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Month: July 2004
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Elektronik Supersonik
Will Rigby of the guitar band The dB’s
once remarked that “Giving
synthesizers to the Europeans was like giving whiskey to the Indians”.
In the case of one Zladko “Zlad” Vladcik, he may have been right.
I’ve posted a frame from the video for his song Elektronik Supersonik below, but to experience the full cheese, you’ve got to watch the video (Flash required)
The trying-to-be-sexy-but-failing space-age-sex lyrics are sung in a language that’s trying-to-be-English-but-failing:
- “My blue jeans eez tight, so eento my love rocket climb.”
- “Above us, there eez notheenk above us…but the stars…above.”
- “5…4…3…1…off blast!” (Yes, he skipped “2”.)
- “
Fly away my space rocket,
you no need put money in my pocket
the door is closed I just lock it
I put my birthplug in your socket”
You’ll get a kick out of the full lyrics, which are here.
This guy sounds just the way I imagine Vlad the robot from Achewood does.
(Here’s a copy located in my blog’s filesystem, just in case they’ve taken down the video.)
And to think I almost missed it!
I was getting started on a report for Boss Ross when I noted the date: July 14th.
“Hey, it’s Bastille Day,”
I thought to myself. Bastille Day is also the birthday of my friend
Henry Dziarmaga. Years ago, Henry and I — over several zombies — came
up with the theory that in an infinite multiverse, there must be one
universe in which people watch our lives as TV shows and therefore we
must live in such a way to keep our ratings up.
Then it hit me: I started working at Tucows on Bastille Day last year. This is my first anniversary.
It doesn’t feel as though it’s been a year. I enjoy my work immensely,
Boss Ross and my mates in the Research and Innovation Department Darryl
and Scott are great to work with, and it’s so enjoyable that I only hit
the snooze button when I’ve been out partying the night before.
I think I’ll be here a while.
(The title of this entry is a play on the The Ultimate Collection Of Winsock Software, which is what “Tucows” originally stood for.)
Categories
Test entry
Test! Test!
Categories
Obsequious Appeasement
Paulo (who lives near where I’ll be this weekend) hits it on the head in his blog, How Now Brown Pau?:
Great, not only are we terror appeasers, we’re obseqious terror appeasers.
From the Deputy Foreign Secretary: “In response to your request … the
Philippines will withdraw its humanitarian forces as soon as possible
…. I hope the statement that I read will touch the heart of this
group …. We know that Islam is the religion of peace and mercy.”
“Touch the heart?”
“Peace and mercy?”
“Request?”
You know, though I consider it dishonorable, I might even understand
sending home troops to save the life of a hostage, but what kind of
wonderful noble motivation is this person trying to ascribe to these
terrorists? It isn’t even acquiescence anymore; it’s grovelling. “Oh, don’t hurt us, we’ll do anything you want!”
This is the sort of rolling over and playing dead that got us stuck
with President Marcos and his shoe-whore wife for waaaaay too long. As
one American observer once noted, the Philippines had “40 million
cowards and one son of a bitch.” And now that the Philippine government
is not only giving into demands but doing it in a way that puts Waylon
Smithers to shame, I fear these two outcomes:
- The Muslim terror groups in the Philippines, Abu Sayyaf and the group from whcih they split, MILF (Moro Islamic Liberation Front, not the American Pie acronym), will be emboldened and ramp up their attacks, kidnappings and hostage-taking.
Abu Sayyaf are currently in negotiations with the Philippine
government. I may not know a lot about terrorists’ mindsets, but I do
know a helluva lot about negotiating. The Philippine government just
invited Abu Sayyaf to walk all over them. - 50% of the Philippines GDP is generated by overseas contract
workers (often called “OCWs”, who are so numerous that they get their
own line in Customs at Manila’s airport. They were breathlessly, if somewhat cluelessly, praised in Wired in 2002).
The fortunate ones get work in North America, while the less fortunate
work in the Gulf, from which you always hear stories of maltreatment
and abuse. The Filipino government has just effectively stamped
“POTENTIAL HOSTAGE” on all their foreheads.
I worry that the Philippines is about to learn a harsh lesson about paying the danegeld.
My co-worker Scott Murff wants to become a robot and have some traffic on
his blog, games.blogware.com. He asked me to link to him. Consider it done, Scott…or should I say: Murfftron 3000?
That’s my army of the night, doing attack drills.
Wendy sent me a link to a Boston Globe story covering the American Accordionists’ Association Festival,
which took place in Boston last weekend. I’d have gone, but my travel
budget is taken up by my friend Herb’s wedding in Baltimore this
weekend (and yes, I’m supposed to bring the accordion).
Some snippets from the article:
Mention the old joke about the accordionist who discovers his car has
been broken into only to find that instead of seeing his instrument
missing, there’s another abandoned by its side, and Linda Reed will
tell you someone stole her $6,000 accordion out of her Isuzu Trooper in
SoHo. Ask about the Pepsi commercial, played during the Super Bowl, in
which a young Jimi Hendrix nearly chooses the accordion over the
guitar, and Steven Shuman, 35-year accordion veteran, speaks out:
“We’re here to stay, America.”
been broken into only to find that instead of seeing his instrument
missing, there’s another abandoned by its side, and Linda Reed will
tell you someone stole her $6,000 accordion out of her Isuzu Trooper in
SoHo. Ask about the Pepsi commercial, played during the Super Bowl, in
which a young Jimi Hendrix nearly chooses the accordion over the
guitar, and Steven Shuman, 35-year accordion veteran, speaks out:
“We’re here to stay, America.”
…
Across the hallway, the 23-year-old 2002 World Cup Accordion Champion,
Russian Alexander Poeluev, jerks his head back and forth,
violin-maestro style, as he finesses the last strains of “Bossanova”
for a radio broadcaster’s microphone. He’s dressed, head to toe, in
black.
“Vhen will I play?” he asks a convention coordinator afterward.
Poeluev’s got 10 minutes till stage time. Before he goes on, he
explains that although many don’t recognize him during his 10-city US
tour, he’s popular in music circles in Russia. Does the instrument
attract the ladies?
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” He pauses. “Yes.”
“Sometimes I have a problem,” he says. “So much girls. ”
…
Oh, the life of an accordion superstar. You get no respect. In this
country, it may seem that outside of zydeco, accordions are doomed to
be forever stigmatized as the source of bad jokes thanks to Steve Urkel
and “The Lawrence Welk Show.” But in other cultures, the squeezebox is
considered downright sensual. Think of “Lady and the Tramp” slurping
their spaghetti without an accordion serenade at Tony’s Ristorante.
Where would Mexican music be without the accordion? Where would the
Argentine tango be without the instrument’s first cousin, the bandoneon?
…
Then there’s 14-year-old Anthony Falco from Johnston, R.I., who, in his
Billabong cap and knee-length skater shorts, is the accordion world’s
answer to the geek stereotype. Falco regularly jams to Ozzy Osbourne’s
“Crazy Train” and Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man” with friends at his
house, and he laments missing Monday’s Ozzfest for the third year in a
row because of the festival.
I really must attend next year. I’d have kicked ass with my rendition of Outkast’s Hey Ya.