Inhuman Swill : Page 119
Why is my blog called Inhuman Swill? Because you can unscramble the pieces to make William Shunn.

Not so big love

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Dooce this week has a terrific post about the new HBO drama Big Love and the legacy of Mormon polygamy in general. You won't be surprised to hear that I sympathize with her in many particulars. (My comment is #245.)

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Because poor Kenny G seems to come in for abuse in this blog from time to time, I thought it might be fun to revisit what I consider one of the greatest examples of musician-on-musician slagging in the history of jazz writing: guitar giant Pat Metheny putting the hurt on well-known sax-noodler Kenny "G" Gorelick.

The material below was many years ago deleted from the Pat Metheny Group web site. Pat himself posted it in response to a fairly innocent question in the fan forum there no later than 2000, and I'm glad I saved a copy because it somehow vanished within the year. I've added capitalization to the text since Pat didn't seem to want to bother with the shift-key. Despite the fact that the sentence-by-sentence writing here sometimes falters, Pat is clearly articulate on the topic of jazz and very passionate.

Full disclosure: I've been a rabid fan of Pat Metheny since at least age 15. And even though I cut my teeth on smooth jazz (my first album purchase having been Feels So Good by Chuck Mangione), I've never ever been able to stomach Kenny G's "music."

So over to Pat.

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ShunnCast #12

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Epidode #12 of "ShunnCast" is now available, in which I fly to Canada for my first day of service as a Mormon missionary, but before departing perform amazing feats of transubstantiation upon an ordinary chewing gum wrapper.

http://www.shunn.net/podcast?id=12

ShunnCast #11 was accessed over 1,300 times after the BoingBoing link, producing a 30 Gb bandwidth spike. My monthly bandwidth limit is 40 Gb, so I'm very anxious to see how many of those listeners continue on as regular subscribers. File under "Getting what you ask for."

See also [info]shunncast.

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You Passed 8th Grade Math

Congratulations, you got 10/10 correct!

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To my great astonishment and delight, model-turned-actress Pollyanna McIntosh and her husband, Melrose Place's own Grant Show, would appear to have posted a reply to a blog entry of mine from last month.

In writing about the experience of attending a screening of indie horror flick Headspace, I appended a couple of paragraphs waxing rhapsodic about the underutilized talents of Ms. McIntosh, Scotland's National Face of '95 winning model—and also implicitly challenging her spousal unit to a showdown.

Well, this morning the happy couple responded. It took me a minute to decipher the fact that Pollyanna had written the first paragraph and Grant the second. At least, I'm assuming the post is genuine. It certainly doesn't read like a hoax. And I will be very sad if it is.

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ShunnCast #11

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Epidode #11 of "ShunnCast" is now available, in which I begin the audio serialization of my memoir The Accidental Terrorist, and God commands me to confess exactly which bits are embellished.

http://www.shunn.net/podcast?id=11

See also [info]shunncast.


Update:  Hey! We have a link from Boing Boing!
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The subject lines of spam emails continue to amaze me, particularly one that came over the transom earlier today:

You always wanted to use your penis as a billiards cue.
How do they do it? I mean, they've got my number right there, again! That was always my secret dream. I wanted to chalk my little soldier blue like Braveheart and cleave that rack like a proton splitting a transuranic atom. I yearned to be the Harlem Globetrotters of eight-ball, but, you know, pornographic. And just one guy. And white.

Spammers. Damn.

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My contribution to the March CD Mix of the Month Club, meeting this evening at Antarctica Bar, will be Extroversion (and Other Examples of Psychobabble), with Covered with Cash generously thrown in as a Vernal Equinox bonus mix.

(The story so far.)

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This being the every otherth Monday evening, I should be recording my biweekly podcast. However, in the past two weeks we've replaced our home desktop machine, and apparently the mike jack on the new machine is underpowered compared to the old one. The mike records only very faintly. I'm going to have to go out tomorrow and get a self-powered microphone—like, one with a battery boost or something.

My apologies if you were looking forward to the podcast in the morning. Grumble grumble.

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Shunn's Huns

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I took it easy last night, no running out into the insanity that is the Irish pub scene in Astoria to drive out the snakes. It was just the dog and I, Laura having stayed over with a friend in Brooklyn to get a quick start on the half-marathon they're running this morning.

Me, my plan was to take Ella to the park for our standard two-hour Saturday outing, then get her medications in her and head out to New Jersey for Lunacon. But when I woke up at five, I could barely move. Every muscle in my body ached. I couldn't get back to sleep. It's no secret I've been burning the candle at both ends, but I don't want the flame to go out today.

Ella needs her walk, so we'll head out in a few minutes and see how that goes. (Though I'm seriously tempted to take a car service to the park. It's a half-hour walk.) I'm full of water and coffee, and an Aleve will go down the pipe next. I hope when we get back I will no longer feel as if the Huns of Ill Health are lying in ambush just beyond the next rise. Ella is pouting on the floor, but maybe her enthusiasm once we get underway will scatter those ruffians!


Update: Feeling better already, just being up and moving around. We'll see how I am at 9:30.
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William Shunn

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