cut things very finely. A "classic" 335 would be the original of 1958 in the Sunburst or Natural finish, or the Cherry Red of 1959; the Walnut of 1970 (second year of that finish offering) is not really a "classic" 335. In the history of the Gibson aesthetic, this is analogous to, say, vertically-striped polyester bell-bottoms or Bahama Blue shag carpeting. None of this is to say that they're not cool guitars, and this is a nice one. Excellent photographs.

Chrome hardware, featuring the trapeze tailpiece (like my L-47 and I've always liked it) and ABR-1 bridge with period-typical nylon saddles. Bound rosewood fretboard, with small block markers, and then the crown inlay at the machine head. These would be the T-top Humbuckers. Vintage Nazis would moan that the upper bouts are pointy (the body templates were wearing-out in the factory) and the fourteen-degree machine head with the volute signals a sometimes not-fun era of the line, but these things really do rock or moan or whatever you want a 335-type semi-hollow to do. ...which, of course, is because it really is a 335.

In the months since I've let AxeBites languish all to bleedin' hell, Gibson's Robot Guitar technology has sifted out to other models than the original Les Paul application. I don't know how it's going: I still haven't even seen one of these self-tuners. I don't see piles of them burning on the sides of the highway, nor reverent hangings in display cases over bars, so who knows? This 2008 Robot SG is ready to rock in the Metallic Red. Nickel hardware; it's the stoptail wired for data to send to the tuners, with dual Humbuckers. It's a bound rosewood fretboard, but I really like the single-bound machine head with the crown inlay. That's a real cool old-school look, right there, to set off that crazy-ass color. {nod}