Sunday, December 26, 2010

The Old Mill Stream of Consciousness

A little about me... it is my blog after all.
I'm old. I know this because I am grizzled. I wish my voice was deeper, it would help my acting career. Perhaps I should take up smoking.
My kids enjoy playing games on the floor. I don't, it hurts to get up. My leg went to sleep the other day while building a marble maze with my ten-year old. It took two shots of espresso to wake it up. I ended up walking in circles for hours.
I wanted to name my first born "Invention" but my wife, Necessity, wouldn't abide, she claimed the name was cliché. I love her to death, but I'm not sure I necessarily need Necessity's allegories. So, I said so, in so many words, and found out that I do so... necessarily.
But enough about me...

I submit more music... if you failed to click on the link I posted a couple of weeks ago for The Be Good Tanyas, you are in luck... it's smooth, it's creamy, it's Oootischenia and ever so Canadian...

Munk's opening line:
Sneezy hated Groucho's visits; his cigars made him cough.

Munk's "Opening Line" is yours to keep, use it. Munk

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Nutcracker Epitome

For the unfamiliar, this week I submit a gem: The Pogues "Fairytale of New York". Often covered, never matched, this studio version from 1987 feature's Shane MacGowan's gravel-hammer voice in a restrained duet with Kirsty MacColl. For her part, Kirsty's precise and sturdy vocal's weave effortlessly through Shane's powerful turn. Two of the best at their best.

The epitome of the Christmas ballad.

Munk's opening line,

Bathed in red light, tiny Vampire Elvis loosened his cape and topped off his lungs with air. 

Munk's "Opening Line" is yours to keep, use it. Munk

PS... did you notice Matt Dillon at the beginning of the vid?

Sunday, December 12, 2010

My Ten-Year-Old's Gorilla

An auto-feed paper towel dispenser ignored me this morning. Either my pre-coffee, matte-finish expression was insufficient in reflecting a requisite number of photons or the machine simply gave me the brush-off. Perhaps I appeared untrustworthy or undeserving or both. Whatever the reason, the oh-so important wipey-box would not relinquish its water absorbent booty.
So I danced. As embarrassing as it sounds I waved my hands, smiled expectantly, and pleaded audibly with the stingy machine—all to no avail.
With an air of contempt, I wiped my hands on my pants and departed, leaving the auto-dispenser to stew in its own self importance. Technology is so overrated. 

For Munk's opening line, we have a vote this week... which book would you read?

We drank to the tears of our slain enemies.

We drank the tears of our slain enemies.

or... (this is a late entry offered by my 10 year old).
A deep rumbling sound emanated from the dark cavern. A split second later a giant gorilla burst through the wall.

Munk's (and now Jensen's) "Opening Lines" are yours to keep, use them. Munk