"...darkness worshed over the dude..."

Alas! At this point, only the soft strains of Mark Mothersbaugh and the wise, squint-eyed visage of my hero and spiritual advisor Sam (fucking) Elliot can lift my sorry, sorry spirits now... tell me what to do, Sammy...

Oh woe is me... first, one of my prize (sacasm) students accused Malcolm X (I had the poor sods analyze "Prison Studies" from brother Malc's autobiography, much to their great chagrin, and my joy) of "sucking" and "hating white people." I believe he was referring to these two activities seperately, but I'm not sure. Kids today... I mean, imagine this guy going on a one-sentence political tirade about the 1960s civil rights movement and you're nowhere close.

I tried to explain to the young man all that "the-author-is-dead" (literally and figuratively) stuff, you know, sepeate the author from the trext, blahdiddy blah blah, and it, erm....didn't really translate. Anyway, I did point out that while Malcolm X did indeed have something of a distate for Whitey (for good reason, no?) he did late in life see the error of his ways and opened himself to all forms of Honkeydom. So no, sonny, the evil ghost of dead Malcolm fucking X isn't gonna rise form the grave and throttle you while you're at home listening to Eminem and drinking Gatorade.

Oh, but my day got so much more tragic... oh boo-fucking-hoo... So, I get home, and I go about my business of checking computer stuff, and what do I see but some nasty comments about me on a "Morgantown music and culture blog" , accusing me of being one of them gol-durn liberal pinko commie scums that got what's-his-face re-elected because I take such a hardline stance on sexist language. Well please, please, please, excuse me for taking exception to the fact that one of the blog writers (uncounsciously) denied that women in Morgantown play in bands. Sure it was an unconscious, innocent mistake and he's a good guy and all, but as this dude says, a bad mouth betrays a bad mind (or a bad upbringing), and what you don't say can be a lot more telling than what you do say. So yeah, I get a ton of shit for it, from people I may or may not know, people I may or may not be "friends" with, thanks to the wonders of the anonymous internet.

I could be wrong, but I may have elicited such a strong response by expressing how I don't like (big surprise) hippie jam band music (though in my comment I did mention a lot of '60s bands -- San Francisco and elsewhere -- that I love. Note this quote, which tastefully employs the lyrics of a local jam-band. here's part of his comment. Brace yourselves -- this is gold:

If you want to really be offended, ma'am, go see Thred....they've got a song called "Bitch Please." All you liberals need to go wash your sweaters!

Ooh. he called me "ma'am." Like, I'm a girl or something. Ugly, ugly stuff, huh? And then he told me I need to wash my sweater. Oh.... brutal. So now I have to deal with angry right-wing hippies who want to offend me and cast aspersions on my personal hygiene (talk about the pot calling the kettle... nevermind). And you know what? I am offended. Stupidity offends me. Calculated stupidity offends me even more. So I told my naysayers to fuck off, and retired form good ol' Couches On Fire. Sorry Aaron, Jeremy, and Brian. You're all good, knowledgable folk, but you can do it without me.

Ah, but this incident was just the tip of the iceberg. I go this this blog (this very one, yup) and find this comment to a post I did about the Reactionaries. brace yourselves again:

wow, covering the this many boyfriends club now...nice.

my wedding ring says "we tip over apple carts"and his says"with the pouding of our hearts."

Now you've been exposed.

Don't write a song about it...just give me back my Yummy Fur/Dame Darcy/fill in the blank recordsAll in good humor and love, my NMH tatoo recipient.

If you know anything of my history, you may have guessed who this person is. And yeah, she's heard some of my music on this site. Again with the wonders of the internet, that beautiful subspace where any asshole or psycho may make attempts to contact you. Man, I love this shit!

Well, here's an open letter to you, oh anonymous commentator:

1) What I cover should be no concern of yours. Go on with your life.

2) Wedding ring? I must have blocked that part out too. One tends to "delete files" in their brain when under great duress.

3)Don't flatter yourself. That song ain't about you.

4)See #3. And no -- I don't have your Dame Darcy records. If I wanted to listen to a New York singer who appropriates the mountain/folk form I'll listen to early Bob Dylan. At least he did a good job of faking it.

Oh yes, I (re)familiarized myself with the Yummy Fur via your (other) ex-punching bag, who was kind enough to burn me a CD. You know, that guy? Lives in Pennsylvania or something? remember? You accused him of a lot of fucked-up shit too.

5) There's no humor in this point. I'd sooner put a cigarette out on my own teeth than speak to you again, so please make no more attempts to contact me, directly or otherwise. For the unmpteenth time, have nice life.