#elementary bloggin

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #18:

Bob Dylan's Dream / Lord Franklin

At some point in 1988 I discovered that there was music in my childhood home.

We'd grew up largely without it. I had an ancient, AM-only, dial radio at the head of my child sized bed, but that was strictly for listening to Vin Scully call Dodger games. At some point around 83 I spun the corroded dial experimentally and heard Borderline followed by Thriller. It was terrifying, and I did not repeat the experiment.

Therefore, as a child, the only song I remember singing along to was this ditty, which always immediately preceded Vinny declaring that it was "time for Dodger Baseball!"

Of course, I heard snatches of music outside our home. When Dolly, Emmylou and Linda put out Trio in 87 my mom bought the tape, shoved it into our red and white Vanagon's deck and kept that thing on repeat for years. And on the fourth of July I'd watch the annual Beach Boys Special at friends' houses while we lay about, sunburnt from head to toe and waiting for rock hard burgers off the grill. And yes, I'd sit in the park every summer and try to figure out how to eat KFC while the US Navy Brass band played. But all that music was around me, not in me.

Then, in 88, my buddy Matt's parents got cable, so MTV happened and we learned all about girls, I guess, from Straight Up Now Tell Me. By that point Buffalo Soldier, Shout, Brass Monkey and Take My Breath Away where spinning at elementary school dances and all the cool kids were bravely listening to Guns and Roses.

But I wasn't cool. I recognize this fact must be a surprise to all of you given the incomparably cool nature of this august blog and the meteoric rise of my Gordon Lightfoot musings among the cognoscenti (I have no doubt that among my legion of 14 followers cheesebot47 is Obama and dannhann is Bruuuuce while bloggin - I see you gentlemen! Thanks for my grand total of two heart emojis!), but I feel that my uninterrupted lifelong run of uncoolness needs to be acknowledged nonetheless. As proof I offer up the following evidence: my initial attempt at getting into music in 88 was buying the cassette single for Chicago's Look Away:

Yeah, definitely not cool. Even my father thought the song spewd chunks and the only song he ever sang to us as kids was Home on the Range. Baby! Look away!

So I did hear music at age 12. But my home had none to offer, and I'd yet to hear anything that really spoke to me, that shouted its way into my soul.

Then, somehow, furniture got rearranged or I opened my eyes a little wider and found a hitherto unknown cabinet in our living room. There weren't fur coats inside, or mothballs; nor did it take me straight to Mr. Tumnus. No, it was better than that. Instead, when I looked inside, I found The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan.

That's right: there was a record player in my home that I'd never noticed before, and records sat underneath it. No one had touched anything in there for a decade or more. But I knelt down and figured out what to do with it somehow and the next thing I knew I was listening to Blowin' in the Wind.

Picture me on my 12 year old knees, all 80 pounds of me watching the record spin, holding my breath. What was this noise? Why did it sound so glorious? And why, oh why, wouldn't it play smoothly?

You see, from the first moment Dylan began slapping at his 6 string and asking how many roads a man must walk down, the filthy, bruised record and the turntable's utterly battered needle refused to meld. I could hear only snatches of Blowing in the Wind before the whole thing popped and bolted and before you knew it there was a broken harmonica blast and Dylan was already telling me that he'd learned the next song somewhere down in the U-nited States. Then everything erupted again and it wasn't long before the needle leapt and dragged into full skid before thudding to a stop.

And yet somehow, one song on my parents' long forgotten and utterly ravaged copy of the Dylan's first masterpiece was largely intact and skip-free: at age 12 I joined Dylan on a train going west; I too dreamed a dream and weathered many a first storm. But Bob Dylan's Dream did not make me sad. Rather, it took my breath away.

And it still does.

I suspect each of us has a specific, elemental melody that insistently tugs at us; like an invisible tether, there's a combination of notes and pacing out there that's ineffably linked with our individual soul. Somehow, wonderfully, the borrowed melody Dylan used for his Dream is that tether for me.

Of course at that point I couldn't put any words together to describe what was happening to me when I listened. I was just fired up. What's more, I found that each time I replayed the record a bit more of it would emerge intact: the tortured needle harvested bits of dirt and debris from the grooves each time it passed through. Sure, I had to bully the record through several skips, but eventually I could track most of the record.

Next, somehow, probably at my friend Eric's, I found a blank tape and a turntable connected to a tape deck and was able to transfer my chopped up record into something I could carry around in my pocket like a talisman. There was a world of music out there, just for me. I had not found it yet, but I had a map.

And so I did what came naturally: I took the world's worst version of the The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan to my next Dungeons and Dragons game. Doing so made total sense to me. I was clearly 12 years old.

I emailed my personal dungeon lord, Jon, this week and asked him to recall what happened next. But Jon remembers nothing, which is surprising, because something definitely happened. The moment I pressed play on my brutalized copy of Freewheelin' in the middle of Jon's personally scripted orcfest he freaked the hell out, unplugged the stereo and carried my character sheet out to his dad's Weber, ranting all the while about how if I ever brought such crazed and unbearable sounds to one of his games again my character (I think he was named Illure...) would get doused in lighter fluid and would serve as a fitting holocaust to every god one could name. And Jon was true to his precociously literate 12 year old word: a few months later, when I brought not Bob Dylan but instead swiped cans of beer to D&D, Illure did indeed taste Jon's threatened flames and I was altogether banned from D&D henceforth. My buddy Jon: always totally awesome.

It's too bad about Illure. But I wouldn't change a thing.

So let's talk about Lord Franklin. Dylan openly acknowledged that he borrowed the tune for his Dream from Martin Carthy's version of the original. Let's drop the needle on the song's gold standard: Pentangle's version from their wrongly maligned Dollar Bin treasure, Cruel Sister.

Listen to John Renbourn, just above a whisper, recall his sighing dream. Bert Jansch's weary concertina trembles and pulses and Jacqui McShee's accompanying voice arches above and beyond until Renbourn finally produces the world's smallest and gnarliest electric guitar. Wow. What a song; what a version. That's my personal pulse friends; that's my tether.

Who knows how far back this melody actually goes; its primary known source, the Irish song Cailín Óg a Stór, is least 400 years old, but surely people were humming this thing under their breath long before any peer of Shakespeare thought about claiming ownership of it in print. Maybe my ever so great grandmother had some hand in its creation; or maybe yours did. I'll bet people all over the world have been warbling this melody in their own tongues for time out of mind.

Take a listen to the Carthy version that first inspired Dylan:

You can hear the song's racing pulse in Carthy's fleet picking beneath the swaying, stately melody. Maybe that tension of paces is part of the song's allure for me. I love slowly sung songs that still contain lurching threats of violence, terror or despair. Think Danger Bird or This Monkey's Gone to Heaven; think Mr. Bojangles.

Sure, Jerry's telling us his story with a smile. But he's not okay. He's grieving deeply as he sings, channeling his old prison mates' terrible loss for his dog.

Cailín Óg a Stór is a root stock that's been grafted beyond Franklin's tale and Dylan's dream. Happily, Stephen Stills' own take, a reworking entitled I Suck, remains unreleased. But check out Fairport Convention's A Sailor's Life. Hear the incomparable Sandy Denny spin that glorious melody in a new direction.

It takes some real guts to completely reconsider a song this elemental, but people are forever doing just that. Check out Renbourn's own masterful and hilarious version from the 90's. Just look at the guy sweat as he giggles then dives deeply in.

All of these examples help make Dylan's Dream particularly audacious. Forget telling timeless tails of terror on the deep; Dylan instead takes us to a scene from his own childhood: there they are, gathered about an old wooden stove, the first few friends he had. They never much thought they could get very old; but they have, they are all aged now, just like me and Jon, and all our long ago friends from 88.

Only art is timeless, Lord Franklin reminds us. Only art can never die.

Rest in Peace Sinead.

#Youtube #lord franklin #bob dylan #pentangle #jerry jeff walker #john renbourn #stephen stills still sucks #sinead o'connor

[seacollectsrivers]

traumabeard :(

#am enjoying the lads putting on an elementary school horror theatre show #ofmd bloggin

[bandit-o-s-usb]

Watching the first bit of narrative a bit ago got me thinking like "damn okay she's trans, wicked"

#usb blog #thehfhf the little kid looks so big #thsts like an elementary student #usb be bloggin #weeb posting off main

[pr0gf0x-archiveseeya]

summer camp au grandpa mutou runs the camp store and ppl are jealous of yugi because he gets to go for free. jous to poor to attend and yugi knows he has a bad home life so he gets his grandpa to pay for jou to go and jous like “im a jerk to u but u did this for me wtf???” and they become friends. kaibacorp probably owns the camp im ngl. seto and mokuba get to stay in a Deluxe cabin with air conditioning and video games and seto’s a huge snob about it. anzu and jou want to punch him in the face but yugi gets them not to because he doesnt want his bffs to get kicked out. honda the whole time talks about how he misses his dog so jou catches him a raccoon 

#the kids are all like. elementary school aged #ygo bloggin #summer camp ygo au

[tenderobject]

my dad is watching elementary at the moment so when i’m sitting on the couch Bloggin’ i get to look up from time to time and see lucy liu. It’s the greatest deal we’ve ever had

#she is like. transcendently beautiful it’s so insane to look at her

[puzzled-dragon]

but in good news our newest student basically told me I'm her favourite dance teacher ever??

#she's 13 she's been to basically every other studio in town before coming to us #she's been loving it here #tonight we were talking about goals/careers/dream jobs and I said I'll teach elementary school when I'm older #and she said 'I think you should keep teaching dance for 5 more years and THEN be a school teacher' #and I was like why and she was like 'bc that's how long until I graduate high school' #so she wants me to be her dance teacher for all of her preprofessional training??? #that made me feel really good #I wish we had more students like that #haha #dance bloggin #adela is narrating her life again

[sarcasticace]

Thoughts on Ch.2 of Home for the Holidays... because I finally got around to playing it after wanting to reset so I could call my MC Almond “Ally” Joy, but not caring enough to continue. Sort of a live bloggin’ going on here.

Warning, it gets long-ish.

So, we last left off with our BOSS showing up randomly at OUR front door UNANNOUNCED?!?! What is UP with that? I mean, he called MC’s mom first, but certainly didn’t clarify his intentions or who he was because mom thought he was MC’s boyfriend!

He has a huge pile of work for MC. A giant box of hardcopy manuscripts he wants us to read all of them... in two weeks... over Christmas vacation.... just us. For fuck’s sake, like if arrogant and boss wasn’t enough, how about unfair and soulless bastard. So fucking hot, my god *roll eyes*

That was sarcasm.

He didn’t give the other junior editors the job because he thought MC could handle it all... by herself. Didn’t even... consider splitting it up amongst them all... just... make MC do ALL the work in two weeks... over Christmas break.

I mean, he took a helicopter to her fucking hometown. He could’ve at least consider doing the same with the others... even if we know some unforeseen force will be keeping him here.

And then he asks for a ride back to his fucking helicopter? This rich prick took a helicopter here and now expects a ride back to it? I mean, ask a little nicer, please?

Fine, whatever it takes to get him the fuck out of my house even though I know some unforeseen force will keep him here. A snowstorm?

Ha! They made a jab at Twilight! Nice!

At least MC, herself, isn’t so coded in love with these LIs. It’s just all the NPCs forcing them down my throat.

Wyatt has been cool so far.

I like that PB let us choose what holiday MC personally celebrates and, kinda, what religion they practice. That’s a nice touch.

Wow, Nick is such a grouch.

Wow, Wyatt is trying to be so nice striking up a conversation with Nick and Nick just decides to be a thankless shit. I GET he doesn’t like Christmas, but seriously... can he at least try to act appreciative. 

That’s right, Wyatt. What IS Nick’s deal? Does he know he’s sharing a ride with the other male LI and had to start a dick measuring contest to impress MC? Well, calm down Nick, you don’t qualify. 

Yup, snowstorm. Rotor froze over. Poor, Charles. Why is Nick so mean to you.

Please, don’t let Nick stay over at MC’s house.

NOOOOOOOOOOO

Wow... Wyatt shares something personal, his dream about becoming a pilot and MC either flirts with him or tell him not to quit his day job: fixing HER car.

Can’t I just... encourage him or something?? Why the fuck do I have to be an asshole or pervert?

Did Mom Joy just kick Dylan out of his own room to offer it and his bed to the pilot? Wow, Mama Joy is thristy af for that pilot.

WOW! And she gives Nick OUR room, kicking us onto the couch. What the fuck, Mom?!?!

And of course my MC has nothing to say about it.

Hey, dude. I invited you (reluctantly) to stay at my place and my mom offered you my room to sleep in, the least you could do is NOT examine and critique everything in there.

Well I guess now he can HELP read all those manuscripts he DUMPED on me.

Holly Wright is drop dead GORGEOUS. 

Awww, she’s an elementary school teacher writing a book? Cute.

I enjoy the pun. Holly Wright wrote a book. Love it!

“Almond, are you sure it’s okay to tag along?”

Considering you didn’t make an appearance last chapter and only the second half of this one...yes. Yes, it is VERY much okay.

YES!!! I LOVED the scene where we get to go all big-sis mode for Dylan, fucking embarrass Henry in front of Dylan’s crush. Yeah, I’ll help Dylan win the girl. You betcha!

Okay, I will say this, I like the feeling I’m getting of grumpy ol’ Nick getting dragged around town by MC, Holly, and Wyatt and forced to have fun. More of that.

WHAT? I have to pay diamonds to go sleighing, but Wyatt and Holly get to do it for free?!

I hope that didn’t count as Holly’s diamond scene. 

Yup, it was. Chapter’s over.

#AntiHftH

[wetslug]

25, 102, and 132!

karikes supports me

25. Tattoos and piercing i want

i really want!!! really line-art-oriented tattoos (either flower designs maybe?? or geometric) on my thighs to cover up scars…i know its hard to go over scar tissue and it would be a big tattoo = $$$ so it won’t happen anytime soon. and tbh i don’t want any piercings lmao not even my ears are pierced im just not someone who likes jewelry 

102.Where would you like to travel?

right now im an Autistic Bitch who hates doing anything related to travel so nowhere pls but HEY i might improve if i was someone who loved traveling i’d go to somewhere in asia :^) im actually going to japan for christmas this yr with the fam!

132. Do you type fast?

we had to take a typing class in elementary school so i just checked online and i type 70wpm which is the 88% percentile (of ppl who took that test) so im no uhh secretary but its good enough for bloggin

ask me anything

#ask games - #karikes

[rachimming]

Blog Post #8

I hope to work within the Archdiocese of St. Louis, at one of the 27 area high schools as an admissions director following graduation. So, I looked at the Archdiocese of St. Louis' blog, Twitter, and website. Since what I want to do within the Archdiocese of St. Louis is so specific, there was not a lot of related content on the different platforms I looked at.

Their blog, called the Virtual Vestibule, consisted of several different sub-blogs such as "The Bloggin' Nun", Generation Life, Heavenly Hoops, and Pop Culture Catholic just to name a few. Each different sub-blog talks about a different topic but all relate back to the Catholic faith. I think in this way, they are able to reach a wide range of people because they can pick one or two specific topics to read on instead of just constantly scrolling through to find something that interests them. They also include their Twitter feed and links to both their Facebook and Twitter accounts on the blog page which is definitely a plus.

Their Twitter stream consists of tons of Catholic news and updates, event reminders, anything having to do with St. Louis' Archbishop, retweets of the Pope, etc. Scrolling through, there is hardly any mention of Catholic schools within their Twitter which I think could be a great downfall and they should really try to bring more attention to Catholic education on the account. I do however think their variety of posts helps to not bore their followers and rather keeps them engaged and informed.

Their website is where I think they do a phenomenal job. They have so much information about all aspects of the Archdiocese of St. Louis, including Catholic education. After clicking on the education tab on the website, they have a pretty lengthy content tab that runs along the left side of the website that you can then click a heading that will then show a drop down of all the information for that specific topic. There is a heading both for elementary and secondary education, and the secondary education heading has an admissions page within the drop down. The admissions page does an extremely great job of explaining the process of admissions for both those already enrolled in Catholic schools and for those who are not.

Overall, I think the Archdiocese of St. Louis has great content to offer on all of their platforms and they do their best to keep their audience informed.

http://archstl.org/

http://blog.stlouisreview.com

https://twitter.com/archstl

#TRCM430

[dominavontana]

Sunday Morning 2 Days Post #Fullmoonm #Eclipse #Ballbusting

Is Mistress the only one who can't stop listening to #LadyGaga since the Superbowl? Er, big game I mean. Because apparently they can charge you money if you say Superbowl now. Meh.

I'm here, bloggin with no real intention except to make a more consistent appearance.

Wana hear about what the ladies and I did last night? Goddess bless my vanilla crew. Sure finding the kink community was important because I needed a space to explore this part of myself, but it is my vanilla crew that hold it down. It is the REST OF MY LIFE  that is not kinky that actually gives me happiness because I wasn't whole until I went BACK to the vanilla life I left behind and INTEGRATED my life. Took the kink, discovered I wasn't a freak, that I could be all these things - queer, kinky, sex worker - and that regular folk could still love me. And be with me, and share with me. I don't think this is something that the occasional player can appreciate but those who have disappeared down the rabbit hole, like myself, know exactly what I'm talking about.

For years I believed that, most unconsciously, that I would never be surrounded by people again, unless they were wearing leather and latex. And guess what? Turns out I don't really like most people that wear a lot of leather and latex. It too easy to loose perspective when you spend all your waking hours chasing that power exchange. What I miss most is no the play parties filled with cries of pleasure and pain, but the private one-on-one sessions with my darlings. I never played with a sub in an professional session that I didn't adore. Mostly this is because it's real easy for a man, any man, to behave himself for an hour and a half (Mistress doesn't play for just an hour, I want more of you than that and that takes time). Of course it doesn't hurt that these men were paying a tribute. Wana kick a man where it counts? It's not his balls, it's his wallet.

Speaking of Ball Busting, that sounds like a pleasant place to end this blurb of a blog so let's do it. Let's go there. You say what? You want Mistress to kick you between the legs? Sure...but first let's rewind all the way back to the elementary playground, because that's where it all started for this sexy pervert. At least in the ball busting department.

There was this one girl. And she wasn't special or fancy she was just mean. And the boys knew it. I would hide in the shadow of the building, rough red brick tickling my finger tips while I bit one nail and winced as she nailed them, all, over and over again. Just kicking them straight between the legs. Like they couldn't run away (eye roll) and there was this one boy, he'd just take it, over and over again. 

She was brutal. This was not sexy. A fucking teacher SHOULD have busted it the fuck up. Meaning breaking the scene because it was so inappropriate. No one old enough to consent, not the time, not the place, cruel and potentially damaging. And how about abusive? Yea def that...but ya know what kids. But this kid? I fucking knew better, even then, hiding in the shadows, watching her sick performance, I was interested sure. But even I knew then, it was no the place or time.

Fast forward twenty years and I got my chance. The first phone call, the first request, "Will you do a ball busting scene for me? Will you kick me in the balls, as hard as you can?"

And Mistress instantly found her favorite way to bring a man to his knees.

Know what else I found? Another way to play with one of my most favorite elements of spice - ANTICIPATION. 

Face it, these guys are paying for at least an hour of my time, probably more (see above) but guess what you can't do for 90 minutes? kick a man in the balls. You know what you can do? 

1. Talk with him about his desire #confession #negotiation

2. Tie him up to a cross, nice and slow, while you look him in the eyes and lick your lips as the adrenaline of fear begins to wash across his face (quick note - if tieing a man up to bust his balls on a cross make sure to secure the waist and to use thick cuffs or rope because if he goes limp you do not want all the pressure on the wrists, also make sure the base of the cross is extremely secure/solid/heavy).

3. Give him a good warm up. Rub those balls, grab em, tug on em, get the blood flowing, sensation them up and the entire time - talk to him about what you're about to do. If his dick gets to hard and will potentially block your aim, because trust he wants his balls kicked not his dick I promise, grab some GD duct tape or similar and strap that thing to his belly, better yet if his hands are free, make him hold his own dick.

4. Step back look at your prey, strapped and helpless, begging and helpless, begging you to do the thing you're about to do, and SOAK IT UP. Ok, maybe it's just me but the sight of a man, leg's spread, about to get the shit kicked out of him? #priceless #delicious 

5. Pick your poison - barefoot, boots or stilettos? I like to start with stilettos, turn around lean back into your prey and lift your stiletto to poke at his sack with the heel of your shoe. Enjoy the vibration while his gasp and groans tickle the back of your neck, his hard cock pressing into the ass of your leather/latex/lingerie/blue jeans. 

6. Step forward, off the prey, turn around, ask if he's ready, ask if he's really ready? Then unload as hard you can. The chances of a woman in stilettos being able to balance and strike hard enough to do damage to a man who wants and is therefore experienced with having his balls busted? Not very likely. Unless you're just intent on doing damage and in that case you don't belong anywhere near a dungeon.

And sigh...make his thank you. Make him count. If going full strength, Mistress can usually get off three really good kicks in a 20 minute period. The rest is rest, run, delight, tease, confess, repeat. It's the best. All the begging, talking, and finally the noise they make when you connect. It's like a whump, and inhale, air diving backwards down the throat sucked up by the hole you just made in the root chakra.

My favorite? bare foot in stilettos. That moment when the skin of the top of my foot connects with the flesh of that sack? My panties are wet right now just thinking about it...

[bladeweave]

oh boy it's John Noble

#cbs elementary #cbs elementary spoilers #elementary spoilers #elementary bloggin

[ironclawallosaur]

OMG SPORTSFAN WATSON I HAVE LOVE.

#might be a liveblog #Elementary bloggin