Rosanne Cash - Right Or Wrong (CD)
Guitar Slinger. The Brian Setzer Orchestra. Less Talk, More Rock. New Beginning. Klassics with a "K". To the Faithful Departed. Tin Cans with Strings to You. Backstreet Boys. The Great Southern Trendkill. Trouble at the Henhouse. Twister: Rosanne Cash - Right Or Wrong (CD) from the Motion Picture Soundtrack. All This Useless Beauty.
Looking in the Shadows. You've Got to Believe in Something. The Beautiful Game. Ear Candy. Everything Must Go. Manic Street Preachers. Fuzzy Logic. Bringing Down the Horse.
Chim Chim's Badass Revenge. Destruction by Definition. Gettin' It. Let It Rock. Great White. Rubbing Doesn't Help. Everything but the Girl. Live at the Budokan. Take It From The Man! The Brian Jonestown Massacre. Oh Lord! Supershitty to the Max!
Delinquent Habits. Me and You. My Heart. The Light User Syndrome. Peace at Last. One Chord to Another. Book of Shadows. Just Like You. Nocturnal Heltah Skeltah album. The Patti Smith Masters. The Road to Ensenada. Their Satanic Majesties' Second Request. America Is Dying Slowly. Peace Beyond Passion. Reasonable Doubt. Neil Young and Crazy Horse. The Reverend Horton Heat. Today Is Another Day. Songs for a Blue Guitar. Three Snakes and One Charm.
The Return of the Aquabats. Drum 'n' Bass for Papa. A New Stereophonic Sound Spectacular. The Crow: City of Angels. Beats, Rhymes and Life. Rockin' down the Highway: The Wildlife Concert. Stupid self-portrait project! The music has the right balance of electronica versus rock. Video: Combat Baby by Metric. Now you don't have to read all of the twaddle below. When hybrid mesh heads first hit the grid, aroundI'll admit I was bewitched.
Those perfectly-proportioned, exquisitely detailed faces were quite a leap from the blocky, basic avatar mesh. But, this was pre-bento, so, you couldn't alter the features in any way. Hence, the Logo Chloe always looked like Chloe, and Snow Rabbit's Nea always looked like Nea, and the personality of the individual avatar was all but lost. Rosanne Cash - Right Or Wrong (CD) you could customize them with a 3rd party skin and a bit of makeup, but you'd always be able to spot those designer heads a mile away.
I loved looking at them, but, they weren't for me. Then, bento came along, and that felt like just Rosanne Cash - Right Or Wrong (CD) thing I was waiting for. I ran from one crowded store to another snapping up head and skin demos and high-tailed it back to my skybox to indulge in an orgy of narcissistic self-discovery. Which combo defined me? Which head would give me the greatest flexibility to re-sculpt my, by then, years-in-SL face into the Runt I recognized?
Like everyone, probably, I recoiled in horror seeing my carefully-constructed SL shape bent and bloated into an absolute monstrosity when I tried on that first demo. Big forehead, tiny eyes, weird, pinched little mouth, it was terrifying.
And hilarious. But once I made peace with the fact that I'd have to commit to major facial reconstruction from the ground up to suit these new mesh heads, I slowly saw Runt re-emerge. Her sly, feline eyes. Her small, plump, smirk. The hungry delicacy of her cheekbones and chin. I was able to faithfully reconstruct her without too many uncomfortable compromises. Except for one thing I had gotten used to a plethora of tattoo layers to make her look Her face and body told a story.
She had dark circles under her eyes from a mostly nocturnal life. Her misspent youth whiled away in seedy punk clubs, drinking and smoking to excess. She had a tracery of blue veins visible beneath her pale, sun-starved flesh. She had gnarly body bruises and abrasions from rollerderby accidents.
The occasional scar or lovebite for spice. And let's not forget about the makeup! Tons and TONS of slap; loud, bright, wild streaks of war-paint meant to play off her insane outfits, her tropical-parrot dyed hair, or sometimes just a particularly gaudy pair of boots.
I mean, there were times I had her in at least a dozen different eye and lip makeups layered on at once. So, now, here I am, suddenly met with this mesh body and head which maxes out at 2 or 3 onionskin layers and, well, you can see the dilemma. Bruises or veins? Stretch marks or cellulite? Tattoos or nah? And forget about the face! Having to choose between a greasy, screaming, acid-green smear of eyemakeup tamed with a perfectly-executed flick of liquid liner, or forgoing one or the other for my beloved shadowy eye-bags was helland I don't think I'm being overly-dramatic when I say that.
I'd swap back and forth between appliers, shoving them into HUD save-slots to re-layer once they got knocked off, and I was never really satisfied with the results. She'd have her eccentric makeup choices neatly in place, albeit, a tamed-down version of them, but underneath was this disturbingly flawless skin. I didn't recognize that insipidly pretty face, and what's worse, I didn't like it. Runt was never, ever meant to be perfect. She just looked all wrong. I didn't realize how much the lack of choice fucked with me until bakes-on-mesh came along.
I had taken a long break from SL over the summer, and found I didn't really miss it. When I came back, I had a ton of projects on my mind, friends to reconnect with, and a lot of re-organizing to do, so, of course I overdosed, which only made me want to flee from it more. Until Firestorm released their BoM viewer, of course. I'll admit, I logged in with a curiosity that felt more like a sense of duty than anything truly fun.
I dug around in the depths of my inventory until I found an old skin that mapped the planes and valleys of a mesh it was never made for acceptably enough. I frowned at all the places it didn't. Areolas smeared to a pink blur. Fingers and toes with nailbeds stretched beyond all recognition. Body shading that didn't quite match up with the peaks and hollows of my physique. I cursed the inability to use my fairly recently-acquired skin that had fit everything so well before.
Mapping issues aside, the details of the face looked a bit dated, too. This wasn't going at all well. But then I found those I don't know what it was, but something about putting on these thick, bold, black eyebrows that had traveled with me over several skins, chosen specifically so long ago for their ferocity, unlocked some kind of joy in me.
That wry, sarcastic face from the past suddenly smirked at me like; 'Sup bitch? Remember me? By the time I found my haggard, sleep-deprived little eye-bags, I was gone. Way gone, daddy-o. And it was that good, old, pure love of early SL. Vintage love. That love I didn't think I'd get back, because I thought the magic was gone. The love that literally built the Dastardly Twins. Once I'd finally got Runt's baseline texture sorted out, I started exploring all those old tattoo layer makeups, and I discovered something else; cosmetic creators were really ballsy back in the day!
Some of this stuff was really out there. You know, kind of Lots of deep, rich, raccoon-eyed shadows smeared on with a heavy hand. It made me realize how conservative things had gotten in recent years. I did a deeper dive and found that a lot of the more innovative makeup designers from back then appeared to be, sadly, out of the game.
Nuuna, which offered some truly arresting costume-style makeups that covered whole sections of the face in some really intense colors was long gone, though some Rosanne Cash - Right Or Wrong (CD) cool stuff still exists on the marketplace. Glamorize, who offered super-affordable and brilliant things like modular eyemakeup kits where you could build from a selection of different colored bases and add your choice of cut-crease and browbone accent, or sheer lip glosses that painted just the center of the lip, meant to be layered over lipcolors, adding interest and dimension.
And Mock, who somehow mastered the art of creating makeups that didn't mask out the skin beneath it, yet still had amazing and intense color payoff. Not to mention how sensationally those cosmetics blended with others! Mocksoup Gravesif you're out there, and I know you are, because you randomly burst out with excitement in the group chat one day declaring the joys of BoM before I had discovered it myself, I hope you're thinking about coming back!
While my favorite Mock creation might always be her Adam Ant style warpaint stripes how I missed those! That might have been the most orgasmic of all the folders I rediscovered, I think. They're these heavy, color-rich, smoked-out eyeshadows that look a little worn-in, like you partied too hard and then slept in them.
They look a little reckless, careless, messy and dangerous. Very Runt, and punk af. I feel like punk used to be a much more prevalent fashion genre in the early years of SL. Once upon a time, creators wouldn't think about releasing a pair of Doc Marten boots or Converse high tops without including some beat-up versions in their HUDs. Tights and other hosiery always came with a ripped and shredded option.
Jackets could be found patched with electrical tape, and feathers and fun-fur accessories were abundant. And where have all the mohawks gone?! Top hair creators had whole mohawk sections in their stores back then! Is punk dead in SL? When did everything get so clean and safe? Anyway, I digress. My point is that I think bakes-on-mesh might be the most exciting update to SL in years. Shit, possibly ever! The refined physical articulation of bento was a massive breakthrough, but with bakes-on-mesh, now we can really own it.
It feels like customization is back in the hands of the user again, not to mention the freedom it gives creators! I really hope both camps take that ball and run with it. Let's get crazy! Let's get messy! Let's get weird! Look, I'm not shitting on pretty. If you want to be beautiful, be beautiful. It's nice. I'm just saying that pretty never worked for me as Runt. Runt is a reckless and untamed creature. Runt is out here flailing around on rollerskates and banging into stuff, scattering glitter everywhere and wearing too much makeup because she wishes every day was Halloween, snagging her tights and scuffing her boots up, staying up too late and having too much to drink and dancing like a maniac.
I needed her to look like it, and once again, thankfully, she can. It's good to see you, Runt, you messy little bitch! I've never read a book on parenting in my life. I don't yack to many other parents sharing stories and tips because guy's don't do that kind of shit. I've mostly just winged this whole fucking experiment for the past 8 years. I'd say anybody can really do this parent thing. Without a heavy dose of those 2 things, you probably shouldn't of gotten into this whole parent predicament in the first place.
I know I have the willingness. And this is usually accompanied by love. You might be surprised how many parents I see on a daily basis who you can just tell don't value being a parent. I think they treat it more like a job or a chore. But in reality this is a fucking privilege from god. Life's ultimate privilege. And I think my logical way of doing things works well for parenting.
I mean in theory, it shouldn't be hard to deal with someone who is clearly very simple and innocent. You are older, wiser, and more complex. You've already been through it. I try not to judge other parents in this category, especially if the willingness is there.
We all have our own methods. That saidevery once and a while something will pop up in the babe parenting journey that leaves me clueless.
For example: how in the fuck do you teach this kid how to ride a bike? Do I just take her to an open lot and let her fall and scar herself up till she gets it. Like total Concentration Camp style? Or take baby steps when she feels like it? And what do I even do when we're practicing. Clap her on like a fucking zoo monkey or try to hold her? Her bike currently has 1 training wheel.
Not because I thought taking one off was the obvious next step to getting two off. Actually it's because the 1 fell off and I lost the screw. Now with her 1 training wheel, I'm not sure if I should leave it on or take it off. The last thing I want is a 12 year old who can't ride a bike. And she's approaching that age that most kids she is surrounded by can ride one. And her training wheels wheel is at the point that she shouldn't have them it.
Do you know how? If not, are you embarrassed by this fact? Do you remember your parents teaching you how to ride one? And fellow parents who have accomplished this feat, help? Hal: Also fuck the DCSG they are satanists who hate people that have stupid ideas i'm gonna nake a few Skype accounts and harass the admins and drive my rep 2 the ground!!!!! The doors to the homeless shelter shut in ten minutes, but Caleb needed another drink.
It was Christmas Eveand he was wandering the streets of Eureka, California in a tattered and filthy Santa suit, crimson hat perched atop his head, dirty beard pulled down around his neck, a streak of vomit running down his left leg. When the Salvation Army gave him the costume, days ago—how many now? Too bad, he thought, that the racket had to end tonight. Fuck it, he was headed to the nearest bar and had a pocket full of money.
Bells on bob-tail ring, making spirits bright. Oh what fun it is to sing a sleighing song tonight. Finally managing to make eye contact with the simian faced bartender who was absent-mindedly pushing a dishtowel up and down a pint glass, Caleb waved a fiver in the air, a wry smile of what the fuck?
Red and green Christmas tree lights flickered over the bottles and mirrors and off in the corner the Ghost of Christmas Past grinned its horrid smile. The bartender nodded acknowledgment and strutted over.
The bartender got him his drinks, took the twenty, and left his change in front of him on the bar. Sipping the bitter medicine, Caleb noticed a woman a few stools down trying to draw his attention, a jet of blue smoke issuing from her cherry-red lips as she raised and lowered her thickly-penciled eyebrows. He could tell she had done her best to look good tonight: lots of eye makeup, newer, hipper-looking clothes, but he could see the age in her face, recognized her need like a bad smell.
Always good for a warm bed and a hot meal, but too crazy to spend any real time with. She slid down next to him as the grim faced bartender mixed a rum and coke, speared a lime with a tiny sword and dropped it in the glass.
What about you, Santa? They talked for a while. Then Caleb ordered a pitcher of beer and a couple more shots and they moved to a corner booth. Sandra talked on and on, chain smoking Salems while he drank his beer and sipped his whiskey, watching as the room began to spin in slow, psychedelic and nauseating circles.
Caleb put his hand to his neck, let it drift down to the dirty fake beard, and pulled the knotted grey and black mess of hair over to cover his throat. You come back to have these damn hippies spiting at you? I feel for you, sweetie. My daddy died in France fighting Nazis. Now my brother is in the Navy while this country goes to shit. You got these bastards like that dirty Abbey Hoffman saying to steal everything. And this Charlie Manson Family killing movie stars. I was down in a tunnel.
Just me, my. Looking out for booby traps and rats and spiders, and this animal. Fucking attacked me. But when I killed it, when I shot it. Just a tiny, raven-haired girl, all shot up and bloody, when moments ago it had been a beast: a mess of lurching fangs and drool.
His mouth moved up and down silently. He wanted to say, no, something in my blood: I brought back something in my blood that makes me a monster; but instead, he just nodded yes, his face a knot, visibly fighting to not break down in tears.
The room was twirling now at a breakneck speed. He was going to be sick. He pulled away from her and vomited on the floor. He fought for this country, got attacked down in one of them gook holes. What the fuck you ever done? A real piece of work, know that, Sam?
The bartender stomped up to her, eyes bulging, an accusing finger extended. Got me? You make my customers sick. Find some other place to haunt, you cheap skank. We wish you a merry Christmas. We wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. Sandra walked Caleb back to the motel room she rented by the month, holding him up the whole way while he leaned against her mumbling and pointing to ghosts she could not see.
Once they were back at her room she helped him out of his Santa outfit and got him into the tub. In the heat of the steamy water he regained a semblance of consciousness, came back to himself. When he looked up he saw her through the mist, leaning in the doorway, staring at him. She had changed and was now wearing nothing but a silk kimono. She knelt down beside the tub, ran her finger over the surface of the water. Taking the glass into his hands, he took a sip.
Handing it back to her she gave him a penetrating stare that he found hard to decipher and then leaned in to kiss him. She tasted of whiskey, cigarettes and peppermint. But it was good, the way she gently ran her tongue over his upper lip before she pulled away, and Caleb felt himself growing aroused.
The copyist transcribing the musical score and vocal coach was Peggy Still Johnson. The show went on a city U. Describing the plot, Mellencamp said, "I can tell what it's not going to be like: It won't be ' Jack and Diane ' meets Cujo. He's [King] already written the story—it's very beautiful, more like The Green Mile. It's an American story about an American family.
Some of the characters are years old, some are So that will give me the opportunity to write for each character in a different style. I ain't writing a bunch of rock songs. In a later interview he said, "[It's about] two brothers; they're 19 years old or 20, maybe 18 or 21, who are very competitive and dislike each other immensely.
The father takes them to the family vacation place, a cabin that the boys hadn't been to since they were kids. What has happened is that the father had two older brothers who hated each other and killed each other in that cabin. There's a confederacy of ghosts who also live in this house. The older [dead] brothers are there, and they speak Rosanne Cash - Right Or Wrong (CD) the audience, and they sing to the audience.
That's all I want to say, except through this family vacation, many things are learned about the family, and many interesting songs are sung. The official production synopsis reads: "In the tiny town of Lake Belle Reve, Mississippi ina terrible tragedy took the lives of two brothers and a beautiful young girl.
During the next forty years, the events Rosanne Cash - Right Or Wrong (CD) that night became the stuff of local legend. But legend is often just another word for lie. Joe McCandless knows what really happened; he saw it all.
The question is whether or not he can bring himself to tell the truth in time to save his own troubled sons, and whether the ghosts left behind by an act of violence will help him—or tear the McCandless family apart forever. A writer for Esquire magazine visited a New York rehearsal of the show in the fall of and said, "Musicals aren't usually a guy thing. John Cougar Mellencamp. Kris Kristofferson. Stevie Wonder. Tracy Chapman.
June Carter Cash and Johnny Cash. Willie Nelson. Johnny Winter. Richie Havens. I looked like walking death. Cash got the lifeline he needed from his old touring companion, June Carter, who helped him refocus on his Christian faith and get the drug addiction treatment he needed. The two were married on March 1, With his new wife, Cash embarked on a remarkable turnaround. It also provided a forum for Cash to explore a number of social issues, tackling discussions that ranged from the war in Vietnam to prison reform to the rights of Native Americans.
A critical and commercial success, the album was credited with helping to revive the artist's popularity. In earlyCash and Carter experienced more joy with the birth of their first and only child, John Carter Cash. The ensuing decade offered up more success for the artist, as Cash's music career flourished with the release of hit singles like "A Thing Called Love" and "One Piece at a Time" Inhe became the youngest living person to be elected to the Country Music Hall of Fame.
Cash continued to maintain a busy schedule, and he increasingly teamed up with other musicians. Meanwhile, he joined forces with fellow country stalwarts Kris KristoffersonWillie Nelson and Waylon Jennings to form the Highwaymen, which released three studio albums between and In the early s, Cash stepped into the studio with U2 to record The Wanderera track that would appear on the group's release, Zooropa. Throughout this time, though, Cash's health problems and his continued battles with addiction were nearby.
After undergoing abdominal surgery inhe checked himself into the Betty Ford Clinic. InCash again went under the knife, this time for double-bypass heart surgery. But, like always, Cash pushed on. A track acoustic album that mixed traditional ballads with modern compositions, American Recordings earned Cash a new audience and a Grammy Award for Best Contemporary Folk Album.
He followed with another Rubin-produced album, Unchainedand in he published his second memoir, Cash: The Autobiography.
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