Friday, August 14, 2015
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
As you were.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
I think the word you really need to learn is “thesaurus.”
Don’t stop now! For God’s sake, don’t stop! It’s just getting good!
It’s like waiting for a bus with those damned marimbas; nothing for hours, then two or three turn up all at once...
See? What did I tell you?
That’s easy. Step one: Get out of the guitar.
Wait, I know this one... “What is the bus driver’s name,” right?
It’s the Beast, Piggy.
Three-word query, three misspellings — we have the trifecta!
Oh, you’ll have to try a little harder than that.
What? You again?
Okay — dude, here’s a Pro Tip: The problem with your search string is not the order of the words.
Ah, Internet. Your capacity for both misspelling and perversion never disappoints.
The saddest thing? I think I know which song they mean.
America! Neon lobster telephone!
Now you’re just creeping me out, guys.
Seriously, man, cut it out.
Come on guys this isn’t funny any more
OH MY DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE WHY WON’T YOU LEAVE ME ALOOOONE
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
That being said: I am going to be devilishly hard to get ahold of for a while. Forget about phoning me for the foreseeable future, and forget any email address you may have on file.
The best way to get vital correspondence, paying propositions, and serious queries to my attention is via [jack dot feerick dot says at gmail dot com].
Idle or fatuous inquiries, as always, will be ignored.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
There are thirty-odd chapters still in the archives, and I may eventually put some up on the workblog (which I really ought to update, I know), but you'll have to dig for them yourself. If you are sincerely put out about this, maybe drop me a line on jack dot feerick dot says at gmail dot com and I'll see what I can do about getting a manuscript copy to you, when such things are ready.
In the meantime, again, you can usually find me on Twitter, often in the process of losing my mind. Thanks for reading.
Monday, May 06, 2013
Not sure what I'm going to do with this place, to be honest. It's mostly just collecting comment spam for boner pills now; and I've got to wonder how long Google will continue to support the Blogger platform anyway. The model seems, if not actually dead, then certainly dying.
This is the curse of being a consistently late adopter — getting onboard with a service just as it inevitably begins to crumble under the weight of its own limitations. Sometimes I feel like a harbinger of the apocalypse; as soon as I get into something, it goes away.
That's why I'm still not on Facebook — as a mercy to all of you who are. Because I would kill it for sure.
Anyway. Now you know where to find me; I'll see you around, maybe.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Taking a skip week for Fiction Friday. Longtime readers (hello, both of you!) may remember that I've been pretty much dumping stuff straight from the longhand notebook into MS Word; but Chapter 55 — currently entitled "The Morning Brigades" — has undergone some offline tweaking, and I'm taking some time out from posting for transcription, reshuffling, and minor surgery to this chapter and the next two (to be called "Iron To Sharpen Iron" and "The Queen's Remedy").
Absent any new writing content, enjoy a couple of fresh mixtapes, both themed, both kind of funny (IMHO) and both featuring some pretty rockin' tunes (IM incredibly subjective and easily-discreditable O).
Sunday, July 03, 2011
- An impromptu a cappella tear through “Bohemian Rhapsody” that starts in ragged three-part harmonies and collapses into helpless laughter on the kitchen floor.
- Tiny sidewise flick of the wrist answered by the hiss of fishing line on the reel and, much later, a faraway splash.
- The passage from full sun into leafy shade, and the incremental temperature drop.
- A tug on the starter rope yielding a finely-calibrated resistance and then the satisfying roar of a small gas engine.
- The thump and smack of baseball into mitt.
- An idea, then another, turning in your head like 3-D puzzle pieces, then locking together. Then another. And again.
- Cat’s sandpaper tongue against your thumb.
- Cottonwood tree’s leaves rippling in a stiff breeze like half a million little green flags, and banishing Cole Porter from your mind’s ear long enough to hear it for what it really is.
- First sip of shandygaff, mixed cold in a plastic cup on a hot day.
- Success against odds; virtue rewarded. The first and truest of pleasures.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
(a play in one act)
CURTAIN RISES on a gathering SCHOLARS of soul music. They are discussing the work and legacy of Michael Jackson.
…at this point, the contribution of Quincy Jones cannot be ignored. It really ties Michael into the continuum of great American music.
Oh, agreed. Those vocal harmonies on the bridge—they’re arranged like the saxophones on an Ellington tune. Just sublime.
While the Scholars are conversing, a WHITE ROCK FAN enters.
WHITE ROCK FAN
How dare you discuss the legacy of Michael Jackson without mentioning Eddie’s solo on “Beat It”? That was a watershed moment! It was an unprecedented fusion of rock and R&B! It introduced hard rock to an entirely new demographic!
The WHITE ROCK FAN stands, pale and sweaty, as the SCHOLARS stare at him for a beat.
Well, yeah. But we’re talking about Off the Wall.
WHITE ROCK FAN
(a moment of dumbstruck silence: then suddenly shouts, throwing the horns)
VAN HALEN 4 LIFE!
Runs madly for the exit, leaving the SCHOLARS bemused.
Viz. (scroll down for the comments)
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Today is D’s birthday. The piece up at Popdose today does not mention that fact, though it does mention that it was she who gave the CD under review — Famille Nombreuse, by les Négresses Vertes, a record that looms improbably large in my personal pop pantheon.
I might have made more of that fact, though. Because it occurs to me that my takeaway from Famille Nombreuse — the joyous spirit of collaboration, the raucous democracy of voices, above all the marvelous, terrifying feeling of Us vs. The World, the feeling that all life is a bloody gang war and that your survival is primarily a function of who you’ve got in your gang — lines up pretty clearly with the lessons of 25+ years of knowing her.
Happy birthday, darlin’. This is a pretty grand adventure wherein we find ourselves, after all.