The first is my favorite music video of all time. And no, it doesn't come from Rush or the Police or the Cure. It's three lads from Oxford who have an amazing catalog of songs and equally clever videos. I present Supergrass, with "Late in the Day."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NrBE3VRc8mc
This week's guilty pleasure is one of those songs that I can remember playing on top 40 radio while I was at the pool with friends in those vague, hazy 1980s summers. This songs hook just crawled under my skin and has stayed there. Now, I had a pretty good mullet back in the day, but I've got nothing on this Aussie frontman. It is Icehouse. It is "Electric Blue."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUFOVu1CurM
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
A throwback, but worth the time
This is a column I wrote in my waning days with The Independent, about Bitch McConnell. (Excuse me, I have a cold.) I don't often write about politics, but McConnell's arrogance, which persists to this day, made me very angry.
http://dailyindependent.com/columns/x1192756906/Ben-Fields-Senator-helped-him-see-the-light-06-21-07
http://dailyindependent.com/columns/x1192756906/Ben-Fields-Senator-helped-him-see-the-light-06-21-07
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Songs/videos of the week
First up, we have "Not a Job" from the Manchester outfit Elbow. The video component is basically photos of them on tour. It says "with lyrics" but they're not there. So I'll give you one of my favorites from the song "Words to make her stay, you said 'Leave me and the plants die,' a panicked smile across your face." I find in the most dire situations I make a joke instead of saying what I need to say, and it all goes to hell, so that's why I like that particular line.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_WXHoh63lTI
Ah, now the guilty pleasure, "Dance Hall Days" by Wang Chung. I'm not a fan of their other hit. I just love those chorused-out, clean 80s guitar sounds, along with the strings and horns and all of that. I even like the video. And, if it's been bugging you for ages, the line toward the end is "and in her eyes two sapphires blue. And you need her and she needs you." The phrasing comes off as gibberish. Enjoy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LKwO1aB1W3I&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_WXHoh63lTI
Ah, now the guilty pleasure, "Dance Hall Days" by Wang Chung. I'm not a fan of their other hit. I just love those chorused-out, clean 80s guitar sounds, along with the strings and horns and all of that. I even like the video. And, if it's been bugging you for ages, the line toward the end is "and in her eyes two sapphires blue. And you need her and she needs you." The phrasing comes off as gibberish. Enjoy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LKwO1aB1W3I&feature=related
Friday, June 15, 2012
Live by the snake, die by the snake
Mark Randall "Mack" Wolford, of southern West Virginia, died at age 44 in late May.
Cause of death? Snake bite.
Was he hiking the Appalachian Trail? Working in high weeds? Visiting a reptile house at a negligent zoo?
No.
He was at church. Leading services, I should add.
Wolford was a snake handler. According to an Associated Press interview, they prefer to be called "serpent handlers," but, as the fictional Dr. Julius Hibbert once said "And hillbillies prefer 'sons of the soil,' but it ain't going to happen."
Snake handling, while banned in most states, is still legal in West Virginia. Even if it weren't, it wouldn't stop someone like Wolford.
After all, his father was a snake-handling preacher. And, wait for it, he died of a snake bite at age 39 in 1983.
So where does all of this come from?
Well, like many beliefs that are held firmly in what many of us would consider the most "normal" of churches, temples, mosques and so on, it comes from a single passage in the book of Mark. (16:17-18 if you're following along).
The passage varies depending on what version of the Bible you're reading, but this is what it says:
"In My name they will cast out demons; they will speak with new tongues; they will take up serpents; and if they drink anything deadly, it will by no means hurt them; they will lay their hands on the sick, and they will recover."
Notice it says if you "drink" anything deadly, it won't harm you. It doesn't say anything about the snake biting you. All it says is "they will take up serpents."
Now, here's the part where I explain that I am no Biblical scholar. Like a lot of people, I go to church, try to get something out of it, control my rage triggers (those being attacks on the media and preachers saying that the United States was founded on Christian principals while leaving out the rather startling details that state otherwise) and try to live a life where I don't steal walkers from old ladies in the middle of the street.
We can all be selective about what we follow in the Bible and what we disregard. Again, I am no expert. I'm just glad my eyes didn't fix on "they shall take up serpents" and have some sort of epiphany that sent me off to PetSmart.
For me, unless there's a passage in the Bible (and there could be) that said "And the Lord did say unto them, you shall juggle snakes or I will smite thee on June 15, 2012" I'm not picking up a snake. Not even a tiny one.
I should point out that, even though snake handling is legal in West Virginia, it is fairly rare. That's according to the Associated Press, so, like the Bible, view it how you view it.
But, at least from my own experience, that statement seems to be true. I've been to a lot of different churches, and no one has ever said to me "Here's your bulletin, and would you prefer rattlesnake or copperhead?"
You can find snake handlers, but you have to look. They don't generally find you, unless you're coming to after one hell of a bender that landed you in a place you never intended to visit.
Having said all of that, I do have some respect for this Wolford guy. Mainly because, even though I, and probably a good portion of the U.S. consider what he practiced to be crazy, he didn't shy away from it.
Many who engage in this practice are suspicious of outsiders and shut themselves away from the rest of the world.
Not Wolford. He had no problem with reporters or photographers and took some on snake hunts, according to the AP.
A friend of Wolford's, who happens to be a professor at the University of Tennessee Chattanooga, said Wolford was "trying to revitalize a strong tradition that doesn't make a distinction between beliefs and practices."
That's where I have to disagree. When you're inviting actual physical harm to yourself or others in the name of any religion, bad things usually happen.
Leaps of faith are spiritual risks, not jumping off a building.
The professor went on to say that snake handlers aren't under the illusion that they won't be bitten, and said that they would say the point is "no one gets out of this alive," and "It's not a question of how you live; it's a question of how you die."
Well, there's a refreshing and uplifting take on things.
People who knew Wolford said this is the way he would have wanted to go.
If that was true for him, that's great. It's not true for me.
Cause of death? Snake bite.
Was he hiking the Appalachian Trail? Working in high weeds? Visiting a reptile house at a negligent zoo?
No.
He was at church. Leading services, I should add.
Wolford was a snake handler. According to an Associated Press interview, they prefer to be called "serpent handlers," but, as the fictional Dr. Julius Hibbert once said "And hillbillies prefer 'sons of the soil,' but it ain't going to happen."
Snake handling, while banned in most states, is still legal in West Virginia. Even if it weren't, it wouldn't stop someone like Wolford.
After all, his father was a snake-handling preacher. And, wait for it, he died of a snake bite at age 39 in 1983.
So where does all of this come from?
Well, like many beliefs that are held firmly in what many of us would consider the most "normal" of churches, temples, mosques and so on, it comes from a single passage in the book of Mark. (16:17-18 if you're following along).
The passage varies depending on what version of the Bible you're reading, but this is what it says:
"In My name they will cast out demons; they will speak with new tongues; they will take up serpents; and if they drink anything deadly, it will by no means hurt them; they will lay their hands on the sick, and they will recover."
Notice it says if you "drink" anything deadly, it won't harm you. It doesn't say anything about the snake biting you. All it says is "they will take up serpents."
Now, here's the part where I explain that I am no Biblical scholar. Like a lot of people, I go to church, try to get something out of it, control my rage triggers (those being attacks on the media and preachers saying that the United States was founded on Christian principals while leaving out the rather startling details that state otherwise) and try to live a life where I don't steal walkers from old ladies in the middle of the street.
We can all be selective about what we follow in the Bible and what we disregard. Again, I am no expert. I'm just glad my eyes didn't fix on "they shall take up serpents" and have some sort of epiphany that sent me off to PetSmart.
For me, unless there's a passage in the Bible (and there could be) that said "And the Lord did say unto them, you shall juggle snakes or I will smite thee on June 15, 2012" I'm not picking up a snake. Not even a tiny one.
I should point out that, even though snake handling is legal in West Virginia, it is fairly rare. That's according to the Associated Press, so, like the Bible, view it how you view it.
But, at least from my own experience, that statement seems to be true. I've been to a lot of different churches, and no one has ever said to me "Here's your bulletin, and would you prefer rattlesnake or copperhead?"
You can find snake handlers, but you have to look. They don't generally find you, unless you're coming to after one hell of a bender that landed you in a place you never intended to visit.
Having said all of that, I do have some respect for this Wolford guy. Mainly because, even though I, and probably a good portion of the U.S. consider what he practiced to be crazy, he didn't shy away from it.
Many who engage in this practice are suspicious of outsiders and shut themselves away from the rest of the world.
Not Wolford. He had no problem with reporters or photographers and took some on snake hunts, according to the AP.
A friend of Wolford's, who happens to be a professor at the University of Tennessee Chattanooga, said Wolford was "trying to revitalize a strong tradition that doesn't make a distinction between beliefs and practices."
That's where I have to disagree. When you're inviting actual physical harm to yourself or others in the name of any religion, bad things usually happen.
Leaps of faith are spiritual risks, not jumping off a building.
The professor went on to say that snake handlers aren't under the illusion that they won't be bitten, and said that they would say the point is "no one gets out of this alive," and "It's not a question of how you live; it's a question of how you die."
Well, there's a refreshing and uplifting take on things.
People who knew Wolford said this is the way he would have wanted to go.
If that was true for him, that's great. It's not true for me.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Thanks and keep visiting
Just a quick note that the blog officially hit exactly 2,000 page views today. I really appreciate everyone who visits and I especially appreciate the dirty dozen who signed up as members. I know it isn't about page views, and there are YouTube videos that get 2,000 views in 30 seconds, but it's a good motivator for me to keep doing this and it makes me feel like people out there are enjoying it. So thanks everybody, and please keep stopping by. I'll be here.
Cheers,
Ben
Cheers,
Ben
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Song/Video of the week
"Vaccination Scar" by The Tragically Hip. I know that sounds like a heavy metal song, but, trust me, it's not.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CaXJc_EhPg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CaXJc_EhPg
Friday, June 8, 2012
Of pools, procrastination and prophecy
I have a heap of science fiction books that I keep in a box in the furthest corner of our basement.
I keep them there out of an irrational fear that one day one of my former English professors will pop by and, were said books on a bookshelf, find out that I've read nothing but crap since I finished college.
I would try to placate them by saying I've been working on various novels since I got my degree. But I graduated nearly 14 years ago, and nothing has been finished or published, so I doubt they would be impressed.
"I wrote a column that reached 25,000 readers each week for several years at a local newspaper," I would plead.
"Did it win any awards?"
"Uh, no."
"I see ..."
Accusatory furrowing of brow would follow.
Someone actually did stumble upon my treasure trove of what my professors used to call "airport literature" last year.
We were having our pool redone. An aside here, never buy a house with a pool. Buy a house near someone who owns a pool, and leech off of them.
Anyway, the pool crew had an electrician (it's scary how much electricity is involved with water when it comes to a pool) and he went down to the furthest reaches of our basement to check our breaker box. Just so happens that's where the books are.
As we were walking back outside the sun-hardened, scraggly-haired guy lit a cigarette.
"You like science fiction?" he asked.
"Yeah, I do," I said.
"I thought so. I saw all of those books down there. Do you write any?"
"Yeah, but it's not really science fiction."
"I love it," the guy said. "I write all the time. I wrote a book called 'The Stonehenge Prophecy.'"
"You did?"
"Yeah, I had a few thousand copies published, but they all sold out so now I just tell people to order it and it gets printed on-demand."
Son of a bitch.
Here I am, always talking about the university I attended and all the knowledge I attained there, all the while holding on to the narcissistic idea I am one day going to pen the book to end all books, and the guy who is working on my pool is a published author of an actual novel.
I'm not trying to hack on this guy in any way, it just struck me how much time I had wasted.
Authors will tell you to write every day, no matter what it is you write. I don't do that. I write in long cycles for a period of hours or days or whatever, and then I never come back to that work for several months.
Columns were a good fit because they simply require a quick burst of inspiration and energy.
The encounter with the electrician, quickly followed by the publication of a book of poems penned by one of my best friends, in addition to the fact that three of the people I either work with or used to work at my current newspaper all have published books, fired me up.
For about two days.
Then I sank back into the routines of life.
But it's all one big circle.
A few days ago we tried to open our pool, and the electricity wasn't working. So who should show up to fix it but the author of "The Stonehenge Prophecy."
"Don't talk to him about books," my wife said under her breath.
I didn't.
I don't know what's going to happen with the books I'm working on. Maybe they'll be discovered after I'm dead and I'll be appreciated after my time. Or they'll be incinerated as the world falls ever closer to that of Ray Bradbury's (R.I.P.) Fahrenheit 451.
Or, I could actually work on something with some sort of energy similar to focus and see what happens. And I need to before someone else just writes the same thing I'm writing. I'll never forget one of my college friends talking about how he was going to write a series of novels about a school for wizards.
"How's 'Harry Potter' sitting with you?" I asked him a few years later over the phone. The question was not appreciated.
So, it's back to the grindstone.
First I have to watch game five of the Stanley Cup Finals, though.
I keep them there out of an irrational fear that one day one of my former English professors will pop by and, were said books on a bookshelf, find out that I've read nothing but crap since I finished college.
I would try to placate them by saying I've been working on various novels since I got my degree. But I graduated nearly 14 years ago, and nothing has been finished or published, so I doubt they would be impressed.
"I wrote a column that reached 25,000 readers each week for several years at a local newspaper," I would plead.
"Did it win any awards?"
"Uh, no."
"I see ..."
Accusatory furrowing of brow would follow.
Someone actually did stumble upon my treasure trove of what my professors used to call "airport literature" last year.
We were having our pool redone. An aside here, never buy a house with a pool. Buy a house near someone who owns a pool, and leech off of them.
Anyway, the pool crew had an electrician (it's scary how much electricity is involved with water when it comes to a pool) and he went down to the furthest reaches of our basement to check our breaker box. Just so happens that's where the books are.
As we were walking back outside the sun-hardened, scraggly-haired guy lit a cigarette.
"You like science fiction?" he asked.
"Yeah, I do," I said.
"I thought so. I saw all of those books down there. Do you write any?"
"Yeah, but it's not really science fiction."
"I love it," the guy said. "I write all the time. I wrote a book called 'The Stonehenge Prophecy.'"
"You did?"
"Yeah, I had a few thousand copies published, but they all sold out so now I just tell people to order it and it gets printed on-demand."
Son of a bitch.
Here I am, always talking about the university I attended and all the knowledge I attained there, all the while holding on to the narcissistic idea I am one day going to pen the book to end all books, and the guy who is working on my pool is a published author of an actual novel.
I'm not trying to hack on this guy in any way, it just struck me how much time I had wasted.
Authors will tell you to write every day, no matter what it is you write. I don't do that. I write in long cycles for a period of hours or days or whatever, and then I never come back to that work for several months.
Columns were a good fit because they simply require a quick burst of inspiration and energy.
The encounter with the electrician, quickly followed by the publication of a book of poems penned by one of my best friends, in addition to the fact that three of the people I either work with or used to work at my current newspaper all have published books, fired me up.
For about two days.
Then I sank back into the routines of life.
But it's all one big circle.
A few days ago we tried to open our pool, and the electricity wasn't working. So who should show up to fix it but the author of "The Stonehenge Prophecy."
"Don't talk to him about books," my wife said under her breath.
I didn't.
I don't know what's going to happen with the books I'm working on. Maybe they'll be discovered after I'm dead and I'll be appreciated after my time. Or they'll be incinerated as the world falls ever closer to that of Ray Bradbury's (R.I.P.) Fahrenheit 451.
Or, I could actually work on something with some sort of energy similar to focus and see what happens. And I need to before someone else just writes the same thing I'm writing. I'll never forget one of my college friends talking about how he was going to write a series of novels about a school for wizards.
"How's 'Harry Potter' sitting with you?" I asked him a few years later over the phone. The question was not appreciated.
So, it's back to the grindstone.
First I have to watch game five of the Stanley Cup Finals, though.
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