According to the New York Times, Naked Irish Sleepwalker Wins Libel Suit.
From writer David Breland, in the Mississippi State student daily paper:
Jayson Triplett is a Starkville original. An artist that makes his way living, preaching, teaching and playing his art. Better known to some by his alternate persona, Ming Donkey, Triplett has been a fixture in town for the past few years. He is a prolific artist, creating in various mediums. Arguably, Ming Donkey’s one-man band is as much performance art as it is raucous, driving roots music.
His latest release as Ming Donkey on Ultra Low Fidelity vinyl epitomizes the one man approach. Touted as “written, performed, recorded and designed one July weekend in 2009,” the album is down-home gold. The A side to this back-woods release is “Lil’ Cross-Stitch Bitch” followed up with “Waiting On The Georgia Line” on the B side. What you hear is what you get on this recording.
Keep reading at The Reflector.
Thanks Delores, for turning me on.
Friday a coworker was singing the praises of this small-town newspaper.
“One of the reasons I love The Journal is the Cooking Corner,” she said. “Everything is soooo fattening.”
Specifically, she was referring to this recipe, published in yesterday’s paper:
2 cans crescent rolls
3/4 stick butter
1-8 oz. block cream cheese
1 cup sugar
1-2 large handfuls of mini marshmallows
1 cap full lemon juice
In a 13×9” baking dish, place one can crescents in the bottom. Mix together butter, cream cheese (room temperature), sugar and lemon juice. Spread onto crescent roll dough.
Toss marshmallows evenly onto mixture. Finish by placing second can of crescent rolls on top. Bake at 350° until brown. Cool and cut into squares. (Yields about 24.)
For better or (more likely) worse, I think this says more than I could about my home state.
We watched this last night, complements of the MSU library. It’s best to watch with a friend, so that in the early but intense conversations between John and Elisabeth and John and Abby-the-harlot, you can take turns role-playing the subtitles. Oh, the melodrama…
“After being conditioned as a child to the lovely neverneverland of magic, of fairy queens and virginal maidens, of little princes and their rose bushes, of poignant bears and Eyore-ish donkeys, of life personalized, as the pagans loved it, of the magic wand and the faultless illustrations–the beautiful dark-haired child (who was you) winging through the midnight sky on a star-path in her mother’s box of reels…of Griselda in her feather-cloak, walking barefoot with the Cuckoo in the lantern-lit world of nodding Mandarins…of Delight in her flower-garden with the slim-limbed flower sprites…of the Hobbit and the dwarves, gold-belted with blue and purple hoods, drinking ale and singing of dragons in the caverns of the valley–all this I knew, and felt, and believed.”