Seven 9s and 10s

Showing 11 posts tagged RIP

Paco De Lucia, Modern Superstar Of Flamenco, Dies

The world just lost a true guitar hero. I’m barely familiar with his work outside of the amazing performances on the Friday Night in SanFrancisco album, but I’m entirely certain that the man was a true master of his art and one of the greatest guitarists who ever lived.

Thankfully he leaves behind a large catalog of recordings for us all to enjoy, remember him by, and use as a completely realistic, albeit unfair, measuring stick for other guitarists.

monkeyfrog:

A special wish of love and secret luck later this week from Chuckie for Steve.

I’ll always remember Chuckie because he always brought me so much joy from so far away.

I hope wherever he is now, he’s got a fine selection of crazy balls to choose from.

Here are the posts that I’ve tagged “Chuckie” through the years. Great memories - all of them.

Much love to Cary and Duff and Fuzz today. We love you.

trelvix:


Don’t Walk
“Here’s something,” he says. “What if you were crazy into geo-location and dog poop?”
They’d just avoided stepping in a pretty respectable heap-o-turd as far as city poop goes. They’ll walk home well after dark and who wants to track city poop all up in their digs? 
He don’t.
“Get the coordinates on that dog mud,” he’d told her. “It’ll behoove us to steer clear of the miasma on the way home lest we track city poop all up in our digs and who wants to do that? I don’t.”
“I give up,” she replies, reluctantly and with the sort of “Shut up, please,” sigh that most guys wouldn’t miss in a Typhoon.
“Maybe start a blog.” He’s thinking aloud.
“You would want to roll it out in iterations. You could start with simple GPS coordinates of city poops; maybe add some pictures and time-lapse video,” he says, just throwing it out there.”
“Eventually you could take it social.”
“Like comments?” she asks. “Because I have a comment…”
Comments aren’t social. Shut up.
“No,” he tells her. “Let’s say you find a series of turds that bear uncanny resemblances to Civil War battlefields. You could ask your followers to vote on which battle they would most like to see recreated on mountains of dog-butt rope and then whenever a winner floats to the top you paint faces and uniforms on a bunch of wee army men and you just blow that shit up. You could play patriotic music or have various stuffed Abraham Lincolns observing from unusually austere chairs. Pat Robertson could voice-over the whole thing. He’s available. It would be fucking wicked. Ken Burns level.
“But with army men climbing piles of dog poo on Madison Avenue and you making war sounds with your mouth?” she asks.
Okay. It sounds crazy when she says it. But then most things do.
“Exactly,” he tells her. “Could you note the idea and remind me to explore it further after this evening’s events?”
“Certainly,” she agrees. “Idiot.”
——-
Trelvix Safari: #318. Idiot Dialogues.
NYC
{…via trelvix-à-go-go - blurry bits of my life through phone pictures… }



I’d had this draft saved for months. It was one of the countless posts that he deleted shortly after posting it.
I’ve never been a big fan of reading. The best compliment I think I can give to his memory is that I always looked forward to reading his words.

trelvix:

Don’t Walk

“Here’s something,” he says. “What if you were crazy into geo-location and dog poop?”

They’d just avoided stepping in a pretty respectable heap-o-turd as far as city poop goes. They’ll walk home well after dark and who wants to track city poop all up in their digs? 

He don’t.

“Get the coordinates on that dog mud,” he’d told her. “It’ll behoove us to steer clear of the miasma on the way home lest we track city poop all up in our digs and who wants to do that? I don’t.”

“I give up,” she replies, reluctantly and with the sort of “Shut up, please,” sigh that most guys wouldn’t miss in a Typhoon.

“Maybe start a blog.” He’s thinking aloud.

“You would want to roll it out in iterations. You could start with simple GPS coordinates of city poops; maybe add some pictures and time-lapse video,” he says, just throwing it out there.”

“Eventually you could take it social.”

“Like comments?” she asks. “Because I have a comment…”

Comments aren’t social. Shut up.

“No,” he tells her. “Let’s say you find a series of turds that bear uncanny resemblances to Civil War battlefields. You could ask your followers to vote on which battle they would most like to see recreated on mountains of dog-butt rope and then whenever a winner floats to the top you paint faces and uniforms on a bunch of wee army men and you just blow that shit up. You could play patriotic music or have various stuffed Abraham Lincolns observing from unusually austere chairs. Pat Robertson could voice-over the whole thing. He’s available. It would be fucking wicked. Ken Burns level.

“But with army men climbing piles of dog poo on Madison Avenue and you making war sounds with your mouth?” she asks.

Okay. It sounds crazy when she says it. But then most things do.

“Exactly,” he tells her. “Could you note the idea and remind me to explore it further after this evening’s events?”

“Certainly,” she agrees. “Idiot.”

——-

Trelvix Safari: #318. Idiot Dialogues.

NYC

{…via trelvix-à-go-go - blurry bits of my life through phone pictures… }

I’d had this draft saved for months. It was one of the countless posts that he deleted shortly after posting it.

I’ve never been a big fan of reading. The best compliment I think I can give to his memory is that I always looked forward to reading his words.

(via trelvix-deactivated20140814)

Ed Koch / used to be the mayor / of New York City / of New York City / but now he does the People’s Court / the People’s Court / the People’s Court.

-FMGreen, Destiny’s Toy.

A refrain from one of our oldest songs (~1997).

RIP, Ed.

I decided the best tribute I could offer Jim Marshall would be to go down to the basement in my rock and roll sweater and my poorly fitting rock and roll pants and my SUPER ROCK AND ROLL SLIPPERS and plug my Les Paul straight into my Marshall half-stack and play some rock and fucking roll.

So here’s me playing Go! from FMGreen’s 3-2-1 Go! EP.

Volume at 5… turned up to 11 at the end just to make sure the residents of the neighboring county could hear me clearly.

(Side note… the mic on the iPhone is impressively resilient. The SPL meter in front of me was registering 120+dB the entire time.)

High-res I don’t closely follow the IndyCar series but, as a general supporter of all forms of auto racing, I feel this loss. Racing is inherently dangerous and no matter the circumstances there will always be the potential for tremendous tragedy. The only solace one can find at a time like this is that Dan Wheldon, one of the best drivers in the world, lost his life while doing something he loved.
Godspeed, Dan.

I don’t closely follow the IndyCar series but, as a general supporter of all forms of auto racing, I feel this loss. Racing is inherently dangerous and no matter the circumstances there will always be the potential for tremendous tragedy. The only solace one can find at a time like this is that Dan Wheldon, one of the best drivers in the world, lost his life while doing something he loved.

Godspeed, Dan.

High-res Well, that sucks.
I met Mikey when I tagged along with WBER for an interview before weezer played at Runwayz in Buffalo on September 1, 2000*. It wouldn’t be long after that before he’d check out of the band due to serious drug and mental health troubles.
His facebook page says he passed away unexpectedly, but I imagine people who knew him well won’t be surprised. I hate to make assumptions, but I wouldn’t be shocked if he - intentionally or not - took his own life**. He leaves behind a wife and two sons. Sad.
For the past month he’s been posting some very raw stories about his history with weezer. They’re worth a read if you’re a weezer fan looking for some insight into the largely undocumented “‘97-‘01” period of the band.
*Here’s a photo of Pat Wilson, myself, and Mikey following that interview.

**It wouldn’t be the first attempt.

Well, that sucks.

I met Mikey when I tagged along with WBER for an interview before weezer played at Runwayz in Buffalo on September 1, 2000*. It wouldn’t be long after that before he’d check out of the band due to serious drug and mental health troubles.

His facebook page says he passed away unexpectedly, but I imagine people who knew him well won’t be surprised. I hate to make assumptions, but I wouldn’t be shocked if he - intentionally or not - took his own life**. He leaves behind a wife and two sons. Sad.

For the past month he’s been posting some very raw stories about his history with weezer. They’re worth a read if you’re a weezer fan looking for some insight into the largely undocumented “‘97-‘01” period of the band.

*Here’s a photo of Pat Wilson, myself, and Mikey following that interview.

**It wouldn’t be the first attempt.