Plagiarist 2: Electric Boogaloo

confessions

2008-08-08T16:22:00.001-04:00

More reasons why I like Iceland

2006-10-03T17:13:00.000-04:00

I don't know who sings this song that starts off with "Cold Water..." But it is a bit eerie as the photos come off of Iceland and the highlands. Some of this land is lost due to the Kárahnjúkur dam filling in an area in eastern Iceland to bring another Alcoa aluminum smelting plant to eastern Iceland.

Why I like Iceland

2006-10-03T16:44:00.000-04:00

This video by Nylon who are from Iceland. They are climbing the British Pop Charts. It's nice to have some music from there that isn't Bjork or Sigur Ros.

But this is why I like Iceland, first, the girls there aren't so hard on the eyes. Second they shot this while travelling all over Iceland.

Skogafoss is one of the locations! Iceland what a beautiful country!

Sesame Street Sings NWA

2006-09-29T22:37:00.000-04:00

The residents of Sesame Street sing the NWA classic "F*ck the Police" in this cute music video. You should know it's NSFW (nor safe for kids) as Bert & Ernie drop multiple F-bombs.

Bedjump.com

2006-09-26T16:56:00.000-04:00

How well do you care for your own bed? Do you jump onto it? Do you rotate it regularly? How old is it? How much did you spend on it? How elaborate is your beddings and linens? Feel free to answer the other questions, but the real question in mind is DO YOU JUMP ON YOUR BED???

I was posting in the other bed thread and was reminded of bedjump.com

some good ones...

I don't jump on my bed, there's a ceiling fan too so low head room! I don't put my shoes on the bed. No outside clothes on the bed either.

At one time I walked into a linen store saw the display and said, "I'll take the whole thing from pillows to duvet cover." It set me back about $800 but it was an awesome bed set with about 8 pillows, some foam, some down, some mixed.

Suddenly the Castle is in Color!!!

2006-09-25T14:45:00.000-04:00

Thanks to johnsandowski.com

Okay, this is pretty odd. You look at an odd color of the picture, and then it shows you a black and white, and BOOM! You see it in color.

He gives a tutorial on how to do this. There are even other links of people doing the same thing with other pictures

Welcome!!!

2006-09-22T17:24:00.000-04:00

I'd like to welcome to the blogroll Rytur. He's been a good close friend of mine for several years now. I had been asking him to post some of the wonderful emails he sends around into a blog for a while now and he's finally taken the plunge.

This origins of Plagiarist stem from the original Plagiarist, which was fun while it lasted. Look into some of the history there and you'll find some interesting links, articles, and commentary.

I may even plagiarize my old stuff and repost it up here!

Thanks for reading.

Pikasso

2006-09-05T15:55:00.000-04:00

Picked up from ideaseek

Pikasso

Four necks. Two sound holes. 42 strings. Two access doors; one on the upper player's side and one at the tail block.Created by luthier Linda Manzer for guitarist Pat Metheny, the instrument took 2 years to build (approximately 1000 hours), and when the 42 strings are strung up to high tension, the Pikasso is under approximately 1000 lbs pressure. It weighs 6.7 kg or 14 3/4 lbs. The body is tapered so that the side closest to the player is thinner than the side that rests on the players knee, thus leaning the top back towards the player for a more aerial view. This is also more comfortable under the player's arm.

Visit Linda Manzer's website at http://www.manzer.com/ for more information on her quality custom guitars.

2006-05-16T16:46:00.000-04:00

Hmmm..maybe that's why Scotty Doesn't Know!!!

Geek-Week vs. Joss Whedon

2006-05-12T15:05:00.000-04:00

WoW: Burning Crusade Trailers

2006-05-12T10:27:00.000-04:00

Catchy tune

2006-05-12T10:26:00.000-04:00

A little jazz, a little anime...

catchy tune though.

anyone know who or what it is?

Robot Chicken: Darth Vadar Collect Call

2006-05-12T10:25:00.000-04:00

If you haven't spent the time watching Robot Chicken on Cartoon Network you are missing out on some really good humor. Check out some other clips. Some of the most interesting ones, Napoleon Bonamite, Real World Metropolis, Optimus Prime with Prostate Cancer, Ode to the Nut Shot (one of the best ones!) Scooby Doo, Who Killed Santa?, Beavis & Butthead meet Teen Titans, Waxing Morning Wood.

One of the interesting bits is that Mila Kunis and Sarah Michelle Gellar both get some odd credits at the end of the show.

Down Deep

2006-03-18T17:48:00.000-05:00


You hear his voice everywhere—on the radio, at the grocery store, in television commercials. That unmistakable, soulful baritone. Where does it come from? Down Deep By Michael McDonald Nashville, Tennessee I have this recurring dream. i’m driving a car on a racecourse with no one else around. There’s a turn up ahead. I try to steer, but I bang into a wall. Then another. Desperately, I try to get control. But it’s no use. No matter how hard I try, I keep careening off the walls, losing control. It’s taken me a long time to understand that dream. But a young boy I met 25 years ago started me on the right track. In 1980 things couldn’t have been better for my band, the Doobie Brothers. Our album Minute by Minute had sold three million copies and we’d won four Grammys for the song "What a Fool Believes." I should have been on top of the world. Truth was, I’d never been so unhappy. We’d just finished our annual benefit concert at the children’s hospital in Palo Alto, California, and had gone upstairs to visit a 14-year-old boy with cystic fibrosis who wasn’t expected to live much longer. The moment we walked into the boy’s room, his face lit up. His parents stood near the window. The boy had to lie face down because that was the only position in which he could still breathe, but he never stopped smiling and joking as we signed autographs and played a couple of numbers. How can he look so happy when he’s so sick? I thought. He’s so young. Fourteen. That’s how old I was when I wrote my first song with my dad, called "My Heart Just Won’t Let You Go." Dad drove streetcars and buses in St. Louis for a living, but his true love was singing. Sometimes I’d ride with him on the morning local and listen to his Irish tenor soar above the sounds of the street. He and Mom were divorced. Mom worked long hours managing the local S&H Green Stamp store. So it was my grandmother who mainly raised me and my two sisters. All of us sang. I played banjo and fiddled around on the piano some too. Grandma bought me my first guitar from Sears, Roebuck, and Co.—a Silvertone classic with an amp in the case. Pretty soon I was in a band with some guys I knew. They were a little older than I was and had grown up singing gospel in church. I loved the passion in gospel songs. The music came from a place deep down. I didn’t study music formally, but I still had my teachers: Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye. I played their records over and over, learning every note, every inflection, every feeling by heart. After that first song with my dad, I wrote more on my own, mostly ballads. Love songs came naturally to me—maybe because I was born just two days before Valentine’s Day. Who knows? Our band would land some little gig—a church dance maybe or a community center—and I’d be thrilled. My voice was lower than Dad’s, a husky baritone instead of his lilting tenor. I learned pretty fast that trying to direct it got me nowhere. Every show I struggled to surrender to it and let it carry me. I moved to Los Angeles when I was 18. I got a lot of backup work, but for years I wasn’t really getting anywhere. Then I got a break to play with Steely Dan. That led to joining the Doobies in 1975. The lead singer got sick and I stepped in. I took Dad to my first concert. We pulled up to a stadium and walked in to see thousands of fans. Dad grinned. "This is all right, Son. I think you’re doing all right." It didn’t really hit me until the night we won all those Grammys. A driver had been sent for me. "Could you drive up Highway 1 for a while?" I asked him. I was too wired to go home. So much had happened so fast. I’d made it. A poor kid from St. Louis with a big voice and a lot of luck. I knew my family was proud of me. But skimming through the darkness that night, the white crests of the waves in the distance, the crisp salty air blowing back my hair, I felt lost. Do I really deserve all this? I thought. I should be enjoying this. But why does it all feel so empty? These thoughts still haunted me months later as I stood at the bedside of a boy who would never get the chance to go on a roadtrip with his pals, take his girlfriend to prom, start his own life. Yet he was making the most of this moment, taking life on life’s terms. He filled the room with love. I was twice his age but between all the touring and interviews, I didn’t feel as if I had much of a life. And I’d picked up some bad habits from the rock ’n’ roll lifestyle, habits I couldn’t break. I didn’t know who I was anymore. What had happened to that boy from St. Louis? I was certain—as sure as if I were the one who was dying—that I had to make some changes. I was known for singing love songs. What about the love in my own life? I’d been kind of dating someone—Amy, a singer whose voice I loved—but I didn’t have much time for a personal life. I started to make more time though. I’d leave the recording studio in Hollywood at 1:00 A.M., pick up Amy and hop onto Highway 5. We’d drive into Death Valley, make camp on the desert floor and talk for hours under the stars. One night I was going on and on about my first solo record—how I wanted everything to be perfect. Amy reached out to touch my cheek. "Look up at the stars, Mike," she said. "They’re perfect and they’re here right now. Don’t miss them." Amy was changing her lifestyle. I wanted to also. I’d had some close calls with drugs and alcohol. I didn’t want to end up a rock ’n’ roll cliché—dying on silk sheets in some hotel room. I didn’t want to lose Amy. But the harder I tried to break my addictions, the stronger they became. I’d wake up from my dream. Sweating. Heart pounding. I’m not in control. I can’t do this alone. I need help. And so I began to ask for it. From family and friends. From counselors. From Amy. And from God. Giving up drugs and alcohol meant making room for new things in my life. Amy and I tied the knot in a big church wedding in 1983. We settled in a house just around the corner from that church and had a son and daughter. I’d listen for the church bells every day. They reminded me of the new path my life was on. I wanted to get back to the music of my roots and be closer to my extended family. So in 1995 we went south—to Nashville. We bought a hundred-acre farm with cows and horses and pigs—Old McDonald’s Farm the kids called it. I worked on my solo career and Amy worked on the house. And then life took a sharp turn. Amy was diagnosed with breast cancer. There was lymph node involvement. Her prognosis wasn’t good. One afternoon during a chemo session, I sat holding Amy’s hand, hoping the side effects wouldn’t be too bad this time. Suddenly she turned to me. Our eyes met and she gave me this sad little smile, as if to say, "I’m sorry you have to go through this." Me? I thought. Why is she worried about me? Suddenly my thoughts flashed back to that young boy at the children’s hospital almost 20 years earlier. I’d written love songs all my life but only now was I beginning to truly understand love. I squeezed Amy’s hand. Her long blond hair was gone, her green eyes dull above her sunken cheeks. But she had never looked more beautiful to me than at that moment. On the drive home, Amy stared out the window a long time. Finally she turned to me. "I don’t know what I’m facing here. I mean—" "You’re not going anywhere," I stopped her. "You’re going to be here a long time. Everything will be okay." To stop believing that would be to give up hope. Amy was exhausted but wouldn’t hear of missing our daughter’s Christmas pageant. Sitting in the auditorium with my arm around her, I could feel her shoulders trembling as we watched our daughter glide across the stage in her angel wings. I turned to my wife. Her eyes were wet with tears. She’s wondering if she’ll be here next year, I realized. If our kids will have to grow up without their mother. I thought of meeting Amy so many years earlier. Without her, I may never have found myself. I’d let go of my old life. Now I had to let go of the future too because I couldn’t control it. God, you gave me my voice, brought me success, brought Amy into my life when I needed her most. Help her now. Allow us to stay together as a family. Our daughter took a bow, her wings brushing the stage. Amy clapped with all her strength. In that moment I felt an incredible strength too, of hope and love and all the blessings we receive, deserved and undeserved. Eight Christmases have come and gone since then. Eight New Year’s. And soon, eight birthdays (I’ll be 54 this year). And I’m thankful to say Amy is cancer free. She’s working on a new album and our 22-year marriage is stronger than ever. You know, I still have that old dream sometimes. It happens when I try too hard to shape the future instead of taking things one day at a time. We have to let go in life. Allow a Higher Power to take the wheel and trust we’ll be taken care of no matter what. That’s how I try to live, minute by minute.

The Glory (????) of the Human Voice

2005-06-16T11:28:00.000-04:00

What's old is new, what's new is really old. I remember as a young kid hearing Golden Throats I & II listening to Leonard Nimoy sing If I Had A Hammer, and William Shatner's rendition of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. The album was a tremendous childhood discovery from listening to Sunday night radio show host Dr. Demento. Fast forward to 2004 when we hear William Hung sing She Bangs on American Idol. So bad that it's good.
After talking to someone about Wing and sampling her crooning, my friend told me the tale of Florence Foster Jenkins a social lite who sang in Carnegie Hall. We've all heard the short, "How do I get to Carnegie Hall? Practice Practice Practice." Well here this lady did not have to practice. This woman is completely old school Opera.

From her recordings, it is apparent that Jenkins had little sense of pitch and rhythm and was barely capable of sustaining a note. Her accompanist can be heard making adjustments to compensate for her tempo variations and rhythmic mistakes. Nonetheless, she became tremendously popular in her unconventional way. Her audiences apparently loved her for the amusement she provided rather than her musical ability. Critics often described her work in a backhanded way that may have served to pique public curiosity.
Despite her patent lack of ability, Jenkins was firmly convinced of her greatness. She compared herself favourably to the renowned sopranos Frieda Hempel and Luisa Tetrazzini, and dismissed the laughter which often came from the audience during her performances as coming from her rivals consumed by "professional jealousy". She was aware of her critics, however, saying "People may say I can't sing, but no one can ever say I didn't sing."

I leave you with a sample...

Queen Of The Night Aria (clip #1)
Adele's Laughing Song (clip #2)

The blogosphere

2005-06-14T13:36:00.000-04:00

So here I am. First time on my own blog.

So in the immortal words of all those that learn to code their first few lines of code.

Hello World!