Something in the Water

I’m currently addicted at the moment to this little tune by Brooke Fraser.  Mix up a bit of Simon and Garfunkel’s “Cecelia,” at a bit more of the Beatles “Yellow Submarine,” and a dash of country, and press repeat often:


School vs. Funky Hip-Hop? Funky Hip-Hop.

Angles-dan_le_sac_vs._Scroobius_Pip_480Both Vista and iTunes are screwing up at the moment, requiring numerous shutdowns, restarts, and reboots, which ultimately provide an apt metaphor for my mind over the last two weeks, so I don’t begrudge it entirely.

Over on Peter, which, along with several other blogs, I finally bookmarked onto Google Reader, I came across Peter raving over Dan Le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip, a funky hip-hop duo from ________________ (England?- to be honest, I don’t know.  Although I tagged over to their blog, I was too excited to download Angles off iTunes).

Here’s the video for Letter From God.  Leave a reply and tell me what you think!  Fantastic stuff.  In the meantime, kitchen table is cluttered with schoolwork asking “Are you going to complete this syllabus anytime soon?  Will you dare include a statement urging your students to stay focused when you spent two hours drinking coffee and jumping  from blog to blog with the agitated frequency of a cricket on crack?”

My schoolwork has eyes, and they are narrowed in disapproval.

Poem for Sam Pacetti w/video

I was bumming around St. Augustine last weekend and wandered into an art gallery on Cathedral St.  The girl minding the gallery, Laura, told me about this great guitarist playing at the Renedevous Restaurant off Spanish and Hippolyta St.  This is how I was introduced to Sam Pacetti, one of the best guitarists I have ever heard.

Here’s a little poem I made up about Sam, in thanks for the great tunes heard over a few bottles of beer on a warm summer night:

Sam Pacetti

Are you ready

to roam on your guitar

For the gates are half-way open

And we don’t know where we are.

Sam Pacetti

Are you ready

The time is coming soon

When the gates will close

When no one knows

Where to stand come that High Noon.

Sam Pacetti

Are you ready

Over the clink of bottles

and the soft hiss of an opened beer

For strangers fall silent

Attentive and compliant

To what your strings need us to hear.