The Dandee. I live, love and create in Albuquerque, NM

Thanks to schlomo for reblogging this so I could find it and share it with you:

twentyfourbit:

Watch: Jeff Tweedy Recites “Single Ladies”

A Jeff Tweedy solo show is something to behold, and the Wilco frontman’s benefit gig at Chicago’s Vic Theatre in March was—by all accounts—a prime example. Tweedy performed a host of pre-submitted audience requests, including “Shakin’ Sugar,” a Wilco rarity that even he had to Google, Radiohead’s “Fake Plastic Trees” (once again), Bill Fay’s “Be Not So Fearful,” his new Mavis Staples track “You’re Not Alone,” a Kinks cover, and dozens more. One fan requested YHF stunner “Ashes of American Flags” or Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies.” Guess which one he chose to sing for 10 seconds and then recite in full for some classic Tweedy stage banter lulz. I, for one, am glad that someone “forfeit[ed] their memories” for this clip.

Wilco. Reblogged. Period.

July 6, 2010

reblogged via

Wait Wait Stop

I’m lost. The comfort I usually find in your words is gone. I hope you find me while there is still something left.

June 7, 2010

I am the king of someday.

I will do it all one day. Yes, I am the king of someday.

May 18, 2010

To Be Of Use.

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

-Marge Piercy

May 6, 2010

* The Case for Working with Your Hands - NYT.

I found this article on a buddies Facebook page and thought it was great so I am sharing it out to my friends too.

May 6, 2010

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Plays: 27

This has been my theme song for the last few months. “Feel real bad, and get over it.” is one of my favorite lines. Harlem Shakes-Strictly Game.

May 3, 2010

* shoesonwrong: I'm a sucker for his charm. Trouble is a friend of mine.

I really love this description/analysis of ones relationship with booze. Visit the link to read more of this persons stuff.

I am not an alcoholic. I come from a line of them so long that my DNA is heavily pickled, but I am not an alcoholic. I periodically abuse alcohol, but am capable of drinking it normally without fear of going on a bender. I can go for months or years without it. But booze is my Siren. It calls to me when I am at my weakest and most vulnerable, singing a song that I can’t resist.

I don’t crave it when I’m sad or happy or depressed. All those things feel like enough all by themselves. I drink when I am hypomanic. Alcohol slows down my thoughts, calms my racing pulse, and quells my ever-present sense that something isn’t right.

Falling into a glass feels like baptism — I come up from a Long Island iced tea and am born anew. All the scurrying thoughts in my head are slowed by the sticky sweet concoction and there is, finally, some blessed silence. It is only then that I can fully focus on what is directly in front of me without analyzing it, second guessing it.

I rarely do things I regret while I am drunk. I believe the drink takes whatever is already in you and amplifies it. I’m okay with who I am. I like who I am. Sure, sometimes I say something stupid, but I am not malicious or unkind. I don’t get into drunken brawls or (usually) sob endlessly. Me being drunk is remarkably like me being sober, only more intense: I talk a lot, gesticulate wildly, come up with some harebrained scheme, then decide I’m tired and don’t want to talk to people anymore.

The problem with alcohol is that when I want it the most is when I should have it the least. Alcohol and I are friends with benefits — showing up at it’s doorstep occasionally with the intention of having a good time is okay. Wanting more from it, asking it to stay in with me on a Friday night, or trying to make long term plans with it is a really crappy idea.

April 26, 2010

reblogged via

I remember it clearly.

When I said I would change your life, I made no promises for the better.

April 22, 2010

I dreamt about you today.

Fortunately or unfortunately depending on the side of the fence you want to claim, it wasnt at all torrid. We were just close friends. We hung out, did close friends things we had a blast. Actually, we did stuff I imagine you doing. I was kind of out of place in my own dream.

The weird part is that we have never been close friends. I guess technically you are an acquaintance. But the thing is, I cant shake the feeling that I miss you. Like we were actually just hanging out and having a great time.

I guess its better then being on the other side of it, where I wake up mad at you.

March 25, 2010

Schlomo “Enabler to the stars” is a friend of mine in San Francisco. I found this fuck shit stack on his blog.

schlomo:

I love you, Reggie!!!

Reggie Watts: F_ck Sh_t Stack (via waverlyflams)

March 24, 2010

reblogged via