Freedom's Sons

Stream my favorite Clancy Brothers record (shamefully out of print)! Or if you're short on time, just Side 2. I've got the very vinyl copy I grew up with, which made it miraculously intact through a set of twins' twin mischiefs and a basement flood to arrive in the ears and I hope memories of my own children. "Lift your glasses, friends, with mine . . ."

Two Big Ladynoses?

Deux Gros Nez is female, according to Rupert Murdoch. Had I known p'r'aps I woulda behaved more chivalrously therein. Or, of course, not.

(By the way, to the various few who've been bugging me to get with the MySpace soulsuck: I broke down after a few beers and attempted it last late night, but some glitch in it or I or both prevented me repeatedly from signing up. Thus I am desolate. Or chivalrous.)

Good bad news

An old Seattle Central classmate (and occasional drinking buddy) of mine, Vance Wolfe, recently got fired for allowing his employees to attend Seattle's pro-immigrant march. I'm late to the details, having only heard about it today, and dig that this has been widely covered . . . but better late than red, or something, particularly if it's to give a good fellow like Vance a "goddamn right on!" or its surgical equivalent.

While there's much debate in the musty back webpages of Slog about the legitimacy of a Septieme boycott, I'm all in. First, my participation's due only to blind loyalty, not to any broader consideration. (And on this note: Mr. Wolfe is not merely a former restaurant manager, but a novelist and holder of a philosophy degree--and afficionado of Serge Gainsbourg. Add 'em up and boycott!) Second, I absolutely never go there in the first place, making such an "action" more than convenient.