Midnight Meme Of The Day!

by Noah

That's one sexy motherfucker you 62,000,000 voted for. I finally get it! I can see why all those Republican $enators voted to keep him around. Who wouldn't want to watch this movie? Who wouldn't want to pour over his daily words as if they are the gospels themselves? Now if only one of you, even one of you 62,000,000 nihilistic nutjobs would admit that your emperor not only lost his clothes but lost his bright red tie to reality years ago. Of course, that will never happen because you're as far gone as he is. Well done!

A Few Minutes Of Prince Recollections

Once I worked on a Jesuit-owned radio station and I played the above version of "Let's Pretend We're Married" and was told I'd be suspended if I ever played it again. So I did-- every time I went on the air for a year. They only suspended me once though. I bet YouTube takes the clip down within days-- if not hours.

I was shocked when I heard Prince had died today. I was more shocked to hear he was 57. I always though of him as 40 years younger than that. I didn't know Prince well, but no one working at Warner Bros in the '80s didn't know something about the mythical Prince. Actually my first interaction with him was long before anyone outside of Minneapolis knew much about him. I was a rock critic but had never heard of him in 1978 when Warner Bros publicity head Bob Merlis called me and told me Warners had signed a young genius and that I'd love his music. His name was Prince and Merlis asked me if I'd interview him and write a story about him for an in-house Warner Bros publication, helping to introduce him to the employees and to other press people who got copies of the magazine. The pay for that publication was more than any of the normal magazines I wrote for and I was delighted to get the job. He sent me an advance tape of For You and when I called Prince he was working in a car wash. Seemed like a smart soft-spoken young man and it was nothing to churn out a colorful puff piece about him.

Over a decade later, he was a super-star and I was a Senior Vice President at Warners, helping the legendary Seymour Stein run his label, Sire Records. I went to the VP meetings but my direct work was with Sire artists-- from Madonna, the Talking Heads and Depeche Mode to Richard Hell, the Ramones and Ministry. I didn't pay a lot of attention to Prince-- other than love his music-- but I couldn't help hearing about how difficult he was to work with. All the great artists are difficult to work with. Really... I'm not exaggerating.

On day Mo Ostin, the chairman of the company announced to the assembled senior VPs at our weekly meeting that Prince was going to pop in to say a few words. Kind of. He then proceeded to lay out the ground-rules to the visit. No one was to address Prince, although I think looking at him when not talking was permissible. We could ask Mo or Lenny, the company president, a question and they would re-ask it to Prince and Prince would whisper the answer to one of them, who in turn would convey the answer to the table. Everyone was pretty shocked but it wasn't a joke, as we soon found out. We continued our regular meeting until suddenly Prince came in and walked over to the empty chair between Mo and Lenny and sat down. Mo said a few sentences about Prince's new album and upcoming tour. Everyone's mouth was agape.

Prince had woken up that morning and said to himself, "Self, I'm going to visit the senior executives at my record label. What shall I wear?" Something inside suggested a loose, flowing pale yellow silky pants suit with a pale yellow wide-brimmed hat and pale yellow high-heeled shoes. And, yes, he had a pale yellow bag. The guy who ran the department in charge of touring-- and who knew Prince very well for many years-- said, "Mo, can you let us know the contours of Prince's tour in terms of dates, venue sizes, media availabilities, etc?" This was followed by whisperings at the head of the table until Mo finally said a few inconclusive things about the upcoming tour. And so it went... and went and went. Finally, I had had enough, figured no one would ever believe this anyway, and, as unobtrusively as I could, I got up and went back to my office to work.

Saturday Night Musing: Minnesota

WHOOOO COULD IMAGINE?
 
By NOAH

Back in my long, dearly departed youth, there was a song by Frank Zappa's Mothers Of Invention, that contained an extended dada-ist section featuring the words "Who could imagine (pause) that they would freakout (another pause) in Minnesota. The word 'who' was extensively drawn out while the words 'imagine' and 'Minnesota' received a kind of menacingly derisive emphasis. Now, on a night 42 years later, I am compelled by events to imagine the citizens of a state, where the pro football team wears purple yet calls themselves Vikings, freaking out big time. Forget about what real Vikings would do to anyone caught wearing purple, let alone do to a little guy in a loincloth singing about purple rain... what are Minnesotans going to do with each other when the voting in the Franken-Coleman Senate race is finally decided.

As I write this tonight, the Franken camp is claiming it is up by a mere 4 votes! This recount started out as a statistical tie. Now, by the Franken camp's figuring, it's down to 4 votes. Coleman's camp has come up with a figure that puts them a few hundred votes ahead, but that's more of a PR move designed around a desire to manipulate the public perception of who was always ahead and therefore is probably the winner. That kind of thing always makes it harder for the other guy to claim victory. The difference in the figures of the two camps centers around challenged votes which may or may not be resolved. The recount was supposed to be over by now, but things may be grinding to a stalemate, a stalemate which may end up in the U.S. Senate. So, what should they do in the land of 10,000 lakes and 10 to the 10th trillion power mosquitoes? Flip a coin? Draw straws?
 
Other possible solutions:

1. Poker game?
2. Run off?
3. Wrestling match?
4. Hot dog eating contest?
 
Personally, I kinda like #3. Tickets could be sold to raise money to repair that bridge that collapsed due to lack of tax revenue or to raise money for the education of children affected by the collapse. Also, I like the absurdity of the spectacle. Well, what are we supposed to expect from a state that elected a wrestler, Jesse Ventura, as its Governor. But, the whole thing will come down to who has the cleverest legal team and who can pocket the most ballots. Now if only there were a way to figure the number of people who stayed home because they thought their vote wouldn't count and if they were right or not.