Saturday, June 14, 2008
(transplanted from the forums, when I realized that no one’s going to bother reading what I wrote)
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Wednesday, May 28, 2008
This is in reference to the sonnet I wrote for Shruti on the JoCo forums, which, as I mentioned there, is both a sonnet in attempted Shakespearean style and a diagonal acrostic. Before we go further, let’s make sure everyone’s uncovered the message, all right?
SPEAKTHOUTOMEWHENBITTERGALLTHYBREAST DOTHOVERSWELLORWHENTHYSTARSARESWAYD BYMARTIALCHOLERIATTHYBEHEST MYSELFDESPATCHTOLOOSETHINEAMBUSCADE SOTHOUMAYSTSTANDTHEBUFFETTAKEASHARE INPAINFULPITYANDWITHMARTYRSHANDS OUTSTRETCHDTHYGUILELESSINNOCENCEDECLARE STILLGRIEVDBYTROUBLESNOONEUNDERSTANDS YETWHENISEETHEWAYSELFSORROWDRIPS FROMEYESOCCLUDEDBYCONCEITANDDRINK ORLETTHEEWRENCHCONTRITIONFROMMYLIPS ORWITNESSBEARTOSOLITUDEITHINK MYSELFOERSEIZEDINTHINEORBITWHY WHOTHENISTRULYMADLOVETHOUORI
Got it? Let’s carry on. Read the rest of this entry »
Friday, October 5, 2007
Here’s an overlong writeup of the 20071005 Jonathan Coulton with Paul and Storm concert at Johnny D’s in Somerville, Massachusetts.
Friday, June 15, 2007
With the JoCoFo(rums) a no-go, I’m posting this here, which is appropriate because it’s fairly lengthy. Fairly.
This is my proposed synopsis of the JoCo Forums’ Jonathan Coulton Broadway Production. It’s way too long and unwieldy, but hey, I’m more of an idea guy (read: lazy guy) — I’ll leave the arguments about what to trim to everyone else.
My really long writeup follows this jump-cut.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Like any Mavericks fan, I was tremendously relieved after the Mavs won on Wednesday to even the series with Golden State. In fact, I was probably more relieved than anyone else, because I’ve been sitting on this for a little while.
I’m not very superstitious in general, but I’m a little sports superstitious, and I didn’t want to put up a post about the Mavericks’ march to playoff victory before they’d actually, y’know, gotten a playoff victory.
Anyway, I’m all-encompassingly a homer, but I think the Mavs are the best team in the NBA. (If I hailed from Phoenix or San Antonio, I’d be saying the same thing about different colored laundry right now.) They have solid defense, good penetration, reliable outside shooting, and a lot of depth. All they’ve lacked… is a fight song.
This is to the tune of Ernest Longstaffe’s “When the Sergeant-Major’s on Parade.” To the tune of the chorus, actually, as the verse is kinda blah.
As ever, apologies to anyone who’s got good enough pitch recognition to wince at my terrible vocals.
Transcript and lyrics follow.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
(“Friday?” Well, I guess I was working on it on Friday, or something. Also, I think this is the fifth Fiasco, but I’ve forgotten to keep count.)
I’m thinking about picking up a new instrument (if only so that I can accompany myself without that same plodding oom-pah piano) Just how easily influenced I am can be seen in the list of new instruments I’m considering:
- harp, because of the Marx Brothers
- zither, because of The Third Man
- banjolele, because of Wodehouse
- guitar, because I actually own one
Now here comes The Doifter, set on spoiling my calculations by introducing a new element into the mix. A tiny, four-stringed element of pure joy.
Here is my cover of her song, “The Rubbish of Strangers.” My rendition contains no ukelele, unfortunately (although the allergic should note that it was manufactured in a facility that also processes ukeleles), and as you can guess, my singing is not at all as good as hers. Accompaniment is also by me, on plodding oom-pah piano. Finally, I’ve added new lyrics and music of my own composition to the end.
If you still want to listen in spite of all that, here it is.
Lyrics are after the jump.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
Well, I hope you enjoyed NaNoBryAlmoFoMo (National No Bry for Almost Four Months), because it’s ending now. Thanks to all of you who wrote in to ask after my welfare or whereabouts. Actually, no one did. But that’s all right. I don’t mind. Really.
Anyway, my voice is just about recuperated after eight weeks of weeping softly into my pillow while whimpering, “No one cares!”, and so I’m about ready to try a few songs again.
There. If three months of blog silence didn’t drive away all the readers, threats of singing surely will.
(Actually, since I don’t think my e-mail address is listed anywhere on this blog, it’d be kinda difficult for my hypothetical friends to send me an e-mail.)
Friday, October 20, 2006
Yes and no, as in it’s not ready for publication yet. I’ll have plenty of time this weekend, though (Saints bye week, Cowboys Monday night game), and it’s non-musical, so expect it up before the end of Saturday.
At which point I may edit this post to make it look as though I had it up today.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
or, Channelling my inner Chris “If Hitler had a speech defect that caused him to pronounce soft G sounds as Bs, he’d call himself a” Berman.
My most recent disappointment has been this:
I knew a guy whom I’ll refer to as Ramesh. Now, for the longest time, I thought his name was Ramesh Thimmashetty, and so in my mind I’d given him a nickname that was, although completely incongruous with his personality or appearance, absolutely perfect: Ramesh “The Machete” Thimmashetty.
And one of my biggest regrets was that I never had the guts to call him “The Machete.” Every time I called him Ramesh, I felt a little guilty for not unleashing the greatest nickname in the history of civilized man.
Then the other day I found out his name was really Ramesh Patel.
Now I’m a little relieved that I never broke out the nickname, but I can’t help but feel a little sad.
Poor Ramesh. Through no fault of his own, he is now 30% less cool.
PS: His real names are not Ramesh or Patel. However, I did think his surname was Thimmashetty.
PPS: Things that Bry judges to be cool do not, in fact, tend to be cool.