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.

[odeo=http://odeo.com/audio/11247563/view]

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As ever, apologies to anyone who’s got good enough pitch recognition to wince at my terrible vocals.

Transcript and lyrics follow.

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(“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:

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.

Ultra Concentrated 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.

[odeo=http://odeo.com/audio/5329683/view]

Lyrics are after the jump.

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Friday Fiascos #4: The Things

Friday, October 13, 2006

I have been waiting to put this up for a long long time! Therefore I am happy to present it at long last, even though I know in my heart it’s not all that good.

Some of you may be familiar with the work of gentleman-songster Jonathan Coulton, who recently completed his (first?) Thing-a-Week cycle of 52 original songs, covers, mashups, text-to-speech recordings, and other things.

I have penned a tribute to it, done (mostly) to the tune of Thing number thirty, but the effect is rather spoilt by my inability to sing, alackaday.

Oh, would that someone would record this properly! Oh, if only there were someone with a good singing voice who knows the subject matter and the source tune well and who might be made aware of this Fiasco by an e-mail I have sent!

(Only kidding. Enjoy your tour.)

As is my custom, I’ll dissect (or vivisect) this on Monday, so check back then to see all the awful things I have to say about this. (UPDATE: Here’s the link. If you don’t understand the joke in the last line, click the link.) For the meantime, suffice it to say, yes, it’s artificially sped up.

[odeo=http://odeo.com/audio/2155203/view]
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Even if you have a sensitive ear and do not want to risk it by listening to me caterwaul, I hope you will click the link and look at the lyrics.

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Friday Fiascos #3: Anatomy

Friday, October 6, 2006

I’m quite disappointed that I couldn’t finish what I was going to put up here in time to post it this week. However, since I promised last week that there’d be something worthwhile here, let me dust off something that has been on back burners for a while but that I’ve just hunkered down to finish.

Finger on the button, eye on the ball,
Nose to the grindstone, back to the wall,
Nail in the coffin, foot in the grave,
Heel of the despot, lash for the slave,
Back to the future, face from the past,
Toe in the water, arm in the cast,
Bone of contention, jaws of defeat,
Mouth of a river, side of a street,
Left-handed compliments, right-handed screws,
Hip to the lingo, mind p’s and q’s,
Shoulder the burdens, foot all the bills,
Pore over problems, head for the hills!

Not much else to say today. See you Monday.

— Bry

Friday Fiascos #2: The Telepath, part 1

Friday, September 29, 2006

I started Friday Fiascos because I had too many irons in the fire and I wanted to strike a few off my list while they were hot. Here’s a story idea that came to me, oh, years and years ago that I never wrote. It’s only the first of about three parts, and it’s not very good, but wait ’til you see what I have for you next week. (I don’t know what it is yet, but it should be good.)

[20080328: I reread this and I realize it’s absolutely awful, so I’m burying it.]

Friday Fiascos #1: A Retread

Friday, September 22, 2006

One of the several reasons I started this blog was that I had too many thoughts floating around that I found entertaining, and I needed a way to empty my brain.

(It can justly be claimed that I was doing quite well at that before the blog, to which I reply that nonetheless it is a necessary step in washing Mr. Miyagi’s car.)

If that were my sole justification, the blog would have already succeeded — as soon as I open a page to start a new post, my mind is completely blank.

It is rather embarrassing, but I have nothing newly prepared — the songs I hoped I’d have ready are each about a couple of stanzas and a decent arrangement away from an acceptable state of completion, and I’ll have to put those off for next time. Instead, I’ll empty not my brain but my storehouse of old verses.

This is one that few other than I have seen (even its subject hasn’t seen it as of yet, which I hope to rectify by a well-placed e-mail). Said subject is Paul R. Katz, who wrote an editorial in January in which he satirized the pretensions of his schoolmates.

This satire, of course, was taken literally by a large number of said schoolmates, with far-reaching consequences, the most notable of which was that I spent a night composing this bit o’ doggerel:

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