Lennon at the height of his power

I've been following this delish music blog — "The Beatles Complete on Ukulele" — for some time now. These two dudes, Roger and Dave (no last names available, sorry), have set out on a holy quest to re-record the entire Beatles catalog using ukulele as their instrumental foundation.

It's quite an undertaking and, after 41 songs, they've put together quite a few winners. But what's so fascinating to me is they vivisect each song before putting it back together again, a la Victor Fronkonsteen.

Their most recent operation involves the John Lennon composition, "I Dig a Pony." It's one of my faves from "Let It Be," (and one of the few that producer Phil Spector couldn't muck up) but I never really gave the lyrics much thought. Always seemed to me to be just a bunch of Lewis Carroll-inspired nonsense, set to a groovy blues-rock riff. That is, until I read this post.

Then, after watching the video of the song on YouTube, I realized that this was Lennon at the absolute zenith of his songwriting powers — the talented but tormented artist struggling with all his anger, regret and self-pity at the same time locked in a steel-cage death match with the Beatles' astronomical success. It's a musical battle royal, over in 3 minutes and 43 seconds.

Don't believe me? Check out Roger and Dave's blog then watch this video:

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Coming soon to a pawn shop near you

The film critics are raving about "The Jock Itch Project" ...

"I still haven't watched 'Talledega Nights.' You really think I'm gonna
waste two hours of my life sitting through this piece of garbage?"
— Bill Firsttoknow, Alpowa Trombone
* * *
"Might have been slightly more palatable had it included Armenian sub-titles."
— Dail Gromit, The Village Idiot
* * *
"I'd rank it right up there with 'Used Cars.' Except no Marshal Lucky."
— Ryan Breezly, Orofino Orangutan

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Dear Dr. Zaius

Would an ape make a human doll .... that talked?
No, wait, that's not the question I want to ask today. What I really want to know is what you think of the Seachickens new unis? I thought my Oregon Ducks had set the mark for ugliest jerseys ever, particularly with those ridiculous feathers on their shoulders (ooh, scary), but Seattle's lime-green offerings are truly hideous. What say you, oh wise one?
Your friend in apeness,
Cornelius

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Coming soon to a pawn shop near you

Theme from "Starsky & Hutch"

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Unleash the morons!

The Great Gray Wolf Massacree is on, and we here at Blog My Rabbit are pleased to announce a value-added feature — the Big Not-So-Bad Wolf on Twitter.

If you look to your right, you'll see at the top of the rail a feed from Biggie's Twitter page (here's the link to the page itself). Anticipating the blood lust generated by the reintroduction of hunting gray wolves in the Western United States, we've contracted with one of these majestic but misunderstood creatures to provide BMR readers the kind of insight only periodic 140-word cyberblatherings can provide.

So, look for frequent tweets from Biggie Dub, at least until he runs afoul of the heavily armed human militia that is, as we speak, tromping through the Idaho wilderness in a quest to bring back his mottled hide.

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Coming soon to a pawn shop near you

"Love Theme from 'The Codfather'"

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Those dastardly health reformers

Are you getting as fed up with all the fabricated anger that's being circulated in America these days? I know I am. In fact, it's really starting to piss me off.

All I can say is, if the conservatives behind this horseshit aren't careful, they're going to unleash a serious case of Monkey Time.

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The Top 10 Things We'll Miss About Jimmy B

After 17 years, numerous batches of Yucca shook and countless nicknames dished out, Jim Brewitt has left the Trombone. As he gets all Perry Mason-ed out in Motown, the void he leaves behind on Capital Street is huge.

Here then are the top 10 things the Trombone will miss about its acerbic former sports editor:

10. His patient and tactful dealings with cheerleading coaches.

9. Stories about his misadventures with Bad-Ass Jesus. (And there goes our one celebrity connection!)

8. His work as psychologist/spiritual adviser/hostage negotiator with a certain highly successful area baseball coach.

7. Who the hell is going to pick up the tab when it's time to get our drink on?

6. Every time he ventured over to the Clarkston Albertsons, there was sure to be a new tale about the dark underbelly of Mud Flats society.

5. His steadfast insistence that Dale pronounced a baggie of weed found in the women's rest room "seedy" back in 1994.

4. Might as well throw the thesaurus out right now.

3. His greatest accomplishment as sports editor: taking the Blazer out to pasture and smashing his skull with a metaphoric shovel.

2. Now when someone asks who played comanche No. 3 in "The Searchers," the rest of us won't be bothered by the answer because there will be none.

1. Back hair.

"Talk to Ya Later" — The Tubes

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Dope ring busted by narc sportswriter

By AL LEDGEDLY
BMR True Crime reporter

An undercover cop posing as a sportswriter for the local daily newspaper has brought down an infamous dope ring that had been terrorizing Abnormal Hill and other sections of the valley with their late-night debauchery and careless use of the English language.

Matt Breech, a latter-day Serpico, spent nearly four years infiltrating the Bitchandmoan Gang, culminating in the bust Sunday night of its leaders at their downtown hideout. Taken into custody were James "Pro Tanto" Brewitt, Brian "The Chimp" Sneezely and "Cactus" Matt Baynee, on charges of nicknaming without a permit, blogging while on company time and diluting the gene pool.

The three are being held on separate $25 keg deposits.

"These guys were some of the biggest dopes we've ever busted," said Idaho State Police Capt. Roman "Bull" Shite, estimating their street value at $3.56, or about what it costs for a six-pack of Keystone Ice Light. "Sgt. Breech is to be highly commended for getting these clowns out of circulation."

Breech, a seven-year law enforcement veteran, described going undercover as a sportswriter as the most challenging assignment of his career. While it didn't take him long to ingratiate himself with the dope ring, it did take him a while to figure out how to use a thesaurus as he began building an air-tight case against the gangsters.

"At first, they weren't committing any serious felonies, just annoying their co-workers and generally being obnoxious, so I had to be patient," Breech said. "I finally nailed them after they threw a perfectly good color television set that didn't belong to them off the roof of their clubhouse during one of their late-night dope-fests. That's what'll send them up river for a while."

Asked what was his next assignment might be, Breech said that, with his cover now blown, he would probably be pushing pencils in the Boise office of the ISP for a while.

"But there's always something afoot out there that needs police attention. I understand there's a booming black market in magic underwear in the Treasure Valley."

"Stupidly Happy" - XTC

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What kind of brew would you do?

The Prez unveiled his beer-as-emollient brand of diplomacy Thursday night, sucking suds with Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates and Cambridge, Mass., cop James Crowley (and, of course, the Veep, Joe Biden). Apparently it all went well and they seemed to iron out — or at least paper over — their differences. Racism, like the recession, is officially over in America.

The big question back here in BMR Nation, though, was this: What kind of brew did the participants do? One's choice of beer says volumes about that person, of course, and those of us firmly ensconced at the Alpowa world headquarters were extremely curious to learn what each dude was imbibing. Fortunately, the AP was on the ball enough to provide that vital information. Here's the breakdown:

Obama, perhaps realizing that bridging the country's racial divide could involve a long night of heavy drinking, went with Bud Light. No word on how many Bud Lights he needed to get through the evening.

Biden, possibly not wanting to have to drink with his foot deeper in his mouth, chose Buckler, a non-alcoholic brand.

Gates, showing off his old-school Harvard pedigree, went with Samuel Adams Light. And because, well, picking St. Pauli Girl would be sending the wrong message to Redneck America.

And Crowly, no doubt signaling how a drunken cop would most want to respond to his legion of bleeding-heart critics, opted for Blue Moon.

I have to say I was disappointed in El Jefe's choice of beers — Bud Light may be less filling, but it's only slightly more flavorful that warm spit. And don't even get me started on its weak sister, Coors.

At any rate, if I were ever invited to get my drink on at the White House, I would choose, strictly for nostalgic reasons, the ever-popular Rainier. The beverage of my youth, the elixir that got me through 5½ years of college, a liquid badge of honor for those of us Pacific Northwesterners who remember when Idaho's legal drinking threshold was a tender 19 years of age. Of course, they don't make the authentic stuff anymore, but even a faux Rainier would be my shout-out to all the homies in BMR Nation.

Regardless or what kind of grain cereal malt beverage we would be ingesting at this make-believe soiree, a half-rack later, I'd be looking for a snowbank to pass out in.

"Chug-a-lug" — Roger Miller

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