I just realized that at some point in the AFTG x GBBO xover there is absolutely a moment where Noel asks if Andrew is intimidated by Paul Hollywood’s blue eyes.
Andrew just stares at him until Noel leaves.
In an aside afterwards he just says, “I’ve seen bluer.” with his arms crossed.
I’m beyond bored at work, and instead of listening to this teams meeting (that should have been an email) I’m thinking about what colour tapes I want to buy to make little tabs for my notebook that I use to write all my hc and ideas, organising them by ghoul, so I can easily find them (and also see what I already know, that I have a preference for writing about certain ghouls over others)
My buddy Alex has a podcast, and a few years ago I was listening to an episode where a bunch of people I know in real life were talking about who the greatest band of all time is. After virtually no debate they collectively settled on Steely Dan. If this conversation had taken place while we were all sitting around at a bar, I would’ve stomped off shaking my head (at least for a smoke, if not the night). Smug fuckin’ smooth jazz-ass Steely Dan! Yacht rock. Imagine me, wet eyed and sneezing angrily like a dog with pepper in its nose.
I ended up talking with Alex about it, and my complaint went something like, “I only like cynicism in music when it’s a result of the songwriter’s pain. Steely Dan seem to genuinely think most people are losers.” Alex didn’t contest the point. “Yeah, it’s great. It’s music for doing cocaine on a speedboat with small-breasted women.” Their music sounds as plush and elegant as coke confidence feels, even though the psychically-balding people they describe are sweating through their leisure suits. It’s funny—I love Elmore Leonard novels about these exact characters, and I’m easy enough to get going about music that’s “subversive” in its disjunction of form from content. Plus, could there be a more "my wife left me" band this? But Steely Dan as your favourite band... ah, I dunno. They sound simultaneously corny in a way I feel contemptuous of, and cool in a way I feel resentful of. That podcast was like someone kicking in my door to tell me the Doobie Brothers have become the zombified host of a parasitic worm wearing Ray Bans aviators and now they’re really good.
youtube
Shit, reading back that statement I want to like that! That seems fun! Anyway, Aja sounds extremely good, “Peg” is a miraculous little song, and the thought of Fagan and Becker torturing Michael McDonald in the studio brings a smile to my face. There’s nothing wrong with this record that killing the remaining sincerity within myself won’t improve.
This is the day of the expanding man. That shape is my shade, there where I used to stand. It seems like only yesterday I gazed through the glass at ramblers; wild gamblers. That's all in the past. You call me a fool, you say it's a crazy scheme. This one's for real, I already bought the dream. So useless to ask me why - throw a kiss, and say goodbye. I'm ready this time. I'm ready to cross that fine line. Learn to work the saxophone - I play just what I feel. Drink scotch whisky all night long, and die behind the wheel. They got a name for the winners in the world; I want a name when I lose. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide. Call me Deacon Blues, Deacon Blues. My back to the wall, a victim of laughing chance. This is, for me, the essence of true romance - sharing the things we know and love with those of my kind: libations, sensations that stagger the mind. I crawl like a viper through these
SUBUUUUUUUUURBAN
streets - make love to these women, both languid and bittersweet. I'll rise when the sun goes down, cover every game in town. A world of my own - I'll make it my home sweet home. Learn to work the saxophone - I play just what I feel. Drink scotch whisky all night long, and die behind the wheel. They got a name for the winners in the world; I want a name when I lose. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide. Call me Deacon Blues, Deacon Blues. This is the night of the expanding man. I take one last drag as I approach the stand. I cried when I wrote this song; sue me if I play too long. This brother is free. I'll be what I want to be. I'll learn to work the saxophone - I'll play just what I feel. Drink scotch whisky all night long, and die behind the wheel. They got a name for the winners in the world; I want a name when I lose. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide. Call me Deacon Blues, Deacon Blues.
The year and 10 month tardy follow up/Part 2 to “It’s a Snide Keyboard Player Thing!” https://northwestofinsanity.tumblr.com/post/679208178492342272/its-a-snide-keyboard-player-thing-pt-1-i#notes (Part 1 here for further background)
Featuring Allen Lanier, Donald Fagen, Neal Doughty, and Rick Davies. Their dry, snarky humor seems to be accompanied quite often in video interviews (or the occasional still photo I can find of Donald) by a common, frequent gesture of a loose shrug and slinging of hands off to the side -sometimes a bit more emphasized with passionate topics
(First set is a little more resemblance-bearing like with Part 1’s pictures, and the bottom, smaller set are miscellaneous ones I found while capturing moments in videos that are too good to die in my camera roll)