tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18779248995263138432024-03-02T00:00:41.741-07:00ALBIE'S BLOG... from the high desert, Southeast AZCompiled by Albie The Good, your average desert-dwelling, Bible-believing, Christian Beatnik and Incurable Bookworm... Thoughts about stuff... oh, and things too. :)Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.comBlogger245125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-42782030547735731392015-02-14T12:53:00.001-07:002015-02-14T12:53:52.955-07:00REVIEWING LIBRARY MOVIES #1: "The Kent Chronicles,Vol. One: THE BASTARD" 1978<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong>REVIEWING LIBRARY MOVIES #1: </strong><br />
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<strong> "The Kent Chronicles,Vol. One: THE BASTARD" Directed by Lee Katzin, 1978 [Universal DVD Collection]</strong><br />
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Well... Since I don't have cable, but do have a DVD player, and since I love things that don't cost money, I have been checking out movies from the local library to watch. This one was a TV movie from 1978 that lasted 189 minutes! Yup, that's over 3 hours, so the cats and I were camped out on the couch for a good long while last night. The film was based, of course, on John Jakes' phenomenally successful first book in his series THE KENT FAMILY CHRONICLES, which was a very hot property at the time. [Those books sold SO WELL you still see them everywhere! Amazon literally sells used copies for a penny, but why would you even pay the shipping when every yard sale seems to have copies for a dime?!] <br />
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Now, make no mistake, a guy doesn't sell books the way Jakes did without real talent, and I still remember those books as intelligent and thoughtful historical fiction, just pulpy and lurid enough to be absolutely engrossing. <br />
The first book, about the illegitimate son of a French actress and an English Lord who comes to America just in time for the Big Revolution, was a classic of sorts. The screenplay for the movie version is actually a good adaptation too, and is even somewhat clever in the way it condenses the plot, historical detail, and ideological concerns of its original source material. <br />
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Now for the review. This production, which looks like it cost some real money in places, is, however, very "TV" and very "70s"... and no, those are not compliments. <br />
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Still, I must say the 3 hours actually went by pretty fast, and even the cats didn't complain. <br />
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The title character was played by a guy named Andrew Stevens, who turns in the kind of lackluster yet un-objectionable performance you would expect from a "pretty boy" 70s idol. <br />
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Why was it entertaining? Well... The real fun is the supporting cast, and it is both huge and varied. I mean, there are actual GREAT actors... like Patricia Neal, Donald Pleasance and Keenan Wynn, ALL of them so excellent in their assigned roles it seems almost like a jarring mistake to have cast them against the other, run-of-the-mill performers. <br />
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Then there are sturdy performances by good folks like Buddy Ebsen, Olivia Hussy [yowza!], Cameron Mitchel, and Harry Morgan.<br />
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Then it gets a little wondrously weird: Tom Bosley of HAPPY DAYS is a strangely affecting Ben Franklin, and... let's just say if you haven't seen William Shatner [!] chew the scenery as a verbose Paul Revere [!] , well... you have really missed SOMETHING! Don Johnson and Kim Cattrall are both here, too... caught at the very beginnings of their [storied?] careers. <br />
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A word should also be said about the costume design, and that word is this: Whoever was in charge of it was convinced that the 1770s in Europe and America were an epoch where feminine pulchritude and much mighty cleavage ruled the landscape! [Sorry... It just had to be said!] <br />
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All in all I give THE BASTARD a thumbs up! [Hey, that was a funny sounding sentence!]<br />
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The cats, on the other hand, have not commented.<br />
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Mr. Shatner is about to speak... and he WILL have your attention... </div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-45557930720000176072015-01-15T19:00:00.000-07:002015-01-15T19:19:45.648-07:00BIG AL's JOVIAL JUKEBOX #34: "Cast Your Fate To The Wind" by The WE FIVE, 1965<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><u><em>Albie's Note:</em></u></strong> The <strong>WE FIVE</strong> from their first album,<strong> 1965...</strong> a vocal version of the <strong>Vince Guaraldi</strong> jazz classic<strong> "Cast Your Fate To The Wind."</strong> I bought this album on scratchy vinyl at a <strong>Sierra Vista, AZ. Salvation Army</strong> store back in High School, circa <strong>1981</strong>... only<strong><em> NOW</em></strong> do I understand this amazing song. Those lyrics just murder me, man!<br />
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Amazing vocal from <strong>Beverley Bivens</strong>. (born <strong>April 28, 1946</strong>) <br />
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Check it out:<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">CAST YOUR FATE TO THE WIND</span><br /> Music: Vince Guaraldi<br /> Lyrics: Carel Werber<span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> A month of nights, a year of days<br /> Octobers drifting into Mays<br /> You set your sail when the tide comes in<br /> Then you just cast your fate to the wind</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I shift my course along the breeze<br /> Won't sail upwind on memories<br /> The empty sky is my best friend<br /> And you just cast your fate to the wind</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But time has such a way of changing a man throughout the years<br /> And now I'm rearranging my life through all the tears<br /> Alone, alone, alone.....</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> There never was, there couldn't be<br /> A place in time for men to be<br /> Who'd drink the dark and laugh at day<br />But their wildest dreams blow away</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> So now you're old, you're wise, you're smart<br /> You're just a man with half a heart<br /> You wonder how it might have been<br /> Had you not cast your fate to the wind....</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Grammy Award for Best Original Jazz Composition, 1963.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-57090011984934041872014-11-16T15:52:00.003-07:002014-11-22T13:08:02.542-07:00SONGS THAT TELL A STORY #10: "The Four Seasons Of Life" by NARVEL FELTS, 1963<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><u><em>Albie's Note:</em></u></strong> According to everything I can find about it out on-line, this ballad was first recorded by <strong>Rockabilly</strong> legend <strong>Narvel "the Marvel"</strong> in<strong> 1963</strong>, but this is the version I have always loved, recorded live for the above album much later, sometime in the<strong> '70s,</strong> I believe. I had this old <strong>LIVE</strong> album on Cassette and this song brings back all kinds of memories of my younger days in the <strong>1980s</strong> and my <strong>'73 Chevy</strong> pick-up. I especially like this version because of the introduction, where <strong>Narvel</strong> [born <strong>November 11, 1938</strong> and still touring!] tells of <em>"the strange mood"</em> that came over him when he came to write this unusual song about family, life and death, and this intro serves to give the whole thing a certain strange-- almost <em>eerie</em>-- poignancy. <br />
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Hear for yourself: <br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE FOUR SEASONS OF LIFE</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Deep in the night a baby cries<br />Little does he understand that before he knows it he'll be a man<br />In the spring a young man's fancy turns to love<br />In treetops high he sees the mating of the dove<br />Then he finds her somehow, somewhere, and with one kiss a love they share<br />This is the first season of life</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">In the summer he gives her a wedding band<br />As hot wind blows they walk together through the sand<br />Then they have a family, first comes one then two then three<br />This is the second season of life</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Then comes autumn the green leaves turn to gold<br />Their two daughters have husbands their son takes a wife<br />Their grandchildren have reached number nine<br />This is the third season of life</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">In the winter an old man's hair has turned to snow<br />His dreams are gone with the cold north wind that blows<br />For she is gone and he's alone soon he must go where she has gone<br />This is the last season of life</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">"Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away."</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">JAMES 4:14</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-72259903137920008752014-11-15T15:33:00.005-07:002014-11-15T15:40:54.999-07:00POETRY BREAK #22: "THE QUIET JOYS OF BROTHERHOOD" by Richard Farina, 1966<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><u><em>Albie's Note:</em></u></strong> <strong>The Quiet Joys of Brotherhood </strong>is a beautiful poem by the late, GREAT novelist/folk singer/iconoclast and genius <strong>Richard Fariña <em> (March 8, 1937 – April 30, 1966)</em></strong> which he set musically to the public domain melody of the ancient <strong>Irish</strong> air <em><a href="http://mainlynorfolk.info/folk/songs/mylaganlove.html"><strong>My Lagan Love</strong></a></em>. His widow <strong>Mimi Fariña</strong> (born <b>Margarita Mimi Baez</b>, <strong>April 30, 1945 – July 18, 2001</strong>) sang it in <strong>1968</strong> on the final <strong>Richard and Mimi Fariña</strong> album <cite><strong>Memories</strong> [a long time fave of <strong>Albie's</strong>] </cite>, two full years after <strong>Richard's</strong> untimely death in a motorcycle crash.<br />
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I loved that old album like few others, and always loved this particular poem. I have long considered <strong>Farina</strong> the <strong>TRUE</strong> <strong><em>'last of the Beats'</em></strong> because in many ways he was the last gasp of that strange sensibility... at once joyous and poetic yet darkly acknowledging of the "<strong><em>American Weirdness</em></strong>."<br />
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Here is <strong>Mimi's</strong> great rendition of one of <strong>Richard's</strong> true poetic classics. I am no leftie, but <strong>Brotherhood</strong> is a <em><strong>really</strong></em> good thing to sing about. <br />
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Amen.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Where gentle tides go rolling by<br />Along the salt-sea strand<br />The colors blend and roll as one<br />Together in the sand<br />And often do the winds entwine<br />To send their distant call<br />The quiet joys of brotherhood<br />When love is lord of all<br /><br />Where oat and wheat together rise<br />Along the common ground<br />The mare and stallion light and dark<br />Have thunder in their sound<br />The rainbow sign, the blended flood<br />Still have my heart enthralled<br />The quiet joys of brotherhood<br />When love is lord of all<br /><br />But men have come to plow the tides<br />The oat lies on the ground<br />I hear their fires in the field<br />They drive the stallion down<br />The roses bleed, both light and dark<br />The winds do seldom call<br />The running sands recall the time<br />When love was lord of all</strong></span> <br />
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-15009137166031533512014-11-09T15:49:00.001-07:002014-11-09T15:58:28.300-07:00BIG AL's JOVIAL JUKEBOX #33: "It Ain't Me, Babe, " Sayaka Alessandra sings Bob Dylan, 2010<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><em><u></u></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><u>Albie's Note:</u></em></strong> I always like to listen to this young gal form <strong>Sicily,</strong> the amazing <strong>Japanese/Italian</strong> amateur [recently turned professional] <strong> SAYAKA ALESSANDRA.</strong> Her taste in songs is marvelous, strongly leaning toward the <strong>Country/Rockabilly</strong> side of the spectrum, but at the same time, full of wonderful surprises too. <br />
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Here, in a video posted back in <strong>2010</strong> she does<strong> Bob Dylan's</strong> great<em> paean</em> to "bad relationships" in a way that I think might actually top both the <strong>TURTLES' </strong>and<strong> JOHNNY CASH's</strong> hit versions from the <strong>60s.</strong><br />
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<strong><em>"It Ain't Me, Babe."</em></strong> Indeed. <br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/07So7Z7Cq-0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">IT AINT ME, BABE</span></strong><br />
<strong>Written by Bob Dylan</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
Go ’way from my window<br />
Leave at your own chosen speed<br />
I’m not the one you want, babe<br />
I’m not the one you need<br />
You say you’re lookin’ for someone<br />
Never weak but always strong<br />
To protect you an’ defend you<br />
Whether you are right or wrong<br />
Someone to open each and every door<br />
But it ain’t me, babe<br />
No, no, no, it ain’t me, babe<br />
It ain’t me you’re lookin’ for, babe<br />
<br />
Go lightly from the ledge, babe<br />
Go lightly on the ground<br />
I’m not the one you want, babe<br />
I will only let you down<br />
You say you’re lookin’ for someone<br />
Who will promise never to part<br />
Someone to close his eyes for you<br />
Someone to close his heart<br />
Someone who will die for you an’ more<br />
But it ain’t me, babe<br />
No, no, no, it ain’t me, babe<br />
It ain’t me you’re lookin’ for, babe<br />
<br />
Go melt back into the night, babe<br />
Everything inside is made of stone<br />
There’s nothing in here moving<br />
An’ anyway I’m not alone<br />
You say you’re lookin' for someone<br />
Who’ll pick you up each time you fall<br />
To gather flowers constantly<br />
An’ to come each time you call<br />
A lover for your life an’ nothing more<br />
But it ain’t me, babe<br />
No, no, no, it ain’t me, babe<br />
It ain’t me you’re lookin’ for, babe<br />
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<div class="copyright">
<strong>Copyright © 1964 by Warner Bros. Inc.; renewed 1992 by Special Rider Music</strong></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">See more at <strong>Sayaka's Youtube</strong> channel: </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCJVseQRrohzvXKtkdUbWWog">https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCJVseQRrohzvXKtkdUbWWog</a><br />
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-26803673038323769262014-10-18T14:09:00.000-07:002014-10-18T14:13:05.174-07:00RANGER AL's WESTERN COMIX THEATRE #8: RED RYDER from DELL Comics, 1943<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong><em><u>Albie's Note:</u></em></strong> Here was <strong>Red Ryder</strong>, the single most popular western comic strip of all time, adapted-- in <strong>1943 AD</strong>-- to fit the relatively new novelty called <strong>"comic magazines."</strong> <br />
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While in some ways it doesn't hold up well [the sidekick <strong>Little Beaver</strong> is a somewhat uncomfortable stereotype, for example] I can actually, totally, see the appeal. Real life ranchman and artist <strong>Fred Harman</strong> <strong>[February 9, 1902 - January 2, 1982]</strong> created a wildly unrealistic white hat hero-- then drew him with such virile action and western vigor that it's actually pretty easy to see how the kids loved ol'<strong> Double R!</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
This episode ends kind of abruptly but I think it's because these were reprints from an on-going daily continuity.<strong> </strong><br />
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In any case, bad guys had best beware... <strong>Red-headed Justice</strong> is riding hard!<br />
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<strong><em>You betchum!</em></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-54943682034583094832014-10-10T15:23:00.002-07:002014-10-10T15:41:13.024-07:00BIG AL's JOVIAL JUKEBOX # 32: "My Own kind Of Hat" by ROSIE FLORES, 1994<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><em><u></u></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><u>Albie's Note:</u></em></strong> One of all-time favorite albums remains the obscure tribute record <span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><strong><em>Tulare Dust: A Songwriters' Tribute To Merle Haggard </em></strong>from the <strong>HIGHTONE </strong>record label originally put out in <strong>1994.</strong> <em><strong> </strong></em>This collection of familiar and obscure <strong>Haggard</strong> songs re-interpreted by alt-rock stalwarts [there was an all-star-country tribute album full of big names the same year but it wasn't nearly as good] contained some truly beautiful music and I really liked <strong>Hag</strong> being re-interpreted by younger but still respectful artists. </span><br />
<span class="a-size-large"></span><br />
<span class="a-size-large">Also, I always loved this particular song-- a true <strong>Libertarian</strong> anthem-- originally a top ten country hit found on <strong>Hag's</strong> great <strong>1979</strong> album <strong>SERVING 190 PROOF. </strong>I remember there was a story at the time that the song came from an experience when <strong>Merle </strong>was at a photo session for an album cover and arrived in a <strong>Fedora</strong>. The photographer handed over a <strong>Stetson</strong> and said to <strong>Hag</strong>: </span><br />
<span class="a-size-large"></span><br />
<span class="a-size-large">"I think the label would rather have me shoot you in a cowboy hat."</span><br />
<span class="a-size-large"></span><br />
<span class="a-size-large">To which the <strong>Okie</strong> philosopher replied <em>"I'll wear my own kind of hat, thank you."</em> </span><br />
<span class="a-size-large"></span><br />
<span class="a-size-large">True or not, it's a great story.... and the song is even greater. </span><br />
<span class="a-size-large"></span><br />
<span class="a-size-large">Here is the version I like best from <strong>San Antonio rockabilly </strong>legend <strong>Rosie Flores</strong>. </span><br />
<span class="a-size-large"></span><br />
<span class="a-size-large">Wear your own lids, folks! Amen. </span><br />
<span class="a-size-large"></span><br />
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<span class="a-size-large"></span><br />
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<span class="a-size-large"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">MY OWN KIND OF HAT</span></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="a-size-large"><strong>Words and Music by Merle Haggard</strong></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: large;">Cowboys and outlaws, right guys and southpaws, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Good dogs and all kinds of cats.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Dirt roads and white lines and all kinds of stop signs, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But I stand right here where I'm at, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">'Cause I wear My Own Kind Of Hat.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There's two kind of lovers and two kind of brothers, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And two kind of babies to hold. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There's two kind of cherries and two kind of fairies, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And two kind of mothers I'm told, and told</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Cowboys and outlaws, right guys and southpaws, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Good dogs and all kinds of cats.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Dirt roads and white lines and all kinds of stop signs, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But I stand right here where I'm at, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">'Cause I wear My Own Kind Of Hat. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There's two kind of brothers and two kind of lovers, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And two kind of babies to hold. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There's two kind of cherries and two kind of fairies, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And two kind of mothers I'm told, and told</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Cowboys and outlaws, right guys and southpaws, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Good dogs and all kinds of cats.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Dirt roads and white lines and all kinds of stop signs, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But I stand right here where I'm at, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">'Cause I wear My Own Kind Of Hat.</span></blockquote>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-3934390537132378032014-10-09T12:20:00.000-07:002014-10-09T12:21:36.221-07:00COOL STUFF FROM LIBRARY BOOKS # 34: Spurgeon ON CHRISTIAN UNITY!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">"UNITY BRINGS BLESSING" </span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">By C. H.
Spurgeon</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">[From THE TREASURY OF DAVID]</span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"></span></i></span><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #990000;">"<strong>Behold, how good and how
pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity! </strong></span></span></span></i><i></i></div>
<i><div align="left">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"><strong> "It is like the precious
ointment upon the head, that ran down upon the beard, even Aaron’s beard: that
went down to the skirts of his garments;</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"><strong> "As the dew of Hermon, and as
the dew that descended upon the mountains of Zion: for there the Lord commanded
the blessing, even life for evermore"</strong></span></div>
</i><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"><strong>
(Psa. 133:1-3)</strong></span></div>
<b>
</b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: x-large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: x-large;">The Beauty of Unity</span></div>
</b><div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><i> <strong><span style="font-size: large;">"Behold."</span></strong></i><span style="font-size: large;"> It is a
wonder seldom seen, therefore behold it! It may be seen, for it is the
characteristic of real saints – therefore fail not to inspect it! It is well
worthy of admiration; pause and gaze upon it! It will charm you into imitation,
therefore note it well! God looks on with approval, therefore consider it with
attention. <i><strong>"How good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in
unity!"</strong></i> No one can tell the exceeding excellence of such a condition; and so
the Psalmist uses the word <i><strong>"how"</strong></i> twice – Behold how good! and how
pleasant! He does not attempt to measure either the good or the pleasure, but
invites us to behold for ourselves. The combination of the two adjectives
<i><strong>"good"</strong></i> and <i><strong>"pleasant,"</strong></i> is more remarkable than the conjunction of
two stars of the first magnitude: for a thing to be "good" is good, but for it
also to be pleasant is better. All men love pleasant things, and yet it
frequently happens that the pleasure is evil; but here the condition is as good
as it is pleasant, as pleasant as it is good, for the same <i><strong>"how"</strong></i> is set
before each qualifying word. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"> For <i><strong>brethren</strong></i> <strong>according
to the flesh</strong> to dwell together is not always wise; for experience teaches that
they are better a little apart, and it is shameful for them to dwell together in
disunion. They had much better part in peace like <strong>Abraham</strong> and<strong> Lot</strong>, than dwell
together in envy like <strong>Joseph’s </strong>brothers. When brethren can and do dwell together
<i><strong>in unity</strong></i>, then is their communion worthy to be gazed upon and sung of in
holy psalmody. Such sights ought often to be seen among those who are near of
kin, for they are brethren, and therefore should be united in heart and aim;
they dwell together, and it is for their mutual comfort that there should be no
strife; and yet how many families are rent by fierce feuds, and exhibit a
spectacle which is neither good nor pleasant!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"> As to <strong>brethren in spirit</strong>, they
ought to dwell together in church fellowship, and in that fellowship one
essential matter is unity. We can dispense with uniformity if we possess unity:
oneness of life, truth, and way; oneness in <strong>Christ Jesus</strong>; oneness of object and
spirit – these we must have, or our assemblies will be synagogues of contention
rather than churches of <strong>Christ.</strong> The closer the unity the better; for the more of
the good and the pleasant there will be. Since we are imperfect beings, somewhat
of the evil and the unpleasant is sure to intrude; but this will readily be
neutralized and easily ejected by the true love of the saints, if it really
exists. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"><strong>Christian unity</strong> is good in itself, good for ourselves, good for the
brethren, good for our converts, good for the outside world; and for certain it
is pleasant; for a loving heart must have pleasure and give pleasure in
associating with others of like nature. A church united for years in earnest
service of the Lord is a well of goodness and joy to all those who dwell round
about it.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<strong>
</strong><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: x-large;"><strong>The Blessings of
Unity</strong></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><i> <span style="font-size: large;"><strong>"It is like the precious
ointment upon the head."</strong> </span></i><span style="font-size: large;">In order that we may the better behold brotherly
unity<strong> David</strong> gives us a resemblance, so that as in a glass we may perceive its
blessedness. It has a <i><strong>sweet perfume</strong> </i>about it, comparable to that precious
ointment with which the first high priest was anointed at his
ordination.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"> It is <strong><i>a holy thing</i>,</strong> and
so again is like the oil of consecration which was to be used only in the <strong>Lord’s</strong>
service. What a sacred thing must brotherly love be when it can be likened to an
oil which must never be poured on any man but on the <strong>Lord’s high priest</strong>
alone!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"> It is a <i><strong>diffusive</strong></i>
thing: being poured on his head the fragrant oil flowed down upon <strong>Aaron’s</strong> head,
and thence dropped upon his garments till the utmost hem was anointed therewith;
and even so doth brotherly love extend its benign power and bless all who are
beneath its influence. Hearty concord brings a benediction upon all concerned;
its goodness and pleasure are shared in by the lowliest members of the
household; even the servants are the better and the happier because of the
lovely unity among the members of the family.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> <strong>It has a special use</strong></i>
about it; for as by the anointing oil <strong>Aaron</strong> was set apart for the special
service of <strong>Jehovah,</strong> even so those who dwell in love are the better fitted to
glorify <strong>God </strong>in<strong> His church</strong>. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>The Lord </strong>is not likely to use for <strong>His glory</strong> those who
are devoid of love; they lack the anointing needful to make them priests unto
the<strong> Lord.</strong></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><strong>" That ran down upon the
beard, even Aaron’s beard."</strong></i> This is a chief point of comparison, that as the
oil did not remain confined to the place where it first fell, but flowed down
the <strong>high priest’s</strong> hair and bedewed his beard, even so brotherly love descending
from the head distils and descends, anointing as it runs, and perfuming all it
lights upon.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> <strong>"That went down to the
skirts of his garments."</strong></i> Once set in motion it would not cease from flowing.
It might seem as if it were better not to smear his garments with oil, but the
sacred unguent could not be restrained, it flowed over his holy robes; even thus
does brotherly love not only flow over the hearts upon which it was first poured
out, and descend to those who are an inferior part of the mystical body of<strong>
Christ</strong>, but it runs where it is not sought for, asking neither leave nor license
to make its way. <strong>Christian</strong> affection knows no limits of parish, nation, sect or
age.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Is the man a believer in
<strong>Christ?</strong> Then he is in <strong>the one body</strong>, and I must yield him <strong>an abiding love!</strong></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;">Is he
one of the poorest, one of the least spiritual, one of the least lovable? Then
he is as the skirts of the garment, and <strong>my heart’s love must fall even upon him.</strong>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Brotherly love</strong> comes from the head, but falls to the feet. Its way is downward.
It <i><strong>"ran down,"</strong></i> and it <strong><i>"went down"</i>:</strong> love for the brethren
condescends to men of low estate, it is not puffed up, but is lowly and meek.
This is no small part of its excellence: oil would not anoint if it did not flow
down, neither would brotherly love diffuse its blessing if it did not
descend.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: x-large;">The Bounty of Unity</span></b></div>
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><i> <strong><span style="font-size: large;">"As the dew of Hermon, and
as the dew that descended upon the mountains of Zion."</span></strong></i><span style="font-size: large;"> From the loftier
mountains the moisture appears to be wafted to the lesser hills: the dews of
<strong>Hermon</strong> fall on <strong>Zion</strong>. The<strong> Alpine Lebanon</strong> ministers to the minor elevation of the
city of <strong>David</strong>; and so does brotherly love descend from higher to the lower,
refreshing and enlivening in its course. <strong>Holy concord</strong> is as dew, mysteriously
blessed, full of life and growth for all plants of grace. It brings with it so
much benediction that it is as no common dew, but as that of <strong>Hermon</strong> which is
specially copious, and far-reaching.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"> O for more of this rare
virtue! Not the love which comes and goes, but that which dwells; not that
spirit which separates and secludes, but that which dwells together; not that
mind which is all for debate and difference, but that which dwells together in
unity. Never shall we know the full power of the anointing till we are of one
heart and of one spirit; never will the sacred dew of the spirit descend in all
its fulness till we are perfectly joined together in the same mind; never will
the covenanted and commanded blessing come forth from the Lord our God till once
again we shall have<strong> "one Lord, one faith, one baptism."</strong> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>Lord, </strong>lead us into this
most precious spiritual unity, <strong>for Thy Son’s sake. Amen.</strong></span></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-64881329210802452302014-10-06T14:23:00.001-07:002014-10-08T13:36:14.204-07:00POETRY BREAK #21: "A VAGABOND SONG" by Bliss Carman, 1896<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><em>"A WALK IN THE COUNTRY"</em> Norman Rockwell<em>,</em> 1935</strong></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong><em><u>Albie's Note</u>:</em></strong> This little lyric, from the second book of <strong><em></em></strong><strong><em>Canadian</em></strong> poet <strong>Bliss Carman's VAGABONDIA</strong> trilogy:<strong> <em>More Songs from Vagabondia</em></strong> <strong>[1896],</strong> was once a widely quoted popular favorite in the both the <strong>USA </strong>and the poet's native country. It's a poem I always think of when <strong>October</strong> rolls around.... there truly is something in autumn that makes that adventuruous spirit awaken. Enjoy this classic from the poet<strong> Louis Untermeyer</strong> celebreated for <strong><em>"the heartiness, the gypsy jollity, the rush of high spirits, that conquered"</em></strong> through his verse.</span> <br />
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<h1 class="title">
A Vagabond Song</h1>
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By Bliss Carman</h3>
<b>1861-1929</b>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood -- <br />Touch
of manner, hint of mood; <br />And my heart is like a rhyme, <br />With the yellow
and the purple and the crimson keeping time. <br /><br />The scarlet of the maples
can shake me like a cry <br />Of bugles going by. <br />And my lonely spirit thrills
<br />To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills. <br /><br />There is
something in<strong> October</strong> sets the gypsy blood astir; <br />We must rise and follow
her, <br />When from every hill of flame <br />She calls and calls each vagabond by
name. </span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-16448258261199024502014-10-01T09:12:00.003-07:002014-10-01T09:13:57.724-07:00BIG AL's JOVIAL JUKEBOX #31: GYPSY BLOOD by Mason Ruffner, 1987<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><u>Albie's Note:</u></strong> "There Is something in <strong>October</strong> sets the <strong>Gypsy Blood</strong> astir..." <br />
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More rockin'<strong> American</strong> music form the late, great <strong>'80's!</strong> This was <strong>blues/rockabilly</strong> artist's <strong>Mason Ruffner's</strong> Biggest hit... it got a lot of mainstream rock play and made the country top 50 as well. Produced by the great <strong>Dave Edmunds </strong> a bit after he produced major hits by by <strong>Fabulous Thunderbirds</strong> and <strong>Stray Cats,</strong> it's an awesome tune about that wanderin' spirit. <strong>Enjoy!</strong></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/dafJ9ZxKjBo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>GYPSY B</strong><strong>LOOD</strong></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div>
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Lord knows I was born a gypsy </div>
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My heart can steal you blind </div>
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I got my hand on my suitcase </div>
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Lots of travelin' on my mind </div>
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Yeah, it's that blood yeah, that gypsy blood </div>
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That carries me far from my love </div>
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My spirit flies just like a dove </div>
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I got that gypsy blood </div>
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I know that there ain’t nothin’ </div>
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There’s nothin’ like a woman’s touch </div>
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But love just burns me like fire </div>
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Love is costin' me too much </div>
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Must be that blood, must be that gypsy blood </div>
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That carries me far from my love </div>
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My spirit flies just like a dove </div>
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I got that gypsy blood </div>
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Do you wanta ride along with me, baby? </div>
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Well, I'm on the run </div>
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Well, I'm restless and I'm weary </div>
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I’m gonna shoot my gun! </div>
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Take me out there on that highway </div>
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Let the wind blow in my face </div>
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If I fall by the wayside </div>
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Somebody else can take my place </div>
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Yeah, it's that blood yeah, that gypsy blood </div>
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That carries me far from my love </div>
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My spirit flies just like a dove </div>
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I got that gypsy blood
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-27338110489099457602014-09-13T15:38:00.001-07:002014-09-13T15:38:24.320-07:00BIG AL's JOVIAL JUKEBOX #30: "Crazy Over You" by FOSTER AND LLOYD, 1987<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><u>Albie's Note:</u></strong> Time again for some good ol' <strong>American Rockabilly, God</strong> love it!! This was one of my fave pick-up truck cruisin' songs when it came out and I believe I <em>still</em> have the beat-up old cassette somewhere. Country music in the <strong>1980s</strong> was wonderful: the radio was just full of surprises! How else can you explain a song like this hitting the top of the Country Charts in ol' ' <strong>87</strong>?<br />
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Anyway, put your cat clothes on for this classic: <br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/yhoDzmmVj3o?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">CRAZY OVER YOU</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Written by RADNEY FOSTER AND BILL LLOYD</span></strong> </div>
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<strong><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Can't you tell, by the spell that I'm under<br />This fella's wonderin' if
you'll let me get next to you<br />Is there a chance of gettin' through?<br />Well
you never seem to notice me, no matter what I do<br />And everybody in town knows
I'm crazy over you<br /><br />It's fo' sho', there's no cure for your
kisses?<br />Doctor says this is the last thing I'll ever do<br />My heart'll
break right in two<br />Well you never seem to notice me, no matter what I
do<br />And everybody in town knows I'm crazy over you<br /><br />Everybody knows that
I've been after you girl<br />Come on, sweet baby, let's give it a whirl<br />Give
it up, darlin', I'll make you all mine<br />And we can be together lovin' all the
time<br /><br />Can't you tell, by the spell that I'm under<br />This fella's
wonderin' if you'll let me get next to you<br />Is there a chance of gettin'
through?<br />Well you never seem to notice me, no matter what I do<br />And
everybody in town knows I'm crazy over you<br /><br />You turn your pretty head
away, I'm acting like a fool<br />And everybody in town knows I'm crazy over
you!!</span></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><em><strong><u>BONUS:</u></strong></em> <strong> Here's a vid of the fellas rockin' it today.... Way cool, junior :)</strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-71608325111646114452014-07-26T10:47:00.003-07:002014-07-26T12:51:56.197-07:00HYMN TIME #16: "The Circuit Riding Preacher" by Tim Spencer <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><em><strong><u>Albie's Note</u></strong></em>: I love this old tribute to frontier preachers written and sung by former <strong>SONS OF THE PIONEERS</strong> singer<strong> Tim Spencer. (July 13, 1908 – April 26, 1974)</strong> <strong> </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The circuit riding preacher [usually a <strong>Methodist</strong>, but there were<strong> Baptist</strong> and <strong>Presbyterian</strong> "circuits" as well] was a frontier figure that has never really been given his due. But that's OK... eternity will bear out his great contribution to this great country. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Two really good books that touch on the subject are<strong> BIBLE IN POCKET, GUN IN HAND </strong>by<strong> Ross Phares</strong> and<strong> SOUNDING FORTH THE TRUMPET </strong>by<strong> Peter Marshall</strong> and <strong>David Manuel. </strong>The latter book contains a chapter entitled <strong>"On The Stretch For God,"</strong> which is the best thing I have ever read about the circuit riders. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Also highly recommended is the fact based <strong>1977</strong> film <strong>SHEFFEY</strong> which gets my vote as the greatest <strong>Christian </strong>movie ever filmed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">In any case enjoy this old time Cowboy gospel classic:</span><br />
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<strong>THE CIRCUIT RIDING PREACHER</strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Glory glory hallelujah glory glory hallelujah<br />Glory glory hallelujah glory glory hallelujah<br />Glory glory hallelujah glory glory hallelujah<br />His truth is marching on</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">His truth is marching on</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">His truth is marching on</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The circuit ridin' preacher used to ride across the land<br />With a rife on his saddle and a Bible in his hand<br />He told the prairie people all about the promised land<br />As he went ridin' singin' down the trail</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Leaning leaning safe and secure from all alarms</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Leaning leaning leaning on the ever lasting arms</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>The circuit ridin' preacher travelled thru the mire and mud<br />Told about the firey furnace and of Noah and the flood<br />He preached the way to heaven was by water and the blood<br />As he went riding singing down the</strong><strong> trail</strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">There is power power wonder working power in the precious blood of the lamb</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">There is power power wonder working power in the precious blood of the lamb</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">His rifle may be rusted as it hangs upon the wall<br />And his Bible old and dusty may be never read at all<br />But until the resurrection when we hear the trumpet call... </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">his TRUTH will ride along!</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Glory glory hallelujah glory glory hallelujah<br />Glory glory hallelujah glory glory hallelujah<br />Glory glory hallelujah glory glory hallelujah<br />His truth is marching on</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">His truth is marching on</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">His truth is marching on</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">"Whatever may be said of this peculiar man and his eccentricities, he was a man who walked with and knew his <strong>God</strong>. The brilliance of his itinerant ministry lit up the dark hollows, valleys and mountaintops of early <strong>Appalachia</strong> and covered and filled them with the glorious light of the <strong>Gospel of Jesus Christ</strong>. <strong>Hell</strong> shook when he came to town. He died in peace with <strong>God</strong> and man, and all who knew him revere his memory. His mantle of ministry did not fall to the ground when he died. <strong> Elijah's</strong> mantle fell upon<strong> Elisha</strong> at <strong>Elijah's</strong> departure. <strong> Sheffey's</strong> mantle has been kept on hold until an <strong> Elisha</strong> <strong>Generation</strong> would come along and pick it up. That generation has come. It is time to pick up this fallen mantle and finish what this old circuit rider started long ago!"</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Description of <strong>Robert S. Sheffey</strong> from the book <span style="font-size: small;"><strong>A History of Middle New River Settlements and Contiguous Territory</strong> b</span><span class="addmd">y<strong> David Emmons Johnston, 1906</strong></span></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"How then shall they call on him in whom they have not believed? and how shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher?"</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">--ROMANS 10:14</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-48830061116078902452014-07-07T08:58:00.001-07:002014-07-07T09:06:27.818-07:00BIG AL's JOVIAL JUKEBOX #29: "Gimme Some" by TEX RITTER, 1964<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong><em><u>Albie's Note:</u></em></strong> This novelty song was a minor<strong> C and W</strong> chart hit for legendary cowboy singer<strong> Tex Ritter</strong> in <strong>1964,</strong> the year I was born. It's a goofy, gloriously<em> honest</em> look at fleshly temptation and man's struggles therewith. The background chorus just kills me! Heh heh... </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am amazed this wasn't a bigger hit for ol' <strong>Tex.</strong> Enjoy:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Beer and whiskey, whiskey and beer, <br />Makes your head start aching, makes your eyes unclear;<br />Makes you waste your money, turns you blind and dumb. <br />Gimme some. </strong></span></div>
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<br /><strong>Strong tobacco, cigarette smoke,<br />What a dirty habit, makes you nearly choke! <br />Fills your lungs with poison, makes your brain go<br />numb. <br />Gimme some. </strong></div>
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[CHORUS]<br /><strong><em>Will I ever get smart? I doubt it. <br />Tell me something's bad and I can't live without it.</em> </strong></div>
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<br /><strong>Pretty women, blue-eyed or brown, <br />How they drive you crazy, how they drag you down; <br />Soon they're fat and happy, you're a worn-out bum. <br />Gimme some, <br />Gimme some. <br /><br />Bread and gravy, chicken chow mein, <br />Too much fancy eating only brings you pain, <br />Doctor says "Hold on there, not another crumb!"<br />Gimme some. </strong></div>
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<br />Dice and poker, blackjack and dice, <br />Start to win a little, get to feelin' nice! <br />Bet it all and roll 'em, "Snake eyes, sorry, chum." <br />Gimme some. </div>
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<br /><em>Will I ever get smart? I doubt it. <br />Tell me something's bad and I can't live without it.</em> </div>
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<br />Pretty women, blue-eyed or brown, <br />How they drive you crazy, how they drag you down; <br />Soon they're fat and happy, you're a worn-out bum. <br />Gimme some, <br />Gimme some. <br />Gimme some.<br />Gimme some.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-22902537376400922062014-06-16T08:58:00.003-07:002014-06-16T09:06:41.041-07:00POETRY BREAK #20 [Father's Day Edition]: "ONLY A DAD" by Edgar A. Guest, 1916<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<h1 style="text-align: center;">
Only a Dad</h1>
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<span class="author"><span style="font-size: large;">By </span><a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/edgar-albert-guest"><span style="font-size: large;"> Edgar Albert Guest</span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></h1>
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<span class="author"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="birthyear">1881–1959</span></span></span> </h1>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Only a dad, with a tired face, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Coming home from the daily race, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bringing little of gold or fame, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To show how well he has played the game, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But glad in his heart that his own rejoice </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To see him come, and to hear his voice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Only a dad, with a brood of four, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One of ten million men or more. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Plodding along in the daily strife, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bearing the whips and the scorns of life, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">With never a whimper of pain or hate, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For the sake of those who at home await. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Only a dad, neither rich nor proud, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Merely one of the surging crowd</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Toiling, striving from day to day, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Facing whatever may come his way, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Silent, whenever the harsh condemn, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And bearing it all for the love of them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Only a dad, but he gives his all</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To smooth the way for his children small, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Doing, with courage stern and grim, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The deeds that his father did for him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is the line that for him I pen, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Only a dad, <em>but the best of men</em>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">From the book "<em>A Heap o' Livin'</em>" ©1916</span></div>
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<strong><em><u>Albie's Note:</u></em></strong> That's an unpecedented <strong>2 </strong>in a row from <strong>Mr. Guest</strong>, but I couldn't resist on <strong>Dad's Day! </strong> I actually had a<strong> Dad</strong> like this [only his brood was SEVEN!]... If I could BE this good a <strong>Dad</strong> as well... </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Well, that would be the thing, wouldn't it? <br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong> </div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-83103302735617986142014-06-07T14:04:00.000-07:002014-06-08T13:05:10.755-07:00POETRY BREAK #19: "Speaking Of Greenberg" by EDGAR A. GUEST, 1934<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u><br /></u></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;"><b><i><u>Albie's Note</u>:</i></b> OK, friends... if you know me <i>at all</i> you probably know at least TWO things-- amongst others-- about me: I love old time <b>Baseball,</b> and I am an ardent <b>"Christian Zionist."</b> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;"></span></span><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">It's rare that those 2 passions come together but they do in today's <b>"POETRY BREAK,"</b> as under-valued <b>American</b> poet <b>Edgar Guest</b> brings us a great<b> American Poem</b> about the first <b>Jewish</b> baseball <b>Hall-Of-Famer </b>and all around hero <b>Henry Benjamin "Hank" Greenberg</b> <b><i>(January 1, 1911 – September 4, 1986)</i></b>, [nicknamed <b>"Hammerin' Hank,"</b> <b>"Hankus Pankus"</b> or <b>"The Hebrew Hammer."]</b> </span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;"></span></span><span style="color: purple;"><span style="font-size: large;">The occasion for this poem is summarized nicely by <b>WIKIPEDIA:</b></span> </span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"></span><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">Late in the<b> 1934</b> season, <b>[Greenberg]</b> announced that he would not play on <b>September 10,</b> which was </span></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosh_Hashanah" title="Rosh Hashanah"><b><i><span style="color: purple;">Rosh Hashanah</span></i></b></a><i><span style="color: purple;">, the <b>Jewish New Year,</b> or on<b> September 19</b>, the <b>Day of Atonement, </b></span></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_Kippur" title="Yom Kippur"><b><i><span style="color: purple;">Yom Kippur</span></i></b></a><i><span style="color: purple;"><b>.</b> Fans grumbled, <b>"Rosh Hashanah</b> comes every year but the<b> Tigers</b> haven't won the pennant since </span></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1909_in_baseball" title="1909 in baseball"><b><i><span style="color: purple;">1909</span></i></b></a><i><span style="color: purple;"><b>."</b> </span></i><br />
<i><br /><span style="color: purple;"></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;"><b>Greenberg</b> did considerable soul-searching, and discussed the matter with his </span></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabbi" title="Rabbi"><i><span style="color: purple;">rabbi</span></i></a><i><span style="color: purple;">; finally he relented and agreed to play on <b>Rosh Hashanah</b>, but stuck with his decision not to play on<b> Yom Kippur</b>. Dramatically<b>, Greenberg</b> hit two home runs in a <b>2–1 Tigers</b> victory over <b>Boston</b> on <b>Rosh Hashanah.</b> The next day's<b> </b></span></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Detroit_Free_Press" title="Detroit Free Press"><b><i><span style="color: purple;">Detroit Free Press</span></i></b></a><i><span style="color: purple;"> ran the <b>Hebrew</b> lettering for "Happy New Year" across its front page.</span></i><br />
<i><br /><span style="color: purple;"></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">Columnist and poet </span></i><a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edgar_A._Guest" title="Edgar A. Guest"><b><i><span style="color: purple;">Edgar A. Guest</span></i></b></a><i><span style="color: purple;"> expressed the general opinion in a poem titled <b>"Speaking of Greenberg,"</b> in which he used the <b>Irish</b> (and thus <b>Catholic</b>) names <b>Murphy</b> and <b>Mulroney</b>. The poem ends with the lines "We shall miss him on the infield and shall miss him at the bat / But he's true to his religion—and I honor him for that." </span></i><br />
<i>
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i><span style="color: purple;"><span style="font-size: large;">And so I am proud to reprint it here, as it originally appeared across the country's newspapers in <b>October 1934:</b></span> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b></b></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>SPEAKING OF GREENBERG</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>by Edgar A. Guest</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>The Irish didn't like it when they heard of Greenberg's fame</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> For they thought a good first baseman should possess an Irish name;</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> And the Murphys and Mulrooneys said they never dreamed they'd see</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> A Jewish boy from Bronxville out where Casey used to be.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> In the early days of April not a Dugan tipped his hat</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> Or prayed to see a "double" when Hank Greenberg came to bat.</b></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> In July the Irish wondered where he'd ever learned to play.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> "He makes me think of Casey!" Old Man Murphy dared to say;</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> And with fifty-seven doubles and a score of homers made</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> The respect they had for Greenberg was being openly displayed.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> But on the Jewish New Year when Hank Greenberg came to bat</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> And made two home runs off Pitcher Rhodes—they cheered like mad for that.</b></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> Came Yom Kippur—holy fast day world-wide over to the Jew—</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>And Hank Greenberg to his teaching and the old tradition true</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> Spent the day among his people and he didn't come to play.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> Said Murphy to Mulrooney, "We shall lose the game today!</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> We shall miss him on the infield and shall miss him at the bat,</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> But he's true to his religion—and I honor him for that!"</b></i></span></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b>
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<b>Edgar Albert Guest </b></div>
<b><i><br /></i></b>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></b></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-12642187058776017002014-05-24T12:45:00.001-07:002014-05-24T12:58:38.924-07:00R.I.P. "COMMUNITY," 2009-2014... I'll truly miss you!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
There was once, at the very beginning, a sense in which this show had-- well, let us say... at least a bare working <em>context</em> of actual reality. It would still have been watchable, even good in that form... but thankfully, the whole project went wildly off the rails and<em> fast</em>... even well before that first quirky season ended. <br />
<br />
The original premise? It was pretty simple, really. <br />
<br />
A cocky lawyer is disbarred when it is discovered he had no real bachelor's degree, and he has no choice but to enroll at a local <strong>Community College</strong> to procure one. Even the college in those early episodes was something similar to a real <strong>JC</strong>-- and of course there's a strangeness to all higher learning campuses in today's <strong>USA</strong> that could reasonably sustain a hip, satirical, comedic look at one. <br />
<br />
Instead of this, however, <strong>COMMUNITY--</strong> the sitcom brain-child of some geeky genius guy named <strong>Dan Harmon--</strong> chose to be a hip, satirical, comedic look at... well... at <strong>Television</strong> itself, at story conceits in general, really at everything from metaphysics and religion and science fiction, to the strange appeal of ersatz "barely-foods" like chicken fingers, and ersatz "barley-tropes" like zombie apocalypses. <br />
<br />
In retrospect, it had to end sometime, and now is probably that time. Looking back, the whole show-- from season one to season five-- and I was watching the very first night it premiered-- has a nice kind of completeness to it. Recently, I watched that pilot episode again as a syndicated replay. Although it didn't have the insanity of the later episodes it was actually a perfect starter. At one point, the lawyer <strong>Jeff Winger's</strong> old friend <strong>Duncan,</strong> now a washed-up junior college professor, tells <strong>Jeff:</strong><br />
<br />
"What you have now, my friend, is a second chance at an honest life." <br />
<br />
And, amazingly, this truly serves as the overall thematic arc of the entire series: a cynic-- who borders being a sociopath-- is forced to make and maintain friends with his own dysfunctional and irritating community-at-hand. <br />
<br />
Now, don't get me wrong... there was always a sense in which that whole thing was the usual annoyingly heavy-handed allegory about human collectivism [even the title was significantly suggestive of that favorite <strong>Hollywood</strong> theme about a deeper and mystical <em><strong>"socialism within us all"--</strong></em> usually stuff that sends this old libertarian scrambling-- I mean <em><strong>SCRAMBLING</strong>--</em> for the remote control!] <br />
<br />
But what set<strong> COMMUNITY</strong> apart-- at least for me-- were two things: <br />
<br />
<strong>1.</strong> An amazing ensemble cast of truly gifted comedic actors [comedians are one thing, actors are another... the talented <em>hybrid</em> of both is a MUCH rarer thing than we often realize.]<br />
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<strong>2. </strong> A team of writers who often actually<strong> </strong>succeeded in doing what is usually only <em>claimed</em>: creating scripts that are new takes and truly unique in the history of the <strong>American </strong>sit-com. <br />
<br />
This combination gave us stuff like the legendary <strong>"Time-line"</strong> episode [don't even ask how many times my kids and I have watched this one]; the <strong>2--</strong> count them-- <strong>2 Dungeons & Dragons</strong> episodes [amazing textured entertainment even to a guy who never even thought of playing an <strong>RPG-- </strong>and I confess I kinda want to now!]; the <strong>Law & Order</strong> episode ["Need I remind you, gentlemen, this is NOT a court of law!"]; and the list goes on and on. <br />
<br />
<strong>COMMUNITY</strong> famously had one of those "loyal cult followings" that literally saved it from cancelation about <strong>4</strong> times. Although I never joined any campaign to save it or sent any emails on its behalf, I am truly thankful for all those fellow geeks that did. <br />
<br />
One thing's for sure: <strong> Thursday</strong> nights will never be quite the same again. <br />
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</div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">EXCELSIOR!</span></strong></em></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-65960718392650563122014-05-14T09:14:00.002-07:002014-05-14T09:16:09.888-07:00WELL I MADE IT TO FIVE-0! [and I don't mean Hawaii!] <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Yep it was <b>May 14, 1964</b>-- 16th <b>Israeli</b> Independence day-- the day I first came to <b>America... :) </b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>50</b> years! It's a doggone half century! to be honest, I feel pretty much the same as I have most of my adult life... 'cept I need to drop some weight! <br />
<br />
<br />
I prayed for wisdom a lot when younger. Now it seems like what wisdom I got came with a price in this mortal life. <br />
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Still, I can <b><i>NOT </i></b>complain! <b>Life is good and <u>God is Great!</u> </b><br />
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<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.justbible.com/bychapter.aspx?B=19&C=090&V=012&W=number%20our%20days#V12">Psalms 90:12</a> </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">So teach us to <span style="color: #208000;">number</span> <span style="color: #208000;">our</span> <span style="color: #208000;">days</span>, that we may apply <span style="color: #208000;">our</span> hearts unto wisdom. </span></b></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-73610196100631820832014-05-11T12:51:00.000-07:002014-05-11T12:51:10.011-07:00COOL STUFF FROM LIBRARY BOOKS #33, Mother's Day Edition: "D.L. Moody's Mother And Her Own Prodigal"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="How_Moodys_Mother_Forgave_her_Prodigal_Son."><strong><span style="color: black; font-size: x-large;">How Moody's Mother
</span></strong></a><div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="color: black; font-size: x-large;">Forgave her Prodigal Son.</span></strong>
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I can give you a little experience of my own family. </div>
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Before I was fourteen
years old the first thing I remember was the death of my father. He had been
unfortunate in business, and failed. Soon after his death the creditors came in
and took everything. </div>
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My mother was left with a large family of children. One
calamity after another swept over the entire household. Twins were added to the
family, and my mother was taken sick. The eldest boy was fifteen years of age,
and to him my mother looked as a stay in her calamity, but all at once that boy
became a wanderer. He had been reading some of the trashy novels, and the belief
had seized him that he had only to go away to make a fortune. Away he went. I
can remember how eagerly she used to look for tidings of that boy; how she used
to send us to the post office to see if there was a letter from him, and
recollect how we used to come back with the sad news,</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
"No letter." </div>
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I remember
how in the evenings we used to sit beside her in that New England home, and we
would talk about our father; but the moment the name of that boy was mentioned
she would hush us into silence. Some nights when the wind was very high, and the
house, which was upon a hill, would tremble at every gust, the voice of my
mother was raised in prayer for that wanderer who had treated her so unkindly.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
I
used to think she loved him more than all the rest of us put together, and I
believe she did. On a Thanksgiving day--you know that is a family day in New
England--she used to set a chair for him, thinking he would return home. Her
family grew up and her boys left home. When I got so that I could write, I sent
letters all over the country, but could find no trace of him. One day while in
Boston the news reached me that he had returned. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
While in that city, I remember
how I used to look for him in every store--he had a mark on his face--but I
never got any trace. One day while my mother was sitting at the door, a stranger
was seen coming toward the house, and when he came to the door he stopped.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My
mother didn't know her boy. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He stood there with folded arms and great beard
flowing down his breast, his tears trickling down his face. When my mother saw
those tears she cried, </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Oh, it's my lost son,"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
and entreated him to come in. But
he stood still. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"No, mother," he said, "I will not come in till I hear first you
forgive me." </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Do you believe she was not willing to forgive him? Do you think she
was likely to keep him long standing there? She rushed to the threshold and
threw her arms around him, and breathed forgiveness.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Ah, sinner, if you but ask
God to be merciful to you a sinner, ask Him for forgiveness, although your life
has been bad--ask Him for mercy, and He will not keep you long waiting for an
answer.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">From <strong>MOODY'S ANECDOTES</strong>, also known as: </span><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>"Moody's Anecdotes And Illustrations<br /> Related in his Revival Work by the Great Evangilist"</strong> EDITED BY <strong>REV. J. B. McClure</strong>.</span><strong><span style="font-size: large;">CHICAGO: Rhodes & McClure Publishing
Co. 1899</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-28606286247802773172014-04-26T14:29:00.003-07:002014-04-26T14:35:08.112-07:00BIG AL's JOVIAL JUKEBOX #28: "Old Dan's Records" by GORDON LIGHTFOOT, 1972<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><em><u>Albie's Note:</u></em></strong> From his <strong>1972</strong> album of the same title,<strong> Gord's</strong> very cool and touching tribute to friendship and the collecting of old vinyl records<em>. </em></div>
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<em></em> </div>
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"High above the fireplace, <br />There's a smile on old <strong>Dan's</strong> face!" </div>
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<em></em> </div>
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<em>'Nuff said!</em> </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/bKATfrAfwHw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<pre><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Old Dan's Records,</span> </strong></pre>
<strong>©1972 by Gordon Lightfoot</strong>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Get out old <strong>Dan's</strong> records<br />
Get out old <strong>Dan's</strong> records<br />
We will dance the whole night long <br />
It's fun to play the old time songs <br />
If old <strong>Dan</strong> could see us now <br />
I know he'd be so proud <br />
<br />
Bring out old<strong> Dan's</strong> records <br />
Bring out old <strong>Dan's </strong>records <br />
I remember my <strong>Aunt Bea</strong> <br />
She'd dance with <strong>Dan</strong> till two or three <br />
If old<strong> Dan</strong> could see her now <br />
I know he'd shout out loud <br />
<br />
Dig out old <strong>Dan's</strong> records <br />
Bring out old <strong>Dan's </strong>records <br />
We're all here, we've all got dates <br />
We'll dance all night to the <strong>78s</strong><br />
If old <strong>Dan</strong> could see us now <br />
I know he'd be so proud <br />
If old <strong>Dan </strong>was with us still <br />
I know he'd come around <br />
<br />
Get out old <strong>Dan's</strong> records <br />
Dig out old <strong>Dan's</strong> records <br />
Back to <strong>1935</strong><br />
The <strong><em>foxtrot, jitterbug</em></strong> and<strong><em> jive</em></strong> <br />
If old <strong>Dan </strong>could see us now <br />
I know he'd be so proud <br />
<br />
Get out old<strong> Dan's</strong> records <br />
Bring out old <strong>Dan's</strong> records <br />
High above the fireplace <br />
There's a smile on old<strong> Dan's</strong> face <br />
If old <strong>Dan</strong> could see us now <br />
I know he'd be so proud <br />
If old <strong>Dan</strong> was with us still <br />
I know he'd come around </blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>PEACE</strong></span></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-17290032138465239772014-04-19T15:25:00.003-07:002014-04-26T17:02:24.087-07:00RANDOM THOUGHTS ABOUT BOOKS... Classics and Westerns and other stuff. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
First, <strong>The CLASSICS.</strong> <br />
<br />
I think to think I've read my share of classics, but I know I've really barely scratched the surface. It sounds almost silly to say it, but the <strong><em>"classics"</em></strong> are called that for a reason... they have stood the test of time and can still move you like<strong> no other</strong> books. <br />
<br />
Now I have to admit... there were classics I just couldn't get into at all; but I know dang well the problem was ME, not the book. For instance, <strong>James Fenimore Cooper.</strong> Although he is of major importance-- <em>he inarguably invented the <strong>"western,"</strong> for goodness' sake--</em> I just can't get into those books. My own mother told me one of her favorite books in childhood was his revolutionary war tale <strong>THE SPY</strong>, so I feel bad for not liking him. But in fact the only Cooper book I ever finished was <strong>LAST OF THE MOHICANS</strong>, and to be honest that was in a <strong>Reader's Digest</strong> condensed version.<strong> [D'oh!]</strong> It's been a few years now, so maybe I'll try him again. <br />
<br />
Also <strong>Thomas Wolfe.</strong> Now this one I feel less bad about, since the critics still have trouble even calling him classic anymore, but I always think back to my beloved <strong>Jack Kerouac's</strong> great love of him. Years ago, in the <strong>'80s,</strong> I read a great interview with the late <strong>1960s</strong>, near-death<strong> Kerouac</strong> in-- I think-- <strong><em>Esquire Magazine</em></strong>, where<strong> Jack</strong> [drinking and drunk, of course] asked the interviewer [and I may be paraphrasing a bit]: <br />
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"OK, let me test you. Who is the greatest of all <strong>American</strong> writers?"</div>
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The interviewer answers: "I think I would say... <strong>Melville</strong>." </div>
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<strong>Jack</strong> leans back and says, "Hmm. <strong>Melville</strong>... let's think about that," then suddenly yells: </div>
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<strong><em>"Wolfe, THOMAS WOLFE!"</em></strong> </div>
<br />
Such a cool story, and its coolness has been behind every attempt I have made to read<strong> LOOK HOMEWARD ANGEL</strong> or <strong>YOU CAN'T GO HOME AGAIN</strong>. So far, however, the only piece by <strong>Wolfe</strong> I have finished is his longish<strong> Civil War</strong> short story <strong><em>"Chickamauga,"</em></strong> which I found to be very fine, indeed. <br />
<br />
<strong>T. Wolfe...</strong> Another guy I will maybe tackle again someday. <br />
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By the way, <strong>Melville</strong> I <em>have</em> read. I read <strong>MOBY DICK</strong> in its entirety one summer [<strong>1993,</strong> I believe] when I was working in a chicken plant in <strong>NW Arkansas</strong>. I loved it! Or at least most of it. If you've never read it I can tell you what they say is true; it starts out riveting for the first, say<strong> 150</strong> pages or so, then comes a dense, wordy, moody, and yes, legendarily boring section of at least <strong><em>200</em></strong> pages. All the whaling details are famously and intensely monotonous-- [e.g. there is an entire long chapter on the whale's<em> whiteness</em> including a lengthy discussion of<em> albinoism</em> in nature, I kid you not!]-- but the payoffs of the final <strong>100</strong> pages or so are truly worth it. An amazing <strong>American</strong> classic about-- I think-- self-delusion, pride, and obsession. <br />
<br />
But I guess my favorite classics are the ones that are ultimately just amazingly good stories. What fella, to this day-- from ages<strong> 9</strong> to<strong> 90--</strong> picking them up for the first time, would not be riveted by, say, <strong> TREASURE ISLAND</strong> or <strong>WHITE FANG</strong> or <strong>TOM SAWYER</strong> or <strong>WAR OF THE WORLDS</strong>... all just gripping stories no one else could have told but their authors. Some classics, like <strong>HUCKLEBERRY FINN</strong> or <strong>AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 DAYS</strong> are still laugh out loud funny in places, truly an amazing accomplishment. <br />
<br />
And then there are the <strong>"genre classics,"</strong> the best popular books in <strong>western</strong> or <strong>mystery</strong> or just <strong>"best seller" </strong>categories. To be honest, these are the kind of "classics" that take up most of my "educational" reading time anymore. <br />
<br />
I am currently reading a very interesting non-fiction book about writing and reading by <strong>Pulitzer Prize</strong> winner <strong>Michael Chabon</strong> called <strong>MAPS AND LEGENDS </strong>that, very interestingly, defends "popular fiction" as the real classic literature of any culture. I may be simplifying his argument, but not by much. <strong>Chabon</strong> is a great writer, by the way. I picked up his <strong>AMAZING ADVENTURES OF KAVALIER AND CLAY</strong> for<strong> 50</strong> cents at a thrift store last and ate up its <strong>500</strong> or so pages in a couple days... it was that good [although I could have done without the "gay" stuff... hey, sue me... I am a<strong> Christian</strong> and a conservative fella by nature and will be<strong> 50</strong> this year, so take me with the proverbial grain of <strong>Na CL. ]</strong><br />
<br />
Anyway, his arguments about fiction were very interesting to me, and made me feel less bad about all the reading time I spend in good ol' popular fiction. According to<strong> Chabon</strong>, nearly all writing is really <strong>"<em>fan fiction</em>"</strong> on a certain level-- since writers constantly imitate their influences-- so being snobby about good stories well told is pointless. <br />
<br />
Having said that, I love the "classics" even when it comes to my beloved westerns. Don't get me wrong, I can read a good "pulpy" western by anyone from<strong> Walker Tompkins</strong> to <strong>Fran Striker-- a</strong>nd then I can read <strong>Bret Harte, Mark Twain</strong>, and <strong>Andy Adams</strong> on top of 'em-- but often I tend to stay with guys I really know can deliver. <br />
<br />
In my humble opinion, the very greatest, I mean<em> best-of-the-best,</em> <strong>Western</strong> writers I have yet encountered could be counted on one hand. Now... every<strong> Louis L'amour</strong> or<strong> Zane Grey</strong> that captured the public's fancy earned his spurs as far as I am concerned, and I love them all dearly, believe me... but on a personal level this "top of the tops" list is bound to be much shorter. <br />
<br />
Understand... there are literally scores of others I have enjoyed, but these, to me, are <em>the masters</em>. <br />
<br />
Feel free to differ, of course, but my list would include<strong> O. Henry</strong> [possibly my favorite author PERIOD, so in many odd ways my favorite "western" writer, even though it's all short fiction]<strong>, Ernest Haycox, Will Henry, </strong>and<strong> Dorothy M. Johnson. </strong><br />
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<strong></strong><br />
<strong>O. Henry's</strong> westerns are simply amazing, and they are scattered throughout his collected works, not just in his volume<strong> HEARTS OF THE WEST.</strong> The early critic who called him the <strong>"deMaupassant</strong> of the sagebrush" was right on target. <br />
<br />
In the case of both<strong> Haycox </strong>and<strong> Will Henry,</strong> it's a bit of a hit-and miss. Both of these guys have early works that are not in the same league as their later amazing novels and stories, so you just have to explore til you find the great-- and I mean GREAT-- stuff. In both cases I recommend starting with short fiction. You'll be hooked, I'm tellin' ya. <strong><br /></strong><br />
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<strong>Johnson</strong>, on the other hand, is dang near perfect. Get this... when I was about <strong>12</strong> years old, my <strong>Baptist</strong> pastor inexplicably gave me a copy of her book<strong> INDIAN COUNTRY</strong> in an old<strong> Ballantine</strong> paperback edition, and I was hooked from then on. I have never read a single bad thing-- <em>and hardly even a single "less-than-great" thing</em>-- written by her. Among other greatnesses she remains the single most libertarian [with a small "L"] fiction wirter I have yet encountered. It would be very revealing-- and perhaps a bit embarassing-- to know just how much she may have influenced my later life and thought. What more can a fiction writer accomplish? <br />
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Are there good western writers today? Yup, actually... a bunch of 'em! I am amazed at the good western fiction that goes un-noticed today all the time, and a bunch of it is written by men whose blogs I follow happily. <br />
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However, if I had to choose a great-- perhaps even "classic"-- writer of westerns still living, it would be one of my admitted favorites, <strong>Bill Pronzini</strong>. Although he is most famous-- and justly so-- as a mystery writer, I love his westerns WAY more. They are always amazingly well-researched stories that use the west as a backdrop to make character studies and tales that are really universal. <strong>Pronzini</strong> will tell unusual stories about aspects of the west you never thought of-- like newspapermen, bartenders, stable hands, salesmen and moonshiners-- and make gripping psychological stories that never actually rely on violence, although it can occur in his fiction. Check him out. <strong>Pronzini</strong> is a master. [I am starting to think pretty highly of <strong>Johnny D. Boggs</strong>, too.]<br />
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And time would fail me to discuss all the sci-fi and mystery and adventure stuff that goes under-valued in our culture... so I should really stop for now. <br />
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In short, its like they say... So many books, so little time. <br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong><br />
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-57695892326064969492014-04-10T15:55:00.002-07:002014-04-10T16:00:10.665-07:00SONGS THAT TELL A STORY # 9: "Riverboat!" by FARON YOUNG, 1959<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span id="goog_2025804170"></span><span id="goog_2025804171"><strong><em><u></u></em></strong></span><br />
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<strong><em><u>Albie's Note:</u></em></strong> In <strong>1959</strong>, the <em><strong>"americana story song"</strong></em> was at its peak of popularity, with million sellers from<strong> Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash,</strong> and <strong>Johnny Horton</strong> inspiring scores of imitations. This one was a pretty big hit when compared to how forgotten it is today: <strong>#4 Country, #83 Pop.</strong> <br />
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From the pen of song-writing legend<strong> Bill Anderson,</strong> here is the saga of <strong>"RIVERBOAT":</strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Well, I spent the better part of my life<br />On a Mississippi riverboat<br />I used to be known from coast to coast<br />As the slickest gambler afloat.<br />I've dealt the cards from Minnesota<br />To the harbor in New Orleans<br />I made a lotta big money on the riverboat<br />I loved a lotta pretty riverboat queens.<br />Riverboat, riverboat<br />I love your whistle's wail<br />I wish I was back on the riverboart<br />'Stead of in the Memphis jail.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><br />--- Instrumental ---<br />
<br />Oh, a big man got on the riverboat<br />Our last time in St. Paul<br />He had a lotta money but his luck went bad<br />And the riverboat won it all.<br />He said I dealt from the bottom of the deck<br />And he pulled a shiny knife<br />But before that gambler lunged at me<br />My .44 took his life.<br />Riverboat, riverboat<br />I love your whistle's wail<br />I wish I was back on the riverboart<br />'Stead of in the Memphis jail.<br />
<br />--- Instrumental ---<br />
<br />Well, they came on the boat and they took me to jail<br />When we got to Tennessee<br />A gamblin' man has very few friends<br />Guess nobody cared for me.<br />So I might be here for a many long years<br />But if I ever get out <br />I'm gonna head straight for that levee<br />And get me a riverboat headin' south.<br />Riverboat, riverboat<br />I love your whistle's wail<br />I wish I was back on the riverboart<br />'Stead of in the Memphis jail.<br />'Stead of in the Memphis jail...<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-72932010659233909422014-03-29T11:15:00.000-07:002014-03-29T11:19:10.368-07:00SATURDAY COMEDY SHOWCASE #5: "The Walnuts" [WALTONS Parody] from CRAZY MAGAZINE #3, 1974<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><em><u>Albie's Note:</u></em></strong> When I was a kid in the early<strong> '70s,</strong> there were basically<strong> 3</strong> humor mags aimed at our pre-adolescent, rebellious funny-bones: <strong> MAD</strong>, [of course] <strong>CRACKED</strong>, and<strong> CRAZY.</strong> The last one was <strong>Marvel Comics'</strong> late-in-the-day shot at this market, and it always seemed to be our third and last choice for "late-night-flashlight" comedic reading. Still, it had it's moments, and this satire on the classic drama <strong>THE WALTONS</strong>-- a huge, and I mean HUGE <strong>TV</strong> hit at the time-- is about as laugh-out-loud funny as anything I've ever read. I actually love <strong>THE WALTONS</strong>, but this devastating parody really cracked me up!<br />
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">"First, John-Boob, can you help me short-sheet the north 40?"</span></em></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-59815185014536050362014-03-23T12:54:00.001-07:002014-03-24T08:52:00.041-07:00RANGER AL'S WESTERN COMIX THEATRE #7: THE REBEL Johnny Yuma in "Black Eagle," 1960 [Fixed]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<u><i><b>Albie's Note:</b></i></u> I truly wish I had gotten to watch this show growing up. The people who remember it <i>always </i>seem to do so fondly. The episodes I have managed to see on <b>Youtube</b> are pretty dang cool, and so are the <b>4 Dell Comics</b> magazines published during the show's original run <b>[1959-1961.]</b><br />
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With a hero often described as an "ex-confederate existential wanderer," <b>THE REBEL</b> starred <b>Nick Adams [July 10, 1931 – February 7, 1968--</b> a sad drug casualty at only <b>36]</b> as <b>Johnny Yuma</b>, a journal-keeping, sawed-off shotgun-toting, <b>Civil War</b> vet who, according to the classic <b>Johnny Cash</b> theme song, <i>"was panther-quick and leather tough/ 'cuz he figured that he'd been pushed enough!" </i><br />
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[Somehow I can't see this premise being produced today. Something very... er...<b> "non-PC"</b> about the whole thing, don't you think? Only makes me like it more , o'course!]<br />
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In this story,<b> Johnny</b> gets caught between a step-father's hatred and some vengeance seeking gun-thugs. From <b>Four Color #1138, 1961,</b> here is<i><b> "Black Eagle":</b></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>And how could we not hear that classic theme song to go along with the cool comic? </b></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>PEACE</b></span></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-55242611177774150272014-03-22T17:40:00.000-07:002014-03-29T10:50:11.186-07:00SATURDAY COMEDY SHOWCASE #4: Connie Stevens on SHA NA NA, 1979<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i><u></u></i></b><br />
<b><i><u>Albie's Note:</u></i></b> OK true confession time. I really didn't fit into any "cool" groups back in high school, although I was never mistreated or bullied. [I was always a big guy, for one thing, and a natural comedian... I learned early that those 2 things let you slip through a LOT of cracks socially!]<br />
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I just simply couldnt find my "place" among any of the established "cliques"-- like <b>Pink Floyd-</b>listening hippies-in-training, <b>Disco</b> fans or<b> D-and-D</b> players. I loved comedy, and I loved music, but even then my taste was mainly for pre-seventies popular music, especially old country and early rock music. The old records at home had spoiled me. I guess today I would be called a <b><i>"roots music"</i></b> fan, but we had no such classification then. <br />
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To give you an idea of how oddball I was, my favorite show in<b> 1979-- <i>hands down</i>-- </b> was one I would<b><i> never</i></b> have admitted watching to any of my fellow <b>9th</b> graders: <b>SHA NA NA. </b> Shown each Sunday afternoon in southern AZ, basically it was a variety show with a bunch of greasy song-and-dance idiots<b> </b>doing a tribute to an overblown<b> "1950s"</b> that on many levels never existed in the first place. <b> </b> It was goofy, corny, full of decades-old jokes and musical numbers... and I never missed it. <br />
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It wasn't even that I thought the show was GREAT... although I did find it entertaining. And the guests<i> were </i>sometimes great: I remember seeing<b> Bo Diddley, Gary US Bonds, John Sebastian, Chcuk Berry, Dion DiMucci, The Ronnettes, Brenda Lee</b>, and <b>Del Shannon</b>, just to name a few. Still, though, the main appeal I think was that it all at least <b><i>hinted</i></b> at something.... something... at least <i><b>different</b></i> from the world I lived in! There was this feeling... a greasy, goofy, well... <b><i>cool-ness</i></b> if you will<b><i>...</i></b> one that wasn't <i>tragically </i>cool... one that sort of managed to-- all at once-- lampoon <i>and</i> celebrate<b> America</b> and all its crassness. In short, a more care-free, non-pretentious... well... a more '<b><i>80s</i></b> kind of stance. <br />
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Now, remember, this was the <b>1970s</b>... a decade that for some reason took itself SOOO seriously... even in it's entertainment! I mean... have you ever sat and watched the so-called <b><i>"defining" </i>'70s</b> movies? Like <b>LOVE STORY</b> or <b>FIVE EASY PIECES</b> or <b>ANNIE HALL??</b> Classics I suppose, but what do they really have in common? People just talking and whining and brooding like there's no tomorrow... <br />
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No wonder we all went nuts for <b>STAR WARS!</b><br />
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Well... I hadn't seen <b>SHA NA NA</b> in years when I discovered all these clips on <b>Youtube</b>. To most folks they would be goofy cultural artifacts at best. And they will be probably never be on <b>DVD </b>[<i>one message board I found says the licensing headaches would be insurmountable, as the shows were about <b>60%</b> performed music</i>] and probably the only people who search these clips out are guys like me... pushing <b>50</b> and remembering the escape these simple shows once offered for stolen minutes of our disaffected adolescences. <br />
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Still... watching this typical clip did one great thing for me... <i>Doggoned if it didn't make me laugh</i>! <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">"What would Connie be doin' in this neighborhood?"</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">"Maybe her brother's a wino!"</span></b> </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Grease for </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></b></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1877924899526313843.post-66860792666909784352014-03-22T17:01:00.004-07:002014-03-22T17:01:54.546-07:00COOL STUFF FROM LIBRARY BOOKS #32: Henry Varley on "SPEAKING GENTLY," 1884<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">"Speak Gently; Sorrow may be Hereabouts."</span></strong></div>
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A train was hurrying along one of the main lines of the Western States of
America. In one of the cars sat a young woman nursing a little babe, whose
restlessness greatly annoyed some of the passengers.<br /><br />Amongst these was a
portly-looking farmer, whose appearance betokened comfort and plenty. Looking up
from his paper, evidently irritated by the child's continued cry, he said,
“Can't you keep that child quiet?” His eye met the gaze of the young woman, and
he then noticed that her dress told of recent death. She looked toward him, and
through her tears said: “I cannot help it. The child is not mine. I am doing my
best.” “Where is its mother?” the farmer inquired, relenting somewhat in his
tone. “In her coffin, sir; in the luggage car at the back of the train,” said
the young woman, in her deep grief.<br /><br />The big tears fell unbidden from the
farmer's eyes. Rising up from his seat before all the passengers, he took the
babe in his arms, kissed it, and, walking to and fro, did his rough best to
soothe the motherless child, and make some reparation for his cold hard words.
How many words and looks of unkindness would be changed into actions of sympathy
and help did we but know more of others' sorrow!<br /><br />From <em><strong>Terse Talk on
Timely Topics,</strong></em> <br />
By <strong>Henry Varley; London: James Nisbet & Co., 1884</strong>, pp. <strong>22-23.</strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></strong> </div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">PEACE</span></strong></div>
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Albie The Goodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10581327547260652201noreply@blogger.com0