Henry in Love

I have this el-pee by Henry Badowski. I think the album is entitled "Henry Badowski." I could check. I bought it for probably $2 at a used record store from some interest in it based on the sleeve alone. The huge picture of Henry's face on the cover wasn't particularly appealing (in fact a little creepy)---


---seems quite possible the draw was the name of the song I ended up digging the most, "Henry's in Love." And it's even better when you hear that it's Henry singing, in the third person, about Henry being in love.

Okay, now, thanks to the miracle of The Internet, I know the record was called "Life Is A Grand..." (though I could have gone to the living room to find out that much), and I'm about to find out more about Henry Badowski, whose song was my favorite song for a while, after I construct some hotlinks for ya'll peeps.

Looks like the Henry's label was IRS. That could have raised an eyebrow.

Now everybody listen to one or two of these, and I'll reward you with some kitten picture.

Some songs by Henry Badowski:
  .mp3 --> "My Face"
  .mp3 --> "Henry's in Love"
  .mp3 --> "Swimming With the Fish in the Sea"

In case you're already sick of that sort of music, self-reference, whimsy, and/or stuff these lesbians somebody once knew got her into, here's a (similar in that it's "blip"py?) number

from the Michigan record by Sufjan Stevens:
  .mp3 --> "Tahquamenon Falls"

(Locals, I looked---Tahquamenon Falls's way up on the UP. We should wait until Spring to make [a] pilgrimage, I'm gonna suggest.)

-+-+-

Made the bed this morning.
 

Henry in Love

I have this el-pee by Henry Badowski. I think the album is entitled "Henry Badowski." I could check. I bought it for probably $2 at a used record store from some interest in it based on the sleeve alone. The huge picture of Henry's face on the cover wasn't particularly appealing (in fact a little creepy)---


---seems quite possible the draw was the name of the song I ended up digging the most, "Henry's in Love." And it's even better when you hear that it's Henry singing, in the third person, about Henry being in love.

Okay, now, thanks to the miracle of The Internet, I know the record was called "Life Is A Grand..." (though I could have gone to the living room to find out that much), and I'm about to find out more about Henry Badowski, whose song was my favorite song for a while, after I construct some hotlinks for ya'll peeps.

Looks like the Henry's label was IRS. That could have raised an eyebrow.

Now everybody listen to one or two of these, and I'll reward you with some kitten picture.

Some songs by Henry Badowski:
  .mp3 --> "My Face"
  .mp3 --> "Henry's in Love"
  .mp3 --> "Swimming With the Fish in the Sea"

In case you're already sick of that sort of music, self-reference, whimsy, and/or stuff these lesbians somebody once knew got her into, here's a (similar in that it's "blip"py?) number

from the Michigan record by Sufjan Stevens:
  .mp3 --> "Tahquamenon Falls"

(Locals, I looked---Tahquamenon Falls's way up on the UP. We should wait until Spring to make [a] pilgrimage, I'm gonna suggest.)

-+-+-

Made the bed this morning.
 

pretty close tonight, Geoffrey

"Play an Ella ballad with a cat in the room, and the animal
will invariably go up to the speaker, lie down and purr."
                                -- Geoffrey Fidelman
Thought of another pilgrimage. There's an Ella statue in Yonkers. Conveniently enough, it's at the train station. I'm thinking drive to Yonkers & take the train into, oh, I dunno. Somewhere in New York State that's big and busy and better without a car, and not that expensive if you don't, you know, do anything that costs more money than your wrap sandwich and subway fare and a few bottles of water and let's face it a latte or two but c'mon how much is all that for Yew Nork City?

But it's little too cold tonight to set out right now, I think.

I'll give you some Ella posts later if you want. Anybody want? Ah, I might just do it anyway.

Ella's statue in Yonkers is just about as good as Frank O'Hara's grave, among other once-imagined pilgrimages never made. But I never wanted to see James Dean's. Or where his car crash was.

I knew this ailing older gay man at the community college in Baltimore. He taught me lots of stuff. He taught me "butch in the streets, femme in the sheets!" ("As soon as they're in that bed, those legs are up in the air!!") He also taught me "on the train." He was a kinda pissy, ornery fella. Probably doing gay catty, but I was only learning to recognize that schtick. It just seemed to me inexplicably hostile, beyond that he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder in general. To judge from how he went about enforcing standard English, fer instance. Anyway, he'd partied, or so he said (and I believed him), with James Dean. He wasn't impressed. Skinny little dweeb of a guy, he called him. In blue jeans.

Jim, the guy was named. [Here I had a bunch of rambling blather & cut it, but not before realizing while typing it how many queers there were at that community college. In English, in particular. Never really put that together before.]

And then there was the student I was kind of in love with. ( rest of that back here )

pretty close tonight, Geoffrey

"Play an Ella ballad with a cat in the room, and the animal
will invariably go up to the speaker, lie down and purr."
                                -- Geoffrey Fidelman
Thought of another pilgrimage. There's an Ella statue in Yonkers. Conveniently enough, it's at the train station. I'm thinking drive to Yonkers & take the train into, oh, I dunno. Somewhere in New York State that's big and busy and better without a car, and not that expensive if you don't, you know, do anything that costs more money than your wrap sandwich and subway fare and a few bottles of water and let's face it a latte or two but c'mon how much is all that for Yew Nork City?

But it's little too cold tonight to set out right now, I think.

I'll give you some Ella posts later if you want. Anybody want? Ah, I might just do it anyway.

Ella's statue in Yonkers is just about as good as Frank O'Hara's grave, among other once-imagined pilgrimages never made. But I never wanted to see James Dean's. Or where his car crash was.

I knew this ailing older gay man at the community college in Baltimore. He taught me lots of stuff. He taught me "butch in the streets, femme in the sheets!" ("As soon as they're in that bed, those legs are up in the air!!") He also taught me "on the train." He was a kinda pissy, ornery fella. Probably doing gay catty, but I was only learning to recognize that schtick. It just seemed to me inexplicably hostile, beyond that he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder in general. To judge from how he went about enforcing standard English, fer instance. Anyway, he'd partied, or so he said (and I believed him), with James Dean. He wasn't impressed. Skinny little dweeb of a guy, he called him. In blue jeans.

Jim, the guy was named. [Here I had a bunch of rambling blather & cut it, but not before realizing while typing it how many queers there were at that community college. In English, in particular. Never really put that together before.]

And then there was the student I was kind of in love with. ( rest of that back here )