An old Fugs tune is running through my brain today. The Fugs, for you youngsters, were a seminal East Village "band" in the '60s. They are still around, with a horrendously ugly website and a "greatest hits" collection! Gotta love it. The song I am currently "singing" is called "Nothing". It goes like this:
Monday, nothing
Tuesday, nothing
Wednesday and Thursday nothing
Friday, for a change
a little more nothing
Saturday once more nothing
Sunday nothing
Monday nothing
Tuesday and Wednesday nothing
Thursday, for a change
a little more nothing
Friday once more nothing
Montik gornisht,
Dinstik Gornisht
Midwoch an Donnerstik gornisht
Fritik, far a noveneh gornisht pikveleh
Shabas nach a mool gornisht
Lunes nada
Martes nada
Miercoles y Jueves nada
Viernes, por cambia
un poco mas nada
Sabado otra vez nada
January nothing
February nothing
March and April nothing
May and June
a lot more nothing
July nothing
'29 nothing
'32 nothing
'39, '45 nothing
1965 a whole lot of nothing
1966 nothing
reading nothing
writing nothing
even arithmetic nothing
geography, philosophy, history, nothing
social anthropology a lot of nothing
oh, Village Voice nothing
New Yorker nothing
Sing Out and Folkways nothing
Harry Smith and Allen Ginsberg
nothing, nothing, nothing
poetry nothing
music nothing
painting and dancing nothing
The world's great books
a great set of nothing
Audy and Foudy nothing
f–ing nothing
sucking nothing
flesh and sex nothing
Church and Times Square
all a lot of nothing
nothing, nothing, nothing
Stevenson nothing
Humphrey nothing
Averell Harriman nothing
John Stuart Mill nil, nil
Franklin Delano nothing
Karlos Marx nothing
Engels nothing
Bakunin and Kropotkin nothing
Leon Trotsky lots of nothing
Stalin less than nothing
nothing nothing nothing nothing
lots and lots of nothing
nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing
lots of it
nothing!
Not a God damn thing
In other news... Nicole Kidman just turned 44, and some online rag of a website did a riff on how her face has changed over the years, which led people to post a series of brainlessly idiotic comments. Here's my favorite (note the sensationally creative spelling!):
"It is too bad that all the females in the entertainment industry have to conform to such a cracy nonsence, if they want to be noticed. Natural talent is not requred any more, only who is the noisiest, brashest, larger than life, vierdest, colorfullest, the most outrages clothing wearer, botox filled, big bustiest, plumped, youngest looking or any other kind of cracy antics doer. Another words, it is all artificially achieved, presumably beautiful in their own eyes, but hollow and empty to rest of us. I don't mean Nicole alone in this instance. The whole industry has taken artificial path to total, very forgettable nothingness."
Well, forgettable nothingness is going to be the watchword for PG dot com for awhile. Yours truly needs a break! Summer is here. I've got music to play, a garden to tend, a new business (VRBO listing #351608) to develop, and a lot of great friends coming to the 'Burg for a visit.
On Saturday I was part of a very happy crowd at the unofficial 'soft' opening of Charles Smith's Anchor Bar here in Waitsburg, and what a great juke joint that is going to be. Also coming soon to downtown Waitsburg is the Coppei Coffee Company (with pastries, sandwiches, great coffee, and occasional music by yours truly and guests); Betty's Diner (a '50s burger and shake place – can't wait for that) and the 6 room Oola Hotel, same owners as the new Oola Distillery in Seattle. Things are happening.
Now 'scuse me while I check out Nicole's botox-ridden features one more time and hum a few bars of – you guessed it! – NOTHING!
8 comments:
I loved the Fugs in the 1960s. I even saw them perform at a benefit for The Realist magazine in Chicago in 1967. They were supposed to share the bill with Wilson Pickett, who's flight was cancelled because of bad weather. Alas, the audience (mostly greasers) was not that into the Fugs.
Thanks, Paul, for reminding me of this particular tune.
DGG
I've slightly revised your favorite comment from the above post and come up with this, which might be true in a number of cases:
"It is too bad that so many in the wine industry have to conform to such a cracy nonsence, if they want to be noticed. Natural talent is not requred any more, only who is the noisiest, brashest, larger than life, vierdest, colorfullest, the most outrages, chemical filled, big fruitiest, plumped, youngest tasting or any other kind of cracy antics doer. Another words, it is all artificially achieved, presumably beautiful in their own eyes, but hollow and empty to rest of us. I don't mean any one wine alone in this instance. The whole industry has taken artificial path to total, very forgettable nothingness."
Art - very funny (and very much in the right spirit). Thanks!
David – Fugs and Pick It, Wilson? Hmmm....
I heart Art, well, his re-rendered comment, that is. I don't know Art.
Fun...
Wednesday, anything?
I felt a little like The Hosemaster while writing that comment . . . but only about 1% as humorous and original. I'm glad it brought a smile, though, and I'll visit your website sometime soon, Stephanie.
Have a good summer, Paul!
Paul, brings back my favorite Hemingway short story, A Clean, Well-lighted Place:
Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it was all nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee.
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