Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
THE SAME OLD SAME OLD NEIGHBORHOOD
A restaurant in
Copyright 1997 Matthew J Wells
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Where were we? Oh yeah--David Byrne. To continue:
My favorite Talking Heads song? The incredibly depressing one with the uplifting tune.
AMANDA: "Psycho Killer?'
MATTHEW: Okay--the OTHER incredibly depressing one with the uplifting tune.
AMANDA: "Once In A Lifetime?"
MATTHEW: No, it's--
AMANDA: "Burning Down The House?"
MATTHEW: NO! It's THIS incredibly depressing song with the great uplifting tune:
Road to Nowhere
As for my favorite David Byrne solo album? The one that has this cover:
My favorite David Byrne solo song? Track 11.
The first 30 seconds? Not bad. The next 3 minutes? Brilliant. Thanks to the horns. Listen to those horns. Listen to what they do and where they go starting at the 2:10 mark. They're so good they make you think you can dance salsa without a single lesson.
This is happy.
This is great stuff.
This is exactly what you need to hear during a second straight week of gray crappy rainy weather to make you feel, well,--
AMANDA: Glad to be alive?
MATTHEW: Well, I wouldn't go that far.
AMANDA: Try it some time.
Lie To Me
Saturday, May 21, 2011
And in case you were wondering? The Rapture actually did occur at local time today, when every truly faithful Christian on earth was taken bodily up into heaven.
All ten of them.
Copyright Matthew J Wells 1997
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
This started out as a monologue, and turned into a whole first scene. The original plan was to put a modern woman, writing under a male pseudonym, in the same room as George Sand and George Eliot. That lasted for about the time it took to write the scene below, when I realized that I couldn't think of a good reason why a modern woman would want to write under a male pseudonym. So I started reading up on the Twenties, which is where I figured it would make sense for a woman to want to write as a man, as a political point, as a declaration of war, as a kind of literary suffragette. And which is where it will probably end up some day (minus the current final line Huck Finn echo, alas) with a couple of thinly-disguised Hemingway and Fitzgerald avatars whom the two Georges can take the piss out of. Because, y’know, they deserve it.
[SHEILA GREENE, AKA TOBY BELL, STANDING AT A PODIUM]