Diana Krall, S'Wonderful
Live in Paris
Thursday, July 24, 2008; Page A01
The homeowners started lining up at 4 a.m. yesterday, some, like Patricia Ephraim, coming for a second or third day.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Peel Me A Grape
I said I was a fan of jazz since I was very young. I love the late greats and the newcomers, but this is my favorite female vocalist, pianist, and songwriter. Her name is Diana Krall and she is married to the very lucky Elvis Costello, or was last time I heard.
These great photos of Ms. Krall are a little eye candy for us all. So Randal, feast your eyes and please your ears. And yes, we want a lot, don't we?
So, peel me a grape. And I just might give you my cornbread recipe.
These great photos of Ms. Krall are a little eye candy for us all. So Randal, feast your eyes and please your ears. And yes, we want a lot, don't we?
So, peel me a grape. And I just might give you my cornbread recipe.
My Early Rock and Roll Pantheon of Greats
I went looking for each of these old rockers one by one and much to my delight found them all together on this gem--sounds like it was performed in Italy from the intro and early commentary as the stars take the stage. Let this old puppy load and the sit back and enjoy the early history of Rock and Roll--too bad Buddy Holly isn't in the mix, but alas, he was gone for good. Check out the mics that don't work, the cast of "minor" players and the crowd of white folks having a very good time. Here you have: BB King, Ray Charles, Little Richard, and Jerry Lee Lewis.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Ike and Tina Turner and the Ikettes
This is the first Rock performance up close and personal I ever saw. I was walking through the Union building at the University of Utah. I was a student and cutting through the hall behind the ballroom (which is a pretty overblown name for the small space--probably seating for a couple of hundred people and this is what I heard and saw. I know this performance isn't the one I saw, but it comes damn close. I stopped dead in my tracks and listened for a moment and then moved in closer. I saw Tina singing and Tina dancing that was a jaw dropping, spellbinding experience. They were doing Proud Mary and it looked like this only more vivid and sweat flying and those amazing legs of hers pumping, strutting across the stage with the lovely Ikettes behind her.
Glade, This One's For You
In taking Randal's challenge to chronicle my tastes in Rock Music, which was not ever really my taste in music, and to wish well a secret friend of mine, I give you Queen--who my rocker friend says is the most talented group of musicians in all of Rock History. Well, Glade, I have to admit, the guy can sing, and the rest of the band's not bad either. But I still love Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters, and BB King better than I do the virtuoso white boys. Remember the saying, America, once you go black, you never go back.
A Challenge From Randal
A challenge from Randal Graves. Well, I'm willin', but I'm old and creaky and don't have your linky skills so this will take some time. However you do know my fondness for Little Feat and here they give you "Willin'"
And wait, wait, for Don't Bogart That Joint at the end. Nothing to do but listen. No video, so crank it up and go about your business. Unless you're at work, of course. Like you Randal. Me, I'll be vaporized and watching "news."
And wait, wait, for Don't Bogart That Joint at the end. Nothing to do but listen. No video, so crank it up and go about your business. Unless you're at work, of course. Like you Randal. Me, I'll be vaporized and watching "news."
Barack in Berlin
The audacity of hope is alive and well in Berlin. A crowd of over 200,000, waving america flags and cheering, stands in stark contrast to the angry demonstrations on Bush's last visits to EU Capitols. Merkel looked so happy to shake the hand and speak to the possible next President of the United States, and know he won't molest her as Bush did in his last visit.
(I had to increase that number of cheering Germans from 100,000 to 200,000)
(I had to increase that number of cheering Germans from 100,000 to 200,000)
The About to Be Homeless
"The Stock Market got drunk, and now it has a hangover" George W. Bush said at a fundraiser in Texas.
And thousands wait for relief from Congress to forstal forclosures on their homes.
And thousands wait for relief from Congress to forstal forclosures on their homes.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Might Makes Right
I am linking to the post from The team at Unconventional Conventionist for obvious reasons.
BushCo is the worst administration in American History. As John Oliver 'reported' last night on the Daily Show, "They are the biggest bunch of douche bags and assholes in recorded history!"
BushCo is the worst administration in American History. As John Oliver 'reported' last night on the Daily Show, "They are the biggest bunch of douche bags and assholes in recorded history!"
Monday, July 21, 2008
Thanks Freida Bee
From Freida Bee to me, and back attcha.
Oh how well you know me. I bow before you for this lovely tribute. And for nailing my taste to a tee.
Oh how well you know me. I bow before you for this lovely tribute. And for nailing my taste to a tee.
T Boone Pickens--Oilman
Every time I see T Boone Pickens say "This is one problem we can't drill our way out of," in his ad, I grow ever more convinced even old oilmen know the Bush years and the prospect of McCain years have disastrous consequences for the planet our economy and our country. He promises more ads to come. Shit, anyone with half a brain knows four more years of this crap and we should start looking for a revolution or a run for the border.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
The Contessa
This is an excerpt from a short story I'm working on, published in Savage Stories
Junior saw her the first day of the seminar and made sure to get a seat directly across from her. It was a seminar on the plays of Harold Pinter. Junior was the English Department's only Woodrow Wilson Scholar. He also had a special grant from the Creative Writing Department, so he didn't really need to work. He could be a TA, but why? It cut into his free time. He had a William Morris agent--had since he was eighteen. First story he wrote got published in a collection of the Best Short Fiction, 1966. He's been writing and trying to find a better place to sleep. He doesn't worry about the deadline for a collection of stories, he writes fast. But he does need a place to flop. He also needs some blow.
Junior doesn't have to say a word in this seminar. The famous playwright is teaching. They drink beer together in the afternoon. They laugh together at the foolish things these Mormon kids say in class. They dish babes. The famous playwright has a new lover every semester. He's been married to the same woman almost thirty years. Imagine that. He has a son he doesn't talk about much. The famous playwright likes to gamble.
Junior starts to think of the beauty across from him two nights a week for three hours a night as The Contessa. He starts referring to her as The Contessa. Pretty soon other men are calling her The Contessa. She is the most vocal and confident of the students. She is prepared and perfectly willing to take on the Mormon grad students full frontal. The Contessa makes it easy on the famous Playwright. He only has to get her started and she runs the seminar smoothly. Soon there is a regular Tuesday night beer drinking group that takes the seminar into the late night. She is often there, sitting beside the famous playwright. Her name is Judith, but he finds himself still talking about her when she isn't there, as The Contessa. Judith doesn't seem to see him. He wonders if she's this semester's lover. He also finds out that Judith is married.
One early afternoon Junior pops his head into the famous professor's office on his way out for an afternoon of shooting smack. But his famous friend invites him to go have lunch with him, "My treat," he says. Junior is disappointed that his high will have to be postponed, but smiles and says, "Sure, thanks."
Strangely the famous playwright takes them downtown to a nice little hole in the wall restaurant called, "The Beanery." It's packed. They stand outside and chain smoke, waiting for a table to open up. It takes almost twenty minutes. But once seated, he sees The Contessa walking toward them smiling, with menus in hand. Her hair is twisted into a loose chignon at the nape of her gorgeous neck. She is tall, willowy, graceful, olive skin, dark hair. She's wearing a long skirt and sandals with straps that wrap around her ankles. She has beautiful feet. Is she wearing a bra or not? He's not sure, and so makes a study of watching her across the room. She is flawless and usually a bit aloof, yet now, oddly warm. When she approaches a table she's smiling, she seems patient, bends over a menu to point things out. She makes notes, smiles, turns away, and the smile is gone. What remains is a fierce, strong, beautiful woman in motion. Focus is what you see when she's not smiling. She comes back to take their order and calls them by name, "Junior, Henry, who let you boys out?" The famous playwright beams and says, "It's like a visit to Greece, and then having Melina Mercouri waits on you at a small cafe." She smiles and says, "I think more Anna Magnani, but then, who am I?" Junior blurts out, "You're The Contessa." She looks at him then and says, "Junior have you decided what you want?" He leers at her and says, "I'll have a Rose Tattoo." She turns and says over the shoulder, "Play amongst yourselves, and when you're ready to order food, let me know." The smile is gone.
Junior saw her the first day of the seminar and made sure to get a seat directly across from her. It was a seminar on the plays of Harold Pinter. Junior was the English Department's only Woodrow Wilson Scholar. He also had a special grant from the Creative Writing Department, so he didn't really need to work. He could be a TA, but why? It cut into his free time. He had a William Morris agent--had since he was eighteen. First story he wrote got published in a collection of the Best Short Fiction, 1966. He's been writing and trying to find a better place to sleep. He doesn't worry about the deadline for a collection of stories, he writes fast. But he does need a place to flop. He also needs some blow.
Junior doesn't have to say a word in this seminar. The famous playwright is teaching. They drink beer together in the afternoon. They laugh together at the foolish things these Mormon kids say in class. They dish babes. The famous playwright has a new lover every semester. He's been married to the same woman almost thirty years. Imagine that. He has a son he doesn't talk about much. The famous playwright likes to gamble.
Junior starts to think of the beauty across from him two nights a week for three hours a night as The Contessa. He starts referring to her as The Contessa. Pretty soon other men are calling her The Contessa. She is the most vocal and confident of the students. She is prepared and perfectly willing to take on the Mormon grad students full frontal. The Contessa makes it easy on the famous Playwright. He only has to get her started and she runs the seminar smoothly. Soon there is a regular Tuesday night beer drinking group that takes the seminar into the late night. She is often there, sitting beside the famous playwright. Her name is Judith, but he finds himself still talking about her when she isn't there, as The Contessa. Judith doesn't seem to see him. He wonders if she's this semester's lover. He also finds out that Judith is married.
One early afternoon Junior pops his head into the famous professor's office on his way out for an afternoon of shooting smack. But his famous friend invites him to go have lunch with him, "My treat," he says. Junior is disappointed that his high will have to be postponed, but smiles and says, "Sure, thanks."
Strangely the famous playwright takes them downtown to a nice little hole in the wall restaurant called, "The Beanery." It's packed. They stand outside and chain smoke, waiting for a table to open up. It takes almost twenty minutes. But once seated, he sees The Contessa walking toward them smiling, with menus in hand. Her hair is twisted into a loose chignon at the nape of her gorgeous neck. She is tall, willowy, graceful, olive skin, dark hair. She's wearing a long skirt and sandals with straps that wrap around her ankles. She has beautiful feet. Is she wearing a bra or not? He's not sure, and so makes a study of watching her across the room. She is flawless and usually a bit aloof, yet now, oddly warm. When she approaches a table she's smiling, she seems patient, bends over a menu to point things out. She makes notes, smiles, turns away, and the smile is gone. What remains is a fierce, strong, beautiful woman in motion. Focus is what you see when she's not smiling. She comes back to take their order and calls them by name, "Junior, Henry, who let you boys out?" The famous playwright beams and says, "It's like a visit to Greece, and then having Melina Mercouri waits on you at a small cafe." She smiles and says, "I think more Anna Magnani, but then, who am I?" Junior blurts out, "You're The Contessa." She looks at him then and says, "Junior have you decided what you want?" He leers at her and says, "I'll have a Rose Tattoo." She turns and says over the shoulder, "Play amongst yourselves, and when you're ready to order food, let me know." The smile is gone.
Addictions
I have many habits--some good, some other''s call addictions, and some just plain bad. And if you don't like one of my habits, you call it an addiction. If you share my habit, you call it fun. If you share one of my bad habits, you empathize and understand, and probably share my addictions as well. I'm not saying, so stop holding your breath. My shrink reads my blog on occasion. Just often enough to scare me a little every three months or so.
I have a "fondness" for LawnOrder. Yes, I know, you have no idea what the hell I'm talking about. It's what those, with a vaguely embarrassing fondness, like LawnOrder, call it--a fondness. I don't give a damn about my lawn. But old, oft watched episodes of Law and Order are soothing to me, especially the Major Case episodes with Vincent D'Onofrio, and I never remember how they end when I start watching an old episode. Sometimes I don't even the remember how they end even when they end. Melea makes fun of my addiction to LawnOrder. She makes fun of the acting of guest characters, and she doesn't understand my thing for Detective Goren, who is my type even when he's fat and looks like he smells bad. He's my type and that's enough. I like the actor I will always know as Big from Sex and the City, but I prefer D'Onofrio. I also like the Special Victims unit cast. Mariska Hargitay is, well, sexy, let's face it, even to me, but the barely controlled and scarily cool actor who plays her partner, was once a star of one of my favorite shows from HBO. about a prison--can't remember the name of it, but it was great and Meloni played a very scary guy down in the hole.
If Deadwood was in syndication anywhere I'd be watching it like a real addict. Who were the morons who decided to cancel that? I thought it was the best written show ever. And I loves me some good writing. Great casting, too. Award winning acting as well. Stupid fucking programming executives. I think I'll write a story about a woman driven to murdering an HBO programming executive because he was the stupid little prick who decided to cancel Deadwood. I'll call it Dead Wood.
I have a "fondness" for LawnOrder. Yes, I know, you have no idea what the hell I'm talking about. It's what those, with a vaguely embarrassing fondness, like LawnOrder, call it--a fondness. I don't give a damn about my lawn. But old, oft watched episodes of Law and Order are soothing to me, especially the Major Case episodes with Vincent D'Onofrio, and I never remember how they end when I start watching an old episode. Sometimes I don't even the remember how they end even when they end. Melea makes fun of my addiction to LawnOrder. She makes fun of the acting of guest characters, and she doesn't understand my thing for Detective Goren, who is my type even when he's fat and looks like he smells bad. He's my type and that's enough. I like the actor I will always know as Big from Sex and the City, but I prefer D'Onofrio. I also like the Special Victims unit cast. Mariska Hargitay is, well, sexy, let's face it, even to me, but the barely controlled and scarily cool actor who plays her partner, was once a star of one of my favorite shows from HBO. about a prison--can't remember the name of it, but it was great and Meloni played a very scary guy down in the hole.
If Deadwood was in syndication anywhere I'd be watching it like a real addict. Who were the morons who decided to cancel that? I thought it was the best written show ever. And I loves me some good writing. Great casting, too. Award winning acting as well. Stupid fucking programming executives. I think I'll write a story about a woman driven to murdering an HBO programming executive because he was the stupid little prick who decided to cancel Deadwood. I'll call it Dead Wood.
Deadly Women
No, I''m not talking about the collection of short stories we are gathering. I'm talking about my heart monitor. The damn thing keeps going off. The first day I had it--no episodes. The first night I wore it, it went off three times. It makes a beep when it picks up an "event." Did this wake me up? Hell no. I slept through all three events. It will only hold four events, so in the morning I called it in, which loads the events on my record and then I start fresh. Yesterday during the day, I had three events, so before I went to sleep late last night (really early this morning) I called it in to clear it for the nights events. When I woke up this morning, I noticed that the connecter thingy had come loose and so it could not record my night time events. This morning I'm up to three events, and when I call the monitoring folks in Texas, I have to find out how to sleep with the thing without disconnecting it in my thrashing about in the night.
I have a friend (yes, you bastards, I do have friends) who says she'd rather have a heart attack than wear such a device. Well if we're talking a huge, life ending heart attack, so would I. Unfortunately, it's only the men in my family who get off that easy. The women all have the tiny strokes that eventually turn them into babies who shit their pants and can't speak, but are big enough to break you neck when you try to change their diapers. That is a fate worse than death to me, and short of quitting smoking, I'd do damn near anything to avoid this fate, including taking my own life. So this woman could turn deadly, if she discovers she's having those little tiny bleeds into the brain.
And on that cheery note, I'm going to start another story, where I knock off one more bastard from my past who so richly deserves it.
I have a friend (yes, you bastards, I do have friends) who says she'd rather have a heart attack than wear such a device. Well if we're talking a huge, life ending heart attack, so would I. Unfortunately, it's only the men in my family who get off that easy. The women all have the tiny strokes that eventually turn them into babies who shit their pants and can't speak, but are big enough to break you neck when you try to change their diapers. That is a fate worse than death to me, and short of quitting smoking, I'd do damn near anything to avoid this fate, including taking my own life. So this woman could turn deadly, if she discovers she's having those little tiny bleeds into the brain.
And on that cheery note, I'm going to start another story, where I knock off one more bastard from my past who so richly deserves it.
Lady Macbeth
Something to think about when it comes to Murder Most Foul:
Gail Gilmore
Guiseppi Verdi
Macbeth
Thank you Unconventional Conventionist
Gail Gilmore
Guiseppi Verdi
Macbeth
Thank you Unconventional Conventionist
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Dangerous Women Write
Well Randal, we now have twelve--as of now, a mere eight hours after I said twelve, we have fifteen stories in the collection. Ha! Take that you lazy writers! It was a little over a month ago Dcup and I decided to get this little project going. Well it's going great guns and other weapons. Are you scared yet you XY types? Well you should be. Once you read these stories, you will be looking at you wives in a whole new way. Thanks Ghost for the right song at the right time.
Dead Sound
I hear the sound of falling love
As I wonder where you are
Hits the ground with a dead sound
know you aint got far
You're too stupid and sissy like
To say that you want out
You make the eyes of a million girls
And you think you'll make them shout
Dead Sound
Dead Sound
I hear the sound of falling love
As I wonder where you are
Hits the ground with a dead sound
know you aint got far
You're too stupid and sissy like
To say that you want out
You make the eyes of a million girls
And you think you'll make them shout
Dead Sound
Friday, July 18, 2008
A Moment's Clarity
It's working. I think it's working. Life and energy, and clarity of vision.... Oh god, is this place dirty! As my focus returns, I swear there is actual fuzz. On the objet d'art, there appears to be light brown chick fuzz. No, no I'm not hallucinating, there is fuzz. And every lovely oak surface is dusty. I say this charitably. And it appears I have been eating in bed, as there is a brown stain on the edge of my top sheet that can only be chocolate ice cream. The surface of the kitchen table has smears of butter and a scattering of crumbs and is covered with a neat pile of mail--Melea brings it out and stacks it for me--She is the daughter who seems to love me best. Though it is, perhaps, the fact that she hasn't really seen me at my worst. Oh, she thinks she has, but no, no. She has not seen me at my worst.
I have friends at Face Book, or My Space or however you young people say it, type it. Whatever. Anyway, I have friends. So there Randal. Oh, by the way Randal, do you have an Agent I could borrow? We have a book that needs publishing. Na na, na na, na, na. Anybody have an Agent? We have several stories that I believe have great cinematic potential. And we have a diversity of cultures, ages, and voices. It's a really interesting book, and it's speeding to it's chilling conclusion. Among our writers we have four really great editors and that's a godsend for a good collaboration. Each writer knows what she intends to say. These are damn strong women, overworked and raising families, moving to France in one case. I am the least able editor, and the only writer who spends half her day stretched out in bed, watching any old crap on MSNBC or CNN. This is a shameless admission. Oh well.
So, aside from writing this rather manic gloat, I have changed my bed, washed my laundry, and begun the dusting. I washed two dog bed covers, my towels. Fascinating isn't it. I also got a heart monitor to wear for the next month. Just like a tiny EKG. Then I cleaned my fridge, and went to the grocery store. I thought for a few minutes yesterday, that I might have lost my apatite and would lose some weight, but sadly that's not likely. For dinner, I had three thick lamb chops and fresh, cut from the cob, Texas style, creamed corn--one of my long departed grandmother's delicacies. All in all it's been a good day. And if when you read this, it's complete gibberish, we'll know I'm not tuned up quite right yet.
I have friends at Face Book, or My Space or however you young people say it, type it. Whatever. Anyway, I have friends. So there Randal. Oh, by the way Randal, do you have an Agent I could borrow? We have a book that needs publishing. Na na, na na, na, na. Anybody have an Agent? We have several stories that I believe have great cinematic potential. And we have a diversity of cultures, ages, and voices. It's a really interesting book, and it's speeding to it's chilling conclusion. Among our writers we have four really great editors and that's a godsend for a good collaboration. Each writer knows what she intends to say. These are damn strong women, overworked and raising families, moving to France in one case. I am the least able editor, and the only writer who spends half her day stretched out in bed, watching any old crap on MSNBC or CNN. This is a shameless admission. Oh well.
So, aside from writing this rather manic gloat, I have changed my bed, washed my laundry, and begun the dusting. I washed two dog bed covers, my towels. Fascinating isn't it. I also got a heart monitor to wear for the next month. Just like a tiny EKG. Then I cleaned my fridge, and went to the grocery store. I thought for a few minutes yesterday, that I might have lost my apatite and would lose some weight, but sadly that's not likely. For dinner, I had three thick lamb chops and fresh, cut from the cob, Texas style, creamed corn--one of my long departed grandmother's delicacies. All in all it's been a good day. And if when you read this, it's complete gibberish, we'll know I'm not tuned up quite right yet.
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