“Miles Davis and his tinny horn, thinny horn.”  For some reason, this line has been wandering around in my mind.  Looking for a poem, maybe.  The rhythm of the words.  Sometimes with the “Davis” and sometimes without, like a little jazz riff . . .  tinny horn, thinny horn. . . At some point, Davis opted to play with a mute in his trumpet, whence the thinner, less brassy, treble-accentuating sound.  Chacun*, I guess . . .

Compare the sound of this horn . . .

to this.

See?  Tinny horn, thinny horn.  For those who dig this kind of sound, I recommend Soma FM’s Sonic Universe for your listening pleasure.  All that jazz.

Redtree Times derailed my busy little train of thought into Steely Dan the other day, only just not this one.  Another one.   But this one. (Turn that jungle music down.) What a great chorus.  Babylon Sisters, shake it!

And this one with the droll lyric and infectious beat.  Great for puttering about and putting things away. . .

One of those rare occasions when mañana falls on Friday.  Got to charge up the MP3 player for some yard work.  Been putting it off, trying to get my day to match up with the rest of the world’s, so I can get out in the yard.  It was hot yesterday (80’sF/26+C), today it’s supposed to be a high of 61 F (16C).  Rakes, wagon, gotta schlep everything to the back yard.  Find the roll of lawn and leaf bags.  Get my groove down.  Take trash out while I’m at it.

If people ask you where I’ve gone, tell’em I’m in Babylon.  Raking up stupid locust beans.


*chacun à son goût — French for ‘whatever. . .’