i think we’ve all forgot about the jet set junta but should revisit the junta. a very important song!!
very important!
Jet Set!!
i think we’ve all forgot about the jet set junta but should revisit the junta. a very important song!!
very important!
Jet Set!!
is like a really busy street.
You walk down it
and people walk by
making statements,
flashing pictures,
alerting us to their
current status.
Writing and posting that about the sunnyside up show brought to mind this article reprinted in part in The Week magazine, which reminds us that our online life – emails to tweets, posts to updates to comments – will be with the rest of the world long after we’re dead. And anyone looking in to you for any reason (curious relatives or anyone else if you’re somehow famous) will find that and only that. You, will not be present there, but this pile of information stuff will be. And they’ll draw conclusions on whatever portion they read, listen to or view. That’s it. That’s you.
I’ve heard it said that being remembered in a positive way is heaven, afterlife and . You continue then to affect life in a positive manner. You can do good long after you’re long gone.
But the post is so quickly drawn, obtuse and mostly stupid. What would anyone draw from that in a hundred years? Jeez.
Unless of course there actually is a right wing conspiracy on the set and among the Sunnyside Up Show cast replete with subliminal messages and imprisoned hosts, and then i’ll be lauded a hero and who would believe me at that point that it was all a coincidence? That’s when things will get complicated. It’s a good thing I’ll be dead.

Much has been written in high brow academic journals (as well as less seemly and “popular” publications) on the relative merits of Kelly, Sean, Dennisha and Liz, AKA the hosts of the Sunnyside Up Show on Sprout, a PBS station aimed solely at the eight and under set (and some of their parents). The set itself is a barn or some sort of shed outside of anywhere recognizable. There is, of course, Chica, the mostly mute, ever-present and obviously perched somewhere on the downside of the asberger’s spectrum sidekick, who admittedly matches Ed McMahon for useful interjections and intellectual banter. The hosts are a ragtag gang of podunk hillbillies intricately designed to appeal to the more conservative parents hearkening back to a simpler world they never knew but fully intend to eventually impose upon those with I.Q.’s in the three-digit range – also known to them as “the elite” and “the enemy.” Within their goofball banter – and even Chica’s grating chirps – are coded messages directed at, but mostly lost on, these conservative adults. The messages matter less than the empty, drooling grins the show and select hosts inspire, however.

Kelly is the obvious leader. She’s the perfect specimen drawn up in any of a number of jokes about traveler’s hooking up with the shockingly hot farmer’s daughter. Everything about her exudes the sweetness, spunk and treachery needed to capture that essence.
They even went so far as to parade this wayward teen onto the screen knocked up like volleyball at a pig roast, adding to her vixen/victim, innocent prepubescence/sexual predator vibe that so thrills the men she was designed to appeal to. The overall effect preceded and quite possibly set in motion the otherwise inexplicable hormonal response to one Sarah Palin, the Great Wet Dream of

any number of conservative males. It has been posited that Kelly isn’t actually human, but instead some sort of perfect mix of artificial intelligence and fleshy goodness, but I don’t agree. The Heritage Foundation, the conservative think tank, issued a press release recently to coincide with an award they gave Kelly for being a Great Patriot. “Kelly exudes everything conservative, God-fearing Americans love about this great nation of God-fearing Americans [sic].” She’s real all right and Ms. Palin owes her a debt of gratitude.

Dennisha is the Trojan Horse of the shows producers. By including an African-American woman, any suppositions that something wasn’t right – or maybe way too right (and white) – about the show were quickly quelled. Dennisha is also beautiful and so captures the simplistic, redneck essence that she slid past the liberals only to be the true essence of double-speak, reading children’s birthday cards, while slipping in messages of prayer over medicine, small government, and more money for the richest Americans. What has remained unknown up to now is that Dennisha is actually the love child of former Bush Administration stalwart Condoleezza Rice and a one-night stand after a night of disco clubbing. Her father has never been identified, owing to the impossibly below board nature of the encounter, and the possibility that the father is famous. A few names have been put forth: David Bowie, Clarence Thomas and P.J. O’Rourke.
Sean’s presence on the show is less easily explained. Obviously gay and no-doubt a grade school dropout,
Sean, well, isn’t acting. It was documented in an exceedingly well-researched article in Rolling Stone in 2009 that Sean is kept more or less prisoner on the set where he is led from his room to the stage, where he’s been told and so believes to a Truman Show depth that this is “where life is.” Sean was born into a deeply religious and conservative southern family (his father was a Republican fundraiser in Alabama) and raised with the belt and the bible. His parents began to see the devil in Sean when he began to have his own ideas and opinions (and realizations – one of which was that he was a young gay man) and so quickly lobotomized him, which is to what he owes his special grin. That he is gay has never been admitted by his handlers or the producers of the show, as they are known to believe that if you admit that people are gay, you might “go gay” yourself, a common misperception in conservative circles, which is why there are so many tight-lipped, well-coiffed effeminate “dads” with sparkling shoes (and terrifically unfulfilled wives) in the pews of mega-churches across this great land of ours.

Liz is the latest Sunnyside Up Show host to join the cast and so less good academic research has been conducted on her. She brings much of the same farmer’s daughter sensuality that Kelly has; the same doofus, happy demeanor of Sean and Dennisha’s uncanny ability to couch messages about Tea Party ideas and gun shop locations within children’s songs, but there’s also something else.

Liz, I put forth, is acting as a double-agent, who used all of her god-given attributes to convince the producers to put her on the show (see photo, which shows Liz coming on to one of the producers prior to being asked to join the cast). Cryptographers have shown through a series of really undeniable coded strings that Liz is actually speaking a totally different language that although they’ve recognized, they’ve been up to now unable to crack.
The Sunnyside Up Show and the four hosts have been dissected ad nauseum. There have been papers and articles and books, videos, movies, reality shows and documentaries. None, I believe, have so captured the truth and essence of this American original, this political juggernaut, this morning madness than the preceding paragraphs. I’ve spent years on their trail. I love them and hate them.

Speaking of love, now it’s on to Nina and the Goodnight Show. Methinks she’s possibly a central American guerilla working to supplant democracy with communism, or she’s an angel from heaven, with a Star that just better back off!
I’ve always suspected this to be true, and especially when we talk of absolutes in the universe – as if our tiny taste could render an understanding of the entire feast and from whence it came.
Physical laws vary from place to place.
Know what that means? Have at it!
And in a related note: humans and neanderthal did it. We walk among us.
i honestly think there should be a show by that name that features auditions or singers – older people, say, post 40 – like me who think they can sing but want to share one song that made sense to them. that blew their mind – outside the toppermost of the poppermost, possibly.
i guess not a show, because you’d have to be able to search on the artist or song lest you end up listening to mediocre renditions of songs you care nothing for. for me to, say, listen to some guy singing “diamond smiles” by boomtown rats, at least passably and hopefully passionately well, would be great tv!
shit, i’m 47. life comes slow and fast at the same time.
i would have floated many as … but i’m finally ready to say, as a music lover since day one… that what with beatles and stones and bowie and eno and japan and the vapors and flash and the pan and all their kin… the most important album what with its timing for me in high school when it really matters (your musical loves come from 16 to 26) and i can with a quick listen be transported to my bedroom at 3646 Zenith in mpls like full-on technicolor…
i can’t believe i know this, but I do. meant more to me than any other. and deservedly so. in hindsight. thank you. thank you. yours, jimmie jazz
The new year generally doesn’t mean all that much for me. I tend to make resolutions with very little, if any, intention of achieving them. They tend to be the same also: eat better, spend less, exercise more. Pretty standard stuff. But this year, I do feel a sort of Control-Z-ness to the passing of December 31 to January 1, 2011. I have a sense that maybe this is a new beginning. It’s true to all those zen enough to live in the moment, to be always present, to achieve true mindfulness, that each moment is a new beginning. The past is gone. The future is just an idea. But now, now is the beginning of everything to come.
I’m excited for everything to come. I’ve felt bored recently, with work and whatnot, but realize that boredom is not the fault of any external factors (work, etc.) but of my own approach to it all. My mind is deft and just plain silly enough that I can generally be rather entertained in a white room with but a white chair. I rarely expect to be entertained by outside sources, which tend to fail me anyway, or at least, leave me wanting so much more. To be engaged my brain needs to be engaged and it is not engaged when I’m being entertained – especially if both sound and vision are provided. This leaves my brain in an idle and merely accepting place. It’s a one-way street, and a one-sided relationship. They communicate and I listen. My brain doesn’t much like this. It gets bored.
So I’m grabbing the reins here in 2011 a bit more and seeking to un-bore myself. I want to stretch out into areas I’ve yet to go – business-wise, artistically, personally. I want to be challenged and I want to fail. I always figure that if you try and fail, it’s only a half-failure, but if you don’t try (when you most certainly should or could), then you’ve truly failed. I tend to push my ideas out into the world, but have them on a short leash. Allow some to see and hear but for the most part keep them a bit veiled, even hidden. But I resolve in 2011 to push them out further and to fail as publicly as needed. Failure doesn’t hurt; but avoiding failure will kill you in the end – slowly and sadly.
Led by the Leslie Frazier and the young Joe Webb, surrounded by Adrian Peterson, Sydney Rice, Percy Harvin, Toby?, and all the rest? Might. Definitely might.