My first day of jury duty was uneventful. We waited to be called for voir dire but the call never came and we were out of there by 11 AM. They’re trying fewer cases at Criminal District Court since the DA’s office stopped prosecuting possession of small amounts of weed. An odd but effective move by our old school tough-on-crime DA. Ironies abound.
This week’s theme song was written by a very young John Hiatt for his 1979 album Slug Line. It was so long ago that he had a full head of hair as well as a unibrow.
We have two versions of Washable Ink for your listening pleasure: the Hiatt original and a cover by the Neville Brothers.
Let’s check if this spilled ink is really washable. Color me skeptical: black, red, or blue.
Do they still call newspaper reporters ink-stained wretches? Probably not but it was swell slang.
Time to ink up and jump to the break. I’m not sure what ink up means in this context, but I’m always talking shit. Y’all should know that by now.
Before kicking our second act into high gear, it’s time for some long hair music:
We raise the curtain on our second act with a segment about the Pussy Grabber-In-Chief.
Locker Room Talk: After the Insult Comedian survived his “grab ’em by the pussy” moment, he and his team were convinced they were bulletproof. In an excerpt from his new book, American Carnage,Tim Alberta tells the inside story of how Trump survived against what should have been insurmountable odds thereby proving the old adage that it’s better to be lucky than good.
The key to Trump’s survival was shamelessness. He didn’t care that people thought he was a crude, rapey asshole. He only cared what the MAGA Maggots thought and they’ll eat any shit their dear leader serves up. Thanks, you stupid fuckers.
It’s time for a palate cleanser. It’s an article I stumbled into while researching this week’s ACAW.
Bards Of The Bayou: In 2014, the Daily Beast revisited a fabulous 1991 GQ profile of the Neville Brothers by the Gret Stet’s very own John Ed Bradley, not to be confused with Sixty Minute Man Ed Bradley. I met John Ed once through my old friend Dorothy Bankston who taught him whilst he was a student at LSU. Dot taught him well.
Before moving on, we need to further Nevillize the post by flashing a Yellow Moon:
I’m still mourning Art Neville. I wasn’t able to pay my respects at his memorial service last Tuesday but I’ll pay them here. He was a wonderful man who will be missed.
I have another Art on his porch story. We were talking about singers. I told him I wished he sang more lead vocals for the Neville Brothers. He shrugged and said, “I do plenty of that with the Meters. And Aaron is such a great singer that I want him singing as many songs as possible. ”
I nodded and replied:”Roy Orbison good.”
He laughed and said: “That’s right, Roy Orbison good.”
Let’s shift gears and take a drive down the dark side of the street.
True Crime Wave: The Failing New York Times ran a fascinating state-by-state guide to the best true crime books.
The Louisiana selection is my friend Ethan Brown’s Murder In The Bayou about which I wrote twice in 2016:
Gret Stet Politics: Trolling On The Bayou.
The law suit filed by former Congressman Charles Boustany was dropped a few months after the second piece was posted. Doc Boustany is a pussy. He should grab himself.
We have another true crime story for your perusal. It’s a swell piece by Britt Peterson in the WaPo Magazine about how victims’ relatives deal with true crime notoriety.
Before moving on, here’s a Richard Thompson crime tune. I’m uncertain if it’s a true story or not but it certainly rocks:
It’s time for our third act, which is, as always, chock-a-block with regular features.
The Weekly DC: My favorite part of this exchange between Dick Cavett and Tennessee Williams is not the discussion of the young Brando but Williams’ elegant description of homeless winos as “resting people.” They don’t make ’em like the Glorious Bird any more.
We continue with our favorite stolen feature.
Separated At Birth: This time around, we have two, count ’em two, pictures. Why? Because one of them is former Giants pitcher Tim Lincecum, that’s why. He’s paired with actor Joseph Gordon-Levitt; the first picture seems to date from his Third Rock From The Sun days. FYI, I used to call that show Third Ham From The Sun because of John Lithgow’s OTT performance.
I hope Joseph doesn’t lose his stuff prematurely like Timmeh. Seeing him in his Giants uniform makes me wistful for better baseball days. Oh well, at least the Dodgers keep losing the World Series just like they did in the Forties, Fifties, and Seventies. A pattern is a pattern, especially when it bleeds Dodger blue. Repeat after me: Fuck the Dodgers.
I just realized that I haven’t made any John the Baptist head jokes. I must be slipping. Here’s a vaguely relevant musical interlude:
I’ve never thought of Christine McVie as Salome before but it works. Stevie’s too prissy to behead anyone. If I could drum up sufficient enthusiasm, I’d cast Mick Fleetwood as a tall Juan Bautista.
Saturday GIF Horse: I discussed my love of Errol Flynn movies in this week’s PFT post. This GIF comes from the wildly historically inaccurate but insanely charming Gentleman Jim. It’s a bio-pic about pugilist Jim Corbett and his colorful Irish family. All Irish movie families are colorful, especially as directed by the great Raoul Walsh. He gave John Ford a run for his money when it came to movie blarney.
Here’s a hungover Flynn and his pal Jack Carson being lectured by Bill Frawley. He was never as scary as this when he was Fred Mertz in I Love Lucy.
I just noticed a GIF-stake. That’s bum, not bun. So it goes.
Tweet Of The Week: This hoax tweet went mega-super-duper viral:
https://twitter.com/realdanlyons/status/1155956845132914689
It spread so quickly that Snopes felt obliged to debunk it. Well done, Mr. Lyons. I’ll be monitoring his feed on April Fool’s Day. This one is almost as good:
https://twitter.com/realdanlyons/status/1156238051229753344
Weekly Vintage Music Video: I remember when Hall & Oates were hugely successful and hugely uncool. They’ve managed to turn that around. Since I’ve always liked their music, that’s cool with me. They’re no longer a guilty pleasure.
Here’s a video from 1982:
It’s time for me to shut up and shut things down with some more music.
Saturday Classic: I’ve long associated Todd Rundgren with Daryl Hall. They’re both from Philadelphia and are great singers with eerily similar voices. Here’s an extended version of an album Todd and Utopia recorded in 1981, Adventures In Utopia.
I hope that was sufficiently adventurous for you lot. I’m feeling a warm Utopian glow right now myself. Perhaps that’s due to the shot of Bourbon I just imbibed…
That’s it for this week. The last word goes to Alan Hale and Errol Flynn as father and son Pat and James J. Corbett in the Warners classic, Gentleman Jim.
I had thought that “ink-stained wretches” was due to Samuel Johnson’s dictionary entry for “lexicographer” (Johnson was himself alexicographer), but fifteen minutes googling has convinced me that it was neither Johnson, nor Ambrose Bierce, who would have been my second guess. I find this:On Journalists. “Journalists can be odd people,” says the New Yorker Magazine this week, in one of the great literary understatements of modern times. “Their main job is to interrogate the world; to that end, they must be extroverted but discontented, energetic but grumpy, open-minded but incredulous. When the theater critic Alexander Woollcott used the phrase “ink-stained wretches,” in 1921, he applied it to writers “who turn out books and plays,” but there’s a reason it’s now associated with reporters: their work is animated by gleeful, even joyous, dissatisfaction.”
blockquote tags don’t work.
I haz a sad.
Woollcott makes perfect sense. Probably knew that and forgot it because I read a good biography of him years ago: Smart Alec.