OK, well I've got it all except the backstabbing & independently wealthy bit...
I just noticed in the new issue of Opera News magazine that the brilliant operatic comedienne Miss Anna Russell died in October. She was side-splittingly funny, and her analysis of Wagner's Ring Cycle will bring you to tears, literally. I can't think of her without laughing - what a delight she was. In fact, I'm going to post another clip from her along with this one. Enjoy.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
I was just listening to Don't Stop Believing by Journey. When I was in 9th grade, my band went to Disneyland, and Journey was all the rage. I, of course, was listening to British imports and stuff that couldn't be found on radio, but I was ok with a lot of what was going on in pop and rock and roll. I even rather liked Journey, compared to a lot of the crap on the radio at the time. Still, Bauhaus, Gang of Four and Killing Joke were my thing, and I'm rather proud of having better taste than the pedestrian traffic would allow.
One heifer in my band, an obnoxious clarinet player named Rhonda, was obsessed with Journey and I'll bet I heard Open Arms about 100 times there and back on that California trail of torture. Turned me smack off Journey until about two years ago. I still won't be running out and buying a Journey cd, but at least I can hear them without my skin crawling these days.
When I was about 15, our family went to California over the Christmas holidays to see relatives. A second cousin was visiting our mutual great aunt. He pulled out a cassette tape and played what he insisted was his band doing a cover of Don't Stop Believing, playing one little passage over and over and explaining that he played a slightly different flourish on the guitar there than the original, but he did admit it was otherwise indistinguishable from the original--he was just that good. Uh, yeah. You have to wonder about the compulsive liar types - it's a little sad and a little startling that they think people are so gullible. I remember thinking what an ass he was and that it would probably seem rude if I registered my disbelief, so I just said, "ah, wow, that's really good because it sounds like Journey to me."
Anyway, he's a deputy sheriff now - isn't that comforting?
I always had a spectacular imagination. I remember one particularly mortifying whopper I told once, and to further seal my shame, I'm going to share it with you now.
Aunt and Uncle (she's my pop's sister) are incredibly industrious and put themselves through college and became educators, both eventually taking the role of principals in various school districts. They were(are) known as a formidable pair who brooked no B/S when it came to teenager antics. They were particularly sought out by school districts who had problems controlling the delinquents in their classrooms. Uncle is as nice as the day is long, but he's a huge athletic guy, and would use this to his advantage when necessary. Once a couple troubled youths in his high school who were brought to his office after some sort of fisticuff. These kids thought they were badasses and could intimidate any mere school official. Uncle told them they were going to get in line and stay in line or he'd give them what-for. Then he jumped flat-footed from the ground up to the top of his desk and did a sort of gorilla pose and said "I'm a WILD man!", all crazy-eyed and menacing. Apparently the boys 'bout peed themselves before they got away from him that day, and were thenceforth model students.
So, wait for it. The idiotic lie I told - well, gosh, this is horrid - I had to tell him something impressive about how I could relate to what a tough school he had. (I was about 7, second grade) I told him I saw one kid pull another kid's eyeball out with a stick.
Whew! I'm back. I was shaking so hard from laughing that I had to stop typing for a couple minutes and wipe away the tears. The horrors! What on EARTH made me do that? [Of course, I never saw a kid poke another kid's eyeball out, thank goodness.]
Uncle said "he did? You saw that happen?"
Me, the very picture of second-grade credulity, wide-eyed and nodding: "Yeah! It was gross!"
I remember visualizing how it might have happened, the three of us standing near the street, our backs furtively turned toward the schoolhouse and the joy-killing eyes of the teacher. Inexplicably, I remember envisioning an intestine-like 2 foot rope of viscera spooling out behind the eyeball from the void of the eye socket-- I had not, as yet, made a great study of anatomy, though I did know the neck bone was connected to the head bone.
I would occasionally tell lies as a little kid, but not usually such fantastic, impossible ones. More often mine were more the garden-variety less-verifiable kind like wiping a wet washrag over my teeth and saying that yes, I had brushed my teeth. Fortunately, I learned rather early that the danger of lying was that lies might result in a switching, and we hated those. No, indeed, if one were to tell lies and not get a whipping, one must learn nuance and subtlety and be very, very good at it. Ultimately, lying wasn't worth the mental energy it took to maintain the buttressing that kept the bad story alive.
About 10 years ago, I mentioned my lie to Uncle, about how it made my blood run cold to think that I would ever have been silly enough to utter such absolute twaddle, but he very politely didn't seem to recall it at all. I suppose my whopper seemed minor and had been crowded out of his memory by more impressive spinners of baloney.
Anyway, you have to wonder about people who never grow out of the lying thing - it's got to be absolutely exhausting, and isn't life complicated enough without that? Sheesh.
One heifer in my band, an obnoxious clarinet player named Rhonda, was obsessed with Journey and I'll bet I heard Open Arms about 100 times there and back on that California trail of torture. Turned me smack off Journey until about two years ago. I still won't be running out and buying a Journey cd, but at least I can hear them without my skin crawling these days.
When I was about 15, our family went to California over the Christmas holidays to see relatives. A second cousin was visiting our mutual great aunt. He pulled out a cassette tape and played what he insisted was his band doing a cover of Don't Stop Believing, playing one little passage over and over and explaining that he played a slightly different flourish on the guitar there than the original, but he did admit it was otherwise indistinguishable from the original--he was just that good. Uh, yeah. You have to wonder about the compulsive liar types - it's a little sad and a little startling that they think people are so gullible. I remember thinking what an ass he was and that it would probably seem rude if I registered my disbelief, so I just said, "ah, wow, that's really good because it sounds like Journey to me."
Anyway, he's a deputy sheriff now - isn't that comforting?
I always had a spectacular imagination. I remember one particularly mortifying whopper I told once, and to further seal my shame, I'm going to share it with you now.
Aunt and Uncle (she's my pop's sister) are incredibly industrious and put themselves through college and became educators, both eventually taking the role of principals in various school districts. They were(are) known as a formidable pair who brooked no B/S when it came to teenager antics. They were particularly sought out by school districts who had problems controlling the delinquents in their classrooms. Uncle is as nice as the day is long, but he's a huge athletic guy, and would use this to his advantage when necessary. Once a couple troubled youths in his high school who were brought to his office after some sort of fisticuff. These kids thought they were badasses and could intimidate any mere school official. Uncle told them they were going to get in line and stay in line or he'd give them what-for. Then he jumped flat-footed from the ground up to the top of his desk and did a sort of gorilla pose and said "I'm a WILD man!", all crazy-eyed and menacing. Apparently the boys 'bout peed themselves before they got away from him that day, and were thenceforth model students.
So, wait for it. The idiotic lie I told - well, gosh, this is horrid - I had to tell him something impressive about how I could relate to what a tough school he had. (I was about 7, second grade) I told him I saw one kid pull another kid's eyeball out with a stick.
Whew! I'm back. I was shaking so hard from laughing that I had to stop typing for a couple minutes and wipe away the tears. The horrors! What on EARTH made me do that? [Of course, I never saw a kid poke another kid's eyeball out, thank goodness.]
Uncle said "he did? You saw that happen?"
Me, the very picture of second-grade credulity, wide-eyed and nodding: "Yeah! It was gross!"
I remember visualizing how it might have happened, the three of us standing near the street, our backs furtively turned toward the schoolhouse and the joy-killing eyes of the teacher. Inexplicably, I remember envisioning an intestine-like 2 foot rope of viscera spooling out behind the eyeball from the void of the eye socket-- I had not, as yet, made a great study of anatomy, though I did know the neck bone was connected to the head bone.
I would occasionally tell lies as a little kid, but not usually such fantastic, impossible ones. More often mine were more the garden-variety less-verifiable kind like wiping a wet washrag over my teeth and saying that yes, I had brushed my teeth. Fortunately, I learned rather early that the danger of lying was that lies might result in a switching, and we hated those. No, indeed, if one were to tell lies and not get a whipping, one must learn nuance and subtlety and be very, very good at it. Ultimately, lying wasn't worth the mental energy it took to maintain the buttressing that kept the bad story alive.
About 10 years ago, I mentioned my lie to Uncle, about how it made my blood run cold to think that I would ever have been silly enough to utter such absolute twaddle, but he very politely didn't seem to recall it at all. I suppose my whopper seemed minor and had been crowded out of his memory by more impressive spinners of baloney.
Anyway, you have to wonder about people who never grow out of the lying thing - it's got to be absolutely exhausting, and isn't life complicated enough without that? Sheesh.
How to Celebrate the New Year 101
London New Year 2007 Fireworks display. This one's almost 11 minutes, but worth it. For those who haven't seen it, the big circular thing is "London Eye," a 150 meter ferris wheel on the South bank of the Thames river. Spectacular display, and I love how often you can hear the oohs and aahs of the gathered crowd. Those Brits certainly know how to throw a party. I'm glad they got to have the display despite the nasty weather they've been having. Enjoy.
London New Year 2007 Fireworks display. This one's almost 11 minutes, but worth it. For those who haven't seen it, the big circular thing is "London Eye," a 150 meter ferris wheel on the South bank of the Thames river. Spectacular display, and I love how often you can hear the oohs and aahs of the gathered crowd. Those Brits certainly know how to throw a party. I'm glad they got to have the display despite the nasty weather they've been having. Enjoy.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Happy New Year, peoples!
Since the world failed to fall apart last night, this is probably as good a day as any to talk about celebrities.
Most of you probably heard about Sean Puffy Combs' scandale de semaine in which some of his clothing line was pulled from the shelves just before Christmas when it was discovered that some of the fake fur trim was, in fact, the outer casing of an actual wild dog living in Southeast Asia. Why would anyone bitch about this? This is like an airline upgrade or bonus anytime minutes on your cellular plan - free crap! Yay!
On the table at mom's this morning I noticed a newspaper ad for Sean's fragrance line called Unforgiveable. Irony, anyone? Make mine a double with a chaser of K-Fed's new fragrance, Humility 101.
Paris Hilton's Just Me comes with a complimentary cooling cucumber balm for razor burn.
Top Chef guest Anthony Bourdain could make a musky, earthy scent called Flintstonian, and I'd probably buy that one, just for cleverness alone. His show is starting in a couple weeks. Goody.
Oh, and speaking of shows that start in a couple weeks, Rome will parade the sweat-soaked 13th Legion back across the screen on January 14th. Hee Haw. Apparently it didn't all end when they killed Caesar at the end of last season. Who knew? Between you and me, I suspect Antony and Cleopatra will get up to some mischief. Good or bad, I'll be watching. They should make an episode just of sweat drying on Titus Pullo, don't you think?
By the way, when I was about 4, I officiously announced to my mother that when I had a daughter one day, I'd name her Cleopatrice. (pronounced klee-OH-PA-triss). She probably uttered a silent prayer that I'd never have daughters.
I remain childless.
Since the world failed to fall apart last night, this is probably as good a day as any to talk about celebrities.
Most of you probably heard about Sean Puffy Combs' scandale de semaine in which some of his clothing line was pulled from the shelves just before Christmas when it was discovered that some of the fake fur trim was, in fact, the outer casing of an actual wild dog living in Southeast Asia. Why would anyone bitch about this? This is like an airline upgrade or bonus anytime minutes on your cellular plan - free crap! Yay!
On the table at mom's this morning I noticed a newspaper ad for Sean's fragrance line called Unforgiveable. Irony, anyone? Make mine a double with a chaser of K-Fed's new fragrance, Humility 101.
Paris Hilton's Just Me comes with a complimentary cooling cucumber balm for razor burn.
Top Chef guest Anthony Bourdain could make a musky, earthy scent called Flintstonian, and I'd probably buy that one, just for cleverness alone. His show is starting in a couple weeks. Goody.
Oh, and speaking of shows that start in a couple weeks, Rome will parade the sweat-soaked 13th Legion back across the screen on January 14th. Hee Haw. Apparently it didn't all end when they killed Caesar at the end of last season. Who knew? Between you and me, I suspect Antony and Cleopatra will get up to some mischief. Good or bad, I'll be watching. They should make an episode just of sweat drying on Titus Pullo, don't you think?
By the way, when I was about 4, I officiously announced to my mother that when I had a daughter one day, I'd name her Cleopatrice. (pronounced klee-OH-PA-triss). She probably uttered a silent prayer that I'd never have daughters.
I remain childless.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
MY 2006 News wrap-up
You know, I once was a news junkie, but anymore I rarely turn on that mess on the radio, and rarer still on the telly. At one time I would cook, sew or clean house and listen to CNN, occasionally stopping by the idiot box to watch the news crawl at the bottom of the screen, but I got past that about 7 or 8 years ago. These days I get most of my information from a variety of sources on the internet and even there the biases are profoundly distorting. It's rare to find just the facts, ma'am.
On Saturday afternoons, our local NPR (whose "news" these days is unlistenable) affiliate broadcasts Ira Glass' entertaining This American Life which I will turn on if I'm tooling about town at that time. It happens that I was yesterday but was surprised that at 3:13 PM NPR was broadcasting a music program. I soon learned I was listening to a 2006 news roundup by the Capital Steps, a 20-something year old musical variety group that takes popular music and re-tools it into political satire. In fact, in one song I heard Saturday, "Everything's run by Pelosi" (sung to the tune of "Everything's coming up roses" from Gypsy), one line from that is "NBC will be run by NPR." What? Like they aren't already??? Increasingly, most mainstream news sounds like it's getting marching orders from NPR, so it baffles me that astute "savvy" D.C. insiders like The Capital Steps haven't noticed this trend.
So, former president Gerald Ford died this week, and yet every broadcast of news I saw whinged on about how he was opposed to our actions in Iraq, how many angels could dance on the head of a pin, and he disagreed with what was put forward as our reason for invading Iraq. Now, I defy anyone to tell me THAT is not political haymaking-- you'd have to be blind not to recognize it. It is customary for an obituary to tell the milestone events of a public figure's life in the context of how their actions shaped their time. Well, pardon me, but I think it was more significant to note that Ford pardoned Nixon (as he should have done) and pardoned the American men who fled to avoid the draft during the era of the Vietnam war - these were significant events in our nation's history-- and offhand remarks made in an interview during a time in which he was in no way involved in US policy home or abroad simply wouldn't rate in a world where the news had a more sensible overview that didn't seek to buttress its bias. To me, to focus on this (I saw it on a news program Thursday night at 9:00, 9:30 and 10:00 at me mum's) at the exclusion of what the man DID that affected our nation is utterly ass-backwards.
If they are consistent in their reporting style, I expect them to eulogize Saddam Hussein (never may he wave) by saying he opposed new pencil-leg trousers from Prada and thought Madonna should be prevented from harvesting yet another baby from Malawi, and that, by the way, he was opposed to US intervention in Iraq so he could go about his business of exterminating the Kurdish race.
1:30PM addendum: 2 things I have to post here from the comments. g bro refreshed my memory that Carter and not Ford pardoned the draft dodgers. My bad, but I was, like 11 or 12, so I forgive myself for making that mistake. A brilliant observation from Myron was: The problem with folks detecting bias in the media is that no one sees bias when the article or programming agrees with their point of view.
You know, I once was a news junkie, but anymore I rarely turn on that mess on the radio, and rarer still on the telly. At one time I would cook, sew or clean house and listen to CNN, occasionally stopping by the idiot box to watch the news crawl at the bottom of the screen, but I got past that about 7 or 8 years ago. These days I get most of my information from a variety of sources on the internet and even there the biases are profoundly distorting. It's rare to find just the facts, ma'am.
On Saturday afternoons, our local NPR (whose "news" these days is unlistenable) affiliate broadcasts Ira Glass' entertaining This American Life which I will turn on if I'm tooling about town at that time. It happens that I was yesterday but was surprised that at 3:13 PM NPR was broadcasting a music program. I soon learned I was listening to a 2006 news roundup by the Capital Steps, a 20-something year old musical variety group that takes popular music and re-tools it into political satire. In fact, in one song I heard Saturday, "Everything's run by Pelosi" (sung to the tune of "Everything's coming up roses" from Gypsy), one line from that is "NBC will be run by NPR." What? Like they aren't already??? Increasingly, most mainstream news sounds like it's getting marching orders from NPR, so it baffles me that astute "savvy" D.C. insiders like The Capital Steps haven't noticed this trend.
So, former president Gerald Ford died this week, and yet every broadcast of news I saw whinged on about how he was opposed to our actions in Iraq, how many angels could dance on the head of a pin, and he disagreed with what was put forward as our reason for invading Iraq. Now, I defy anyone to tell me THAT is not political haymaking-- you'd have to be blind not to recognize it. It is customary for an obituary to tell the milestone events of a public figure's life in the context of how their actions shaped their time. Well, pardon me, but I think it was more significant to note that Ford pardoned Nixon (as he should have done) and pardoned the American men who fled to avoid the draft during the era of the Vietnam war - these were significant events in our nation's history-- and offhand remarks made in an interview during a time in which he was in no way involved in US policy home or abroad simply wouldn't rate in a world where the news had a more sensible overview that didn't seek to buttress its bias. To me, to focus on this (I saw it on a news program Thursday night at 9:00, 9:30 and 10:00 at me mum's) at the exclusion of what the man DID that affected our nation is utterly ass-backwards.
If they are consistent in their reporting style, I expect them to eulogize Saddam Hussein (never may he wave) by saying he opposed new pencil-leg trousers from Prada and thought Madonna should be prevented from harvesting yet another baby from Malawi, and that, by the way, he was opposed to US intervention in Iraq so he could go about his business of exterminating the Kurdish race.
1:30PM addendum: 2 things I have to post here from the comments. g bro refreshed my memory that Carter and not Ford pardoned the draft dodgers. My bad, but I was, like 11 or 12, so I forgive myself for making that mistake. A brilliant observation from Myron was: The problem with folks detecting bias in the media is that no one sees bias when the article or programming agrees with their point of view.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Recently I mentioned my addiction to glossy magazines. In recent years, I've pared down subscriptions but I still take Dwell, Fiber Arts, Ornament and Lapidary Journal.
I'm finally going to admit it's over and let go of my one long-time favorite. The relationship is dead and editor Graydon Carter killed it.
Last night I went through a couple years' worth of Vanity Fair magazines--many still inside the original plastic mailer sleeve--and I have concluded that Mr. Carter's magazine is nigh unreadable these days.
Mr. Carter started Spy magazine in the 80s with his partner Kurt Anderson. Spy was a superb magazine full of fun. My favorite issue featured a lick-and-stick tattoo of Gorbachev's port-wine stain - how could you not love that? Spy featured a vile poke-in-the-eye called "Separated at Birth" in which they would publish beastly photos of celebrities that looked vaguely similar. Drew Friedman would do an illustration every month that was something like "private lives of public figures." I remember one of these had David Byrne and Paul Simon in safari gear bumping into each other while exploring a jungle in search of some primitive culture's music to exploit. There was also "Logrolling" in which they published and ridiculed the tendency of authors to "blurb" for each others' bookjackets. It was no-holds-barred, brilliant send-up of pop culture and celebrity.
Sometime in the mid-90s Carter took the helm as editor at Vanity Fair.
Today's Vanity Fair would rate high on the list of sycophantic star-intercoursing publications that Spy would have soundly lambasted.
When I first started reading VF about 20 years ago, it was an always-intriguing collection of articles about things social and political happening in the US and around the world. There were occasional celebrity features, but it wasn't the perennial right-bashing/Hollywood stroke-fest of today. The day a new issue would arrive I would clear the decks and sit down and read the thing from cover-to-cover. Happy times.
In 2003, Graydon Carter said his one goal was to prevent George W. Bush from being re-elected. Seriously?!!! A magazine editor (Canadian, come to that) thinks he holds sway with the public in such a way? Well, GC's campaigning didn't end in November 2004, for on the front of each issue is a teaser for at least one feature story on how evil GWB is. OK, we get it--you hate the guy!-- now stop beating us over the head with it.
The features on the issue above (September '06) include "Dubya vs. Daddy: what really goes on between the Bush presidents" and "What the Air Force didn't do on 9/11." (note the italics are theirs and not merely my insertion) If this were just a personal vendetta that simply stopped with the Bushes, that would be one thing, but going on to impugn our armed forces is beyond the pale. Of course, they would say the corruption of our military comes from the very executive office, but there is an impossible-to-ignore tone of abject abhorrence for our military and our fellow citizens who comprise its ranks. [When piece-of-shit retards lambast the men and women who put their lives on the line to ensure their very constitutional rights, well, "piece-of-shit retards" doesn't quite go far enough.]
So that's it: I'm done. If there's only one article of 3 issues I'd really like to read, I can do what people smarter than me do and sit on the bench at Barnes & Noble and read the article without giving them any more of my money. So this is my little protest, my tempest in a teapot, my so-many-bit message to Vanity Fair: call me when you've fired Graydon Carter. I'm not holding my breath.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Her baby granddaddy
Speaking of Jon Voight... a photo I saw on the magazine rack at the grocery store this week of the Pitt/Jolie brigade. Imagine a baby girl - Angelina Jolie for a mother, Brad Pitt for a father - yet the child is Jon Voight made over. Almost eerie. He was kinda baby-faced. I could see her in a little Midnight Cowboy outfit.
The funny thing to me is that while I think Jon & Angelina are both brilliant actors, I've never been able to see him in her - she doesn't resemble him at all, to me. But her baby? Definitely related.
The real reason why guys won't stop and ask for directions...
Went over to mom&pop's tonight for dinner. We watched Deliverance, which I suppose I've never watched straight through. It's actually a very well-done film - very interesting.
It's funny to think about modern life, the 70s and the advent of a kind of dissociation people have from the natural environment that makes them eager to go out and test themselves against the elements. Such challenges range from climbing vertical faces of rock with no ropes, to hiking into remote locales with poor-to-no cell signal, to roughing it amongst backwoods rustics with nary a full set of teeth amongst them. In every case - the deck is stacked against you, and sometimes you're gonna lose.
Psychologically speaking, this is a brilliant film. The way they are occasionally filmed by a moving camera from a slight distance serves to give the feeling we are seeing them from the perspective of a creepy hick who wants to treat them like swine/rape/kill them. The city man who has the film-launching musical interlude with the backwood-mutant-banjo-boy thinks their harmony indicates some kind of dialogue has been struck, that he has achieved some sort of understanding with the brave old world he is confronting. Yet when the banjo duel is over, the boy turns away, autistic or simply acutely uncommunicative, not willing to go along for the ride, in any case. The Hallmark moment was just an illusion. This abrupt non-response foreshadows the urban men entering into an environment which they don't understand and for which they are ill-prepared--one that functions on some primordial code to which they have no translation device.
They were gonna need a bigger canoe.
Then consider Burt Reynolds' excessive rudeness and condescension to the locals - I commented to my folks that they were obviously setting this up so we don't feel what happened to them was entirely undeserved. BTW, I LOVED the shit out of that injury on BR's leg that looked like they's cobbled a raw slab of chicken onto his thigh - nice touch!
Good movie. Shocking to think what Burt Reynolds was then and the be-wigged, tanned-leather Vegas attraction he has become. [Hmm, who is aging nicely? Robert Duvall.]
John Voight and Ned Beatty did a great job in this film. Deliverance gets the Phlegmmy Seal of Approval™.
Went over to mom&pop's tonight for dinner. We watched Deliverance, which I suppose I've never watched straight through. It's actually a very well-done film - very interesting.
It's funny to think about modern life, the 70s and the advent of a kind of dissociation people have from the natural environment that makes them eager to go out and test themselves against the elements. Such challenges range from climbing vertical faces of rock with no ropes, to hiking into remote locales with poor-to-no cell signal, to roughing it amongst backwoods rustics with nary a full set of teeth amongst them. In every case - the deck is stacked against you, and sometimes you're gonna lose.
Psychologically speaking, this is a brilliant film. The way they are occasionally filmed by a moving camera from a slight distance serves to give the feeling we are seeing them from the perspective of a creepy hick who wants to treat them like swine/rape/kill them. The city man who has the film-launching musical interlude with the backwood-mutant-banjo-boy thinks their harmony indicates some kind of dialogue has been struck, that he has achieved some sort of understanding with the brave old world he is confronting. Yet when the banjo duel is over, the boy turns away, autistic or simply acutely uncommunicative, not willing to go along for the ride, in any case. The Hallmark moment was just an illusion. This abrupt non-response foreshadows the urban men entering into an environment which they don't understand and for which they are ill-prepared--one that functions on some primordial code to which they have no translation device.
They were gonna need a bigger canoe.
Then consider Burt Reynolds' excessive rudeness and condescension to the locals - I commented to my folks that they were obviously setting this up so we don't feel what happened to them was entirely undeserved. BTW, I LOVED the shit out of that injury on BR's leg that looked like they's cobbled a raw slab of chicken onto his thigh - nice touch!
Good movie. Shocking to think what Burt Reynolds was then and the be-wigged, tanned-leather Vegas attraction he has become. [Hmm, who is aging nicely? Robert Duvall.]
John Voight and Ned Beatty did a great job in this film. Deliverance gets the Phlegmmy Seal of Approval™.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
A while back, Sudiegirl tagged me on a Meme, but I couldn't find it in her archives, so I think I remember what it was - something like tell 6 strange things about myself.
1. I have great manual dexterity and I'm a fast typist and good at needlework and any delicate things with my sensitive little hands, but I detest the little static shocks you get when you touch doorknobs in the winter - it really hurts my fingers - so I always touch knobs with my forearm first and then slide down to my hands to get a grip and open the door. I realize this must look terribly neurotic, but the pain-- yeowch!
2. I'm not superstitious. At all. I think people who turn around if a black cat crosses the road in front of them should be dropped off the nearest tall building. Life is too short to waste time on that kind of B/S.
3. I'm a kook-magnet. I take people at face-value and I don't judge them, because I figure with my eccentricities and off-beat sensibility, I ought to understand that others are similarly disinclined to march in lock-step with the rest of society. Husband says I'm the most non-judgmental person he's ever met. As a result, I've always sorta trailed a string of oddballs in my wake - the more colorful, the merrier. As long as it is not unkind or dangerous, I admire outrageousness, and often practice same myself.
4. I don't like pizza. Most pizza, anyway. Olympic pizza used to make a Greek pizza I liked - no tomato sauce.
5. I have always hated peanut butter and jelly sandwiches - I think this is a texture thing, although I can stand peanut butter and bread together if there are bananas present.
6. I put my alarm clock on the other side of the room because if I have easy access to it, I won't ever awaken fully and I'll hit the snooze button 30 or 40 times.
Yeah, maybe this stuff is strange. Maybe it's just a little boring. I'm not naming anyone in particular - if you want to do this meme -consider yourself tagged.
1. I have great manual dexterity and I'm a fast typist and good at needlework and any delicate things with my sensitive little hands, but I detest the little static shocks you get when you touch doorknobs in the winter - it really hurts my fingers - so I always touch knobs with my forearm first and then slide down to my hands to get a grip and open the door. I realize this must look terribly neurotic, but the pain-- yeowch!
2. I'm not superstitious. At all. I think people who turn around if a black cat crosses the road in front of them should be dropped off the nearest tall building. Life is too short to waste time on that kind of B/S.
3. I'm a kook-magnet. I take people at face-value and I don't judge them, because I figure with my eccentricities and off-beat sensibility, I ought to understand that others are similarly disinclined to march in lock-step with the rest of society. Husband says I'm the most non-judgmental person he's ever met. As a result, I've always sorta trailed a string of oddballs in my wake - the more colorful, the merrier. As long as it is not unkind or dangerous, I admire outrageousness, and often practice same myself.
4. I don't like pizza. Most pizza, anyway. Olympic pizza used to make a Greek pizza I liked - no tomato sauce.
5. I have always hated peanut butter and jelly sandwiches - I think this is a texture thing, although I can stand peanut butter and bread together if there are bananas present.
6. I put my alarm clock on the other side of the room because if I have easy access to it, I won't ever awaken fully and I'll hit the snooze button 30 or 40 times.
Yeah, maybe this stuff is strange. Maybe it's just a little boring. I'm not naming anyone in particular - if you want to do this meme -consider yourself tagged.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Wow, first James Brown died and now Gerald Ford? Celebrities seem to always die in groups of three. I predict Saddam Hussein will be next. Unless the former Mr. Britney Spears wises up and makes the only dignified exit possible...
Today a couple dropped into the office without an appointment and one of them acted like a colossal bully which goes over like a lead balloon with *moi.* We take a dim view of pushy asshats who think they are a cut above everyone else, and turning me off early in a business arrangement is a mistake a few people have come to regret. As recently as 4 months ago, I thought I wouldn't still be working where I am by the new year, so I'm a little surprised. I will be pleased to get out of this particular job title and into another aspect of the industry. Yuck. Ack. Pa-tooey.
A great show I recommend you watch on the Food TV Network is Nigella Feasts featuring Nigella Lawson. I LOVE that show, and I love every recipe of hers I've tried. NF must be recorded in NYC, because the price signs at the cheese market had dollar signs. Her old Style Network show, Nigella Bites, was recorded on film in her gorgeous kitchen in London, whereas the new show is recorded on videotape, which is not quite as visually satisfying. Still, it's a stunning program, and I've learned a lot about cooking from her. For example, when you are melting butter, put a tiny bit of vegetable oil in the saucepan to keep the butter from curdling and boiling. Neat, huh?
Tomorrow night I start making the rum cakes. Thousands of rum cakes to send to all and sundry. I made 12 tiny rum cakes on Christmas Eve (pulled them out of the oven about 1:30 am), but other than that, I am horribly remiss in this social nicety. I swear I'll do better.
I really love to cook, but these days it feels like I'm spending such an exhausting amount of time driving to and from downtown through harsh traffic that I've not much interest in pottering around the kitchen, so it's dinner out or just a sandwich, most of the time. I lived in McKinney and went to school in Denton during my classical voice training, and I drove a 35 mile stretch of road twice a day. Music theory classes at 8am, and opera rehearsals sometimes lasting as late as midnight. I was physically and mentally exhausted beyond measure. Now with this drive, I feel I've slipped into another grind.
When there's no traffic, it takes me 15 minutes to drive the 12 miles home up the tollway. When there's traffic, it's more like an hour. Commuting. Meh. I should have asked Santa for that jet pack. Maybe next year.
Today a couple dropped into the office without an appointment and one of them acted like a colossal bully which goes over like a lead balloon with *moi.* We take a dim view of pushy asshats who think they are a cut above everyone else, and turning me off early in a business arrangement is a mistake a few people have come to regret. As recently as 4 months ago, I thought I wouldn't still be working where I am by the new year, so I'm a little surprised. I will be pleased to get out of this particular job title and into another aspect of the industry. Yuck. Ack. Pa-tooey.
A great show I recommend you watch on the Food TV Network is Nigella Feasts featuring Nigella Lawson. I LOVE that show, and I love every recipe of hers I've tried. NF must be recorded in NYC, because the price signs at the cheese market had dollar signs. Her old Style Network show, Nigella Bites, was recorded on film in her gorgeous kitchen in London, whereas the new show is recorded on videotape, which is not quite as visually satisfying. Still, it's a stunning program, and I've learned a lot about cooking from her. For example, when you are melting butter, put a tiny bit of vegetable oil in the saucepan to keep the butter from curdling and boiling. Neat, huh?
Tomorrow night I start making the rum cakes. Thousands of rum cakes to send to all and sundry. I made 12 tiny rum cakes on Christmas Eve (pulled them out of the oven about 1:30 am), but other than that, I am horribly remiss in this social nicety. I swear I'll do better.
I really love to cook, but these days it feels like I'm spending such an exhausting amount of time driving to and from downtown through harsh traffic that I've not much interest in pottering around the kitchen, so it's dinner out or just a sandwich, most of the time. I lived in McKinney and went to school in Denton during my classical voice training, and I drove a 35 mile stretch of road twice a day. Music theory classes at 8am, and opera rehearsals sometimes lasting as late as midnight. I was physically and mentally exhausted beyond measure. Now with this drive, I feel I've slipped into another grind.
When there's no traffic, it takes me 15 minutes to drive the 12 miles home up the tollway. When there's traffic, it's more like an hour. Commuting. Meh. I should have asked Santa for that jet pack. Maybe next year.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Thanks for making it funky, James Brown
What a fun performer James Brown was. He breaks it on down in the hoofing department at about the 2 minute mark on this clip. Lots of wisdom here: Get up offa that thing, and shake it: you'll feel better.
Why not?
Anyway, long may his funky ass wave! "I feel good" is of course, an all-time classic, but "Get up offa that thing" captures his spirit, too. I'm sorry he died this weekend, but I'm so glad he was here. Here's to those among us who are always of good cheer - they light the way.
We had a fabulous Christmas. Niece loved the herd of Breyer horses auntie Phlegm got her, and nephew was excited by the remote-control robot dinosaur. The ones that really hit it out of the park, though, were when he opened his pack of 2 light sabers and exclaimed "this can't be legal!" That's apparently a line from some video game he plays, but it brought down the house. The other top giftie was what my mom got niece in the form of a Barbie with a dog which ate little magnetic pellets of food and then pooped them out when you lift his tail. Then there's a little magnetic poop scooper. I think she played with that for about half an hour at least, before I left their house on Christmas Eve.
It was a great weekend, and so nice to have some lovely time with family. I got shoes for 3 of the 4 men at the top of my list, and they all liked them and they all happened to fit. Luck.
Lazed about all afternoon/evening on Christmas at mom and dad's watching old movies including the superb 1945"A Tree Grows In Brooklyn". I was misty several times in this movie, and tears rolled down my cheeks more than once - brilliantly written and performed - very touching. I always feel incredibly content at mom&pop's. It's very nice, too, to come out on the other side of Christmas feeling all the stress and rushing about was totally worth it.
I hope you all had a grand time, too.
What a fun performer James Brown was. He breaks it on down in the hoofing department at about the 2 minute mark on this clip. Lots of wisdom here: Get up offa that thing, and shake it: you'll feel better.
Why not?
Anyway, long may his funky ass wave! "I feel good" is of course, an all-time classic, but "Get up offa that thing" captures his spirit, too. I'm sorry he died this weekend, but I'm so glad he was here. Here's to those among us who are always of good cheer - they light the way.
We had a fabulous Christmas. Niece loved the herd of Breyer horses auntie Phlegm got her, and nephew was excited by the remote-control robot dinosaur. The ones that really hit it out of the park, though, were when he opened his pack of 2 light sabers and exclaimed "this can't be legal!" That's apparently a line from some video game he plays, but it brought down the house. The other top giftie was what my mom got niece in the form of a Barbie with a dog which ate little magnetic pellets of food and then pooped them out when you lift his tail. Then there's a little magnetic poop scooper. I think she played with that for about half an hour at least, before I left their house on Christmas Eve.
It was a great weekend, and so nice to have some lovely time with family. I got shoes for 3 of the 4 men at the top of my list, and they all liked them and they all happened to fit. Luck.
Lazed about all afternoon/evening on Christmas at mom and dad's watching old movies including the superb 1945"A Tree Grows In Brooklyn". I was misty several times in this movie, and tears rolled down my cheeks more than once - brilliantly written and performed - very touching. I always feel incredibly content at mom&pop's. It's very nice, too, to come out on the other side of Christmas feeling all the stress and rushing about was totally worth it.
I hope you all had a grand time, too.
Monday, December 25, 2006
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