For my money, or the lack thereof, no Zappa character says Zappa to me like “The Central Scrutinizer,” the narrator on Joe’s Garage (November, 1979). It’s Zappa in snarky hyperbolic perfection, introducing himself as the enforcer of laws that haven’t been passed yet, and the messenger of the dangers of that horrible force called MUSIC. . .
You may own guns and you may even own tanks; but you’re gonna have to serve somebody.
Don’t expect to see a “Starry Night” 55er in your wallet—or in your lifetime; and not just because you’re poor and apt to stay that way. Money, it’s a crime Share it fairly but don’t take a slice of my pie Money, so they say Is the root of all evil today But if you ask for a raise …
With a face made for radio, we can chalk up Senator Sourpus’s electoral successes, not to the appeal of his personality, but to the professionals running his campaign.
Don’t let those punchy headlines fool you; it’s the black and white Bernie who’s telling it like it is. My twenty-one year old car is old enough to vote, and like Bernie Sanders, is time-worn and tested to go whatever distance. Like anything worthwhile it requires occasional maintenance, so it was off to Mike the mechanic today for a checkup. I …
I had the privilege of meeting David Bowie briefly during the overdubbing of his film Man Who Fell To Earth. He had wanted to make a production note, but said he didn’t have a pen. I looked around the control room, found one, and rushed it down to him.
While never really a Letterman junkie, “Late-Night” for me was usually finishing a strip while he was on, so I became a de facto regular viewer. Oh, yeah, and Dave was brilliant. Even so, the strip above was my only homage to the many hours spent enjoying Dave’s top ten things, that usually made someone squirm. People say New Yorkers can’t get along. Not true. …
