Vale Lux Interior

Another one bites the dust

I just heard that Lux Interior – founder of the Cramps – has passed away at the age of 60. Boo.

I’ve never really heard much of the Cramps, but I like what I have heard. Psycho-Billy is good stuff, even if it the name was invented as a marketing stunt.

My main memory of the Cramps is from when they appeared on some Andrew Denton program back in the early 90s. Denton managed the probably rather remarkable feat of rendering Lux speechless by informing him that in Australia “Lux” is a brand of dishwashing detergent. They then went on to perform Swing the Big Eyed Rabbit.

Farewell Lux!

Any Poor Souls…

Obsessed? Moi?

Any pour souls who trespass against us,
Whether they be beast or man,
Will suffer the bite or be stung dead on sight,
By those who inhabit this land,

For their’s is the power and this is their kingdom,
As sure as the sun does burn,
So enter this path, but heed these four words,
You shall never return…

(This has no relevance to anything whatsoever, but the song and the image are so inextricably linked in my head that I had to post it some time 🙂

Breaking Rhyme

More important things that the inauguration

I could carry on and on today about how great it is to finally see the end of the Bush Presidency, and how Obama is going to save America/The World/Civilisation/Life as We Know It, but I figure there’s enough blogs doing that. Bush is gone, Obama – who not only looks good by comparison but objectively seems to be fairly smart, sane and reasonable – is in, and we can all breath a sigh of relief. Enough said.

Instead I’m going to talk about something that’s been bugging me for a while, and that’s trying to figure out the name for a particular poetic or lyrical method (I tell ya, the excitement never stops at the Wyrmlog!)

The technique in question is where the lyrics – by means of first half of an obvious rhyme – lead you to expect a particular concluding rhyme, but then fail to fulfil the expectation by using a contrasting (and almost always non-rhyming) word instead, for purposes of comedy or satire.

Some examples…

A Two Ronnie’s parody of the song “I Dream of Jeanie”
I dream of Daisy-Mae who works at the Vicar’s,
Daisy drives me crazy, without any trouble,

“Kiss Me Son of God” by They Might be Giants
Now you’re the only one left who can tell me if it’s true,
That you love me, and I love me,

A parody of “Who do you think you are kidding Mr Hitler?” performed many years ago during my high school days…
We won’t put on our CJs, so take good note of it!
‘Cause frankly Mrs Fox we just couldn’t give a… (wait for it!) …damn!

You get the idea.

Working from the principal that every single thing you can do with words has been given a name at some point, this method must have a title. But I just can’t seem to discover what, and it’s driving me nuts…

So Long Mr Bush

It’s over. It’s finally over.

As we bid a fond *cough* farewell to the 43rd President of the United States, let’s all take a moment to consider his accomplishments, both international and domestic, and for one last time enjoy his plaintive version of REM’s The End of the World as we Know it.

(Now let’s just wait for Obama to screw things up…)

How Wude!

Noooooo!!!! My sideburns!!!!!!!!

Among various other bits of running around I had to do yesterday, I went and got a haircut – as the top of my head was starting to resemble… well something hairy and puffed up. I don’t know, a polar bear with a perm? Anyway it seriously needed cutting back.

So I went to my usual budget quick-in/quick-out haircut place where my hair was – in defiance of the trend established by every other visit I’ve made there over the last decade – cut by some guy, the place usually being staffed exclusively by women.

He did quite an adequate job – adequate is the best that can really be expected with my hair – but, as I noticed with horror in the mirror this morning, he shaved off my sideburns! Without even so much as a ‘by your leave’ he massacred my carefully cultivated semi-eccentric sideburns! Inconceivable!!

It’s going to take me at least three weeks of carefully not shaving near my ears to get them back to even a semblance of their former selves. Which is frankly a lot to ask at 6:30 in the morning when I’ve just stumbled out of bed and only my hindbrain has successfully completed its bootup sequence.

Bah!

(Oh, the title. Well I spent a few hours yesterday reading through Darths and Droids, and hence my opinion of Jar Jar Binks has been elevated slightly. Give me a few days and I’ll revert to passionately hating him like every other sane person in this world.)

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