A most excellent occasion.

This weekend, I hosted a grand (if slightly early) party in celebration of Himself's upcoming birthday, and some of the loveliest folks were in attendance.

The esteemed Old NFO arrived in town first Friday afternoon, followed closely by Vine and FarmGirl (bringing an offering of delectable brew from the Nerds).
Then Chris joined us for dinner and finally AmbulanceDriver arrived late. The next morning Jennifer and EvylRobot arrived, the fruit of their loins in tow. We headed out to the local greasy spoon for breakfast and ruled the roost in the non-smoking room. Then JPG and Holly arrived (deviled-eggs!!!), followed soon by MattG and his lovely missus. The party was in full swing by the time the marvelous Christina appeared, in from a hard day's slog and with a big pot of delicious chili. Somewhere in the festivities, Gneil the Gnome made an appearance and took a samurai whack at the traditional birthday cake. Kitchen bitches did oodles of dishes for me, lessening the chore load and making the cooking a little more efficient.

Fire roaring in the chimenea on Saturday night, we sat around and told stories and a grand time was had by all. Squirrels got up to mischief but managed to avoid a proper seeing-to. See previous redneck party post for details.

Great ideas were hatched and still more were germinated. Holly and I really must start our holster manufacturing operation. We're going to make bra holsters and call them Cannon Cups™. [cheeseball tag line: "Hey, guys! Check out these guns!"]... Possible alternate blog title: Sprechen Sie Bitch? Possibly a vocal ensemble is in the offing. More on all these later.

Some dear folks couldn't attend and they were sorely missed, but it was a most excellent occasion, and I thank all our friends for making the trek out to Little Town.

Sunday, Puppy Sunday: naptime cutie pies

Redneck party, 1.0

Don't be a squirrel. Don't be a squirrel and run into my roof. Don't run into my roof while I'm hosting a party.





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Re: Previous Post

...in which I stated my views on proper singing and pointed out an example of its diametric opposite...

I don't normally post my response to comments on the main blog page, but these comments so amused me that I have to point them out, lest anyone should miss them.

Joe Allen, referring to the Bette Midler video quipped :

Joe Allen said...
I wasn't looking at first - I thought the first one was Barry White with a head cold...

BTW, just saw on Regretsy some NSFW footwear for you: http://goo.gl/qTfRE

Then some clever soul offered:

Anonymous said...
Classically trained = music snob. Nobody cares about your opinion.

To which came the gallant rejoinder:

Joe Allen said...
Anonymous = cloth-eared nincompoop.

I'd always wondered what sort of idle slackwit heaves themselves off the couch to respond "no opinion" to phone polls, now I know.

I'll not bother to point out that even the most rudimentary instruction can enhance and increase one's appreciation and understanding of any art form - it's clear that you're not burdened with an overabundance of education of any sort.

I'll just ask that if you're going to be boorish enough to insult our fine hostess, at least have the decency to sign your own name to it.

While you're having a listen to your "fuzzy warbles", have a look at the shoe link I posted earlier. It's directly applicable.

I can't say it any better than Joe did, but I will add that it's giggle-inducing to think that someonone make a big production of saying that no one cares about my opinion. I am struck by the irony that they cared enough to come here and read in the first place, and will probably come back to see if I got an ouchie from the cruel words. If you must know, I chuckled.

the dividend of years of improper vocal technique: train wreck

oh. em. gee.

You may or may not know that like several on me blogroll, I am a classically trained singer. Yes, it sounds frouffy and pretentious, but it's true. I can ho jo to ho with the best of them, baby. Or worst. For reals.

I started vocal training well into adulthood, and one result of my rigorous training was that while my enjoyment of non-classical music was undiminished, I brought a much more critical ear to the table and technical failings could impede my ability to hear a piece of music for its own merits.

I always found slightly askew music appealing and now I better understand why. I adored Richard Butler's vocalisation in the Psychedelic Furs. Same with David Gahan of Depeche Mode. Now I recognize that part of their wonky appeal is that each of these singers doesn't quite center their pitch over the note they are singing. Gahan is an example of a singer whose vibrato takes them a smidge away from the tone they are singing and makes it sound almost off-key, and this is part of his charm. Butler's technique is odd with a forced vibrato and this probably plays in to his pitch issues. But I love them. My affection for their sounds are firmly cemented.

I've generally balked at so-called-popular music. I always listened to music which was often technically and generally textually superior to the mass-marketed crap on the radio. I am exceedingly fond of P.J. Harvey (who has some interesting pitch issues going on occasionally, and on her, it's smokin' hawt) and Dead Can Dance and Imogen Heap. In the spirit of full disclosure, Whitney Houston makes me want to scratch my own eardrums out, and Bette Midler's The Wind Beneath My Wings made my skin crawl in a not-good way. Bette was a great cabaret act, but the belting is not something one can sustain for a lifetime, unless you're Ethel Merman. She is not Ethel Merman. Celine Dion I can handle in (extremely) small doses (there is a little good technique going on there, but I do feel she abuses her instrument) such as a background piece of music in a loud restaurant scene in a movie for, like 5 seconds(no theme songs, please), and then that's it. That's me done with Celine Dion for the next decade. Oogy-quotient aside, Michael Jackson, admittedly, wrote some very melodically compelling music, but I never bought it and I certainly did tire of hearing him everywhere, all the time.

There are good singers, and then there are good vocalists. Very few have the felicity to possess both qualities. Bruce Springsteen? Scary voice, good singer. Neil Young? Eerie, odd voice, decent singer, better songwriter. Get the idea? Dione Warwick, great voice, great singer, but some scary vibrato issues. Apparently Whitney took the wrong lessons from the work of her auntie. Dolly Parton, good but odd voice, brilliant singer. Ronnie James Dio, superb instrument, very fine singer.

I am awed by the melodies of Burt Bacharach. Remember the Martini&Rossi ad campaign he did in the 70s with Angie Dickinson? That's just hawt. Say yes! Anyhoo, about 10 or so years ago, Burt teamed up with Elvis Costello (odd voice, brilliant singer and also superb songwriter) and they penned one of my all-time favorite songs, God Give Me Strength, which was featured in the film Grace Of My Heart and masterfully sung by (great voice, great singer) Kristen Vigard. This song is extremely complex in composition and the range is a brutal one for the chesty, typical vocal style of pop music. This is a song that 99.999% of the singers on the planet should reserve for the sanctity of their own showers when they are home alone. In the middle of nowhere.

So, on TV, in front of me and everybody, Bette Midler had to take a whack at the beehive and the result is a vocal train-wreck that made me absolutely doubt my senses. This is so incredibly poorly done that-- like watching an exploding septic tank-- I simply cannot look away. If this had been my first hearing of this song, I would have thought it was never in the same room with Messrs. Bacharach and Costello, let alone penned by them. The fawning comments below make me want to spew. I expect the link will be killed about 5 minutes after I put this up, but I'm doing it anyway. What you hear in this clip is the dividend of decades of improper singing.

Bette, honey, just stop. Please. You're hurting the children. You're hurting me. You're spoogeing up my favorite song, lady. Remove this from your repertoire. Immediately.

That is all.


Come to that, stop listening to Bette and wash the bad taste out with the version of it properly done:

What does inalienable mean?

Yes, a busy week, and I am perhaps late to say so, but I believe free speech is not just a right for protected classes like incumbents or the politically correct.

Not two whole months ago I linked a post by TJIC which I found profoundly inspiring. The link in my blog post is now dead because TJIC's blog can no longer be read, having been taken down by authorities who also came to take his guns, although he has committed no crime. Come to find out, TJIC said something on his blog following the Tucson mass murder to which certain officials took great exception.

I'm thinking of all the hate speech that is protected because the targets of hate speech were conservatives or of a traditionally Catholic or Protestant bent. A filmmaker produced a work depicting the assassination of George W. Bush while he was still president and that was soberly regarded as protected intellectual discourse. While we are on that tack, Andres Serrano's photograph Piss-Christ depicted a Crucifix dunked in a glass of the artist's urine-- again, this was regarded as free speech and legitimate creative expression. The artist said this was not meant as a slight on Catholicism but as a statement on the commercialization of their faith, but I contend he packaged it as a product as effectively as any secular dealer of liturgical accessories ever did. Bastard. Again: free speech. He gets to do something virulently offensive to myriad Catholics around the globe and be lauded as original and profound and clever. But don't you dare say anything negative-- however true-- about some backward neanderthal religion practiced by misogynistic goatherds from regions that would never have invented the wheel if someone hadn't rolled one in to them. Don't you dare criticize the anointed of our political body-- they matter and you don't, and I don't, and TJIC doesn't.

I say that is absolute twaddle. I am an American. No matter how anyone may try to twist our perceptions of the intentions of our founding fathers and the penetrating brilliance of the documents they drafted to ensure that our freedoms would endure through the ages, the truth is simple and absolute and always there for the reading.

I have the right to express my views, even if someone disagrees with me. So do you. So does TJIC. Don't like what I say on my blog? Get your own. I will applaud your tenacity and the energy you give to support your beliefs, even if I disagree with you and refuse to link you. We are still Americans.

My fervent hope is that whoever launched this attack on free speech will rethink their stance and recognize that their actions have set us on a slippery slope on which our clutching grasp will find no purchase, and then it's all over but the crying. My hope is that very soon, my link to TJIC's blog is again active.

A pair of clafoutis gone wild

I'm pretty much going to





be baking and cooking non-stop for the next 24 hours. Dear friends are on the way.
Blackberry on left, blueberry on right. *poof!*


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Taking shape in fits and starts...

I chose Minwax Golden Pecan for the stain for the living room Beadboard and I worried it might look too ruddy, but instead it just looks nice and warm, to me. We may finish this ceiling by Friday. *squeeeeee!*


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Avian rage/hot-winged victory

So help me, I'm addicted to Angry Birds.



Now that I know the back-story, well, I want to help those little birdies fight the good fight.

I have to do some of my homework assignments online...

Monday after class, Himself was rustling up some venison chili in the kitchen. He asked if he could open a bottle of red wine from the pantry to dump some in the chili and I said sure. I pecked away at my math problems online and then a brain-wave struck: wouldn't this all be better with a glass of wine? I asked him would he be so kind as to bring me a glass of the stuff. A minute later, he came in the room with bottle and glass and said, smirking, "well, alright, but I'm not sure you should drink and derive."

waka! waka! waka!!!
He had me at cornball.
*****************

Watched Dog Soldiers afterward to wash the bitter taste of higher learning out of my mouth. Excellent movie. LOVED the references to all the other films. Was fabulous. The characters were actually likeable. Oh, and I guessed immediately the chick was one of them. MM hmm. Yep. Sure did.

Oh, and Spoon is teh ossum. You've gotta love a guy who vows to wrack the monster who's about to eat him with a raging bout of loose stools.

Ya gotta die of something...

A study suggests that sleeping with pets may be harmful to humans, even resulting severe illness or death. I'm going to let this marinate a bit and prolly come back and gripe a bunch more later, but for now, I'll say my two little dogs are very clean little beasts. They are indoor pets and and are not eating vermin in my yard. In fact, they pretty much have never had fleas and they are seen to by the vet at regular intervals. If they were outdoor dogs, I might not, but I pretty much never plan to have a full-time outdoor dog.

At first blush, this looks to me to be on par with the "you can get a mortal brain infection from picking your nose" type stories. You may die from space junk falling on you as you walk to the mailbox. We've all gotta die from something.

I sleep with my dogs and have no intention to stop. If that's lethal, then what a way to go, eh? I'll take my snuggly little parasites any day.

A messy mess that's messy

I won't abuse you with the before picture -- the "After" is chaotic enough. There is a serious dearth of closet space in my house, so Saturday night I put together this closet-y thing in the space where the sawhorse table was with the tools and things that have been used for ripping out/repairing on the house. This was not the red-letter day accomplishment that the actual installation of an actual closet will be, but it is certainly a welcome and hallowed event. Can actual home organization be far behind? Hopefully not.

BTW, that other wheelie cart at the end of the room has the paint and stain cans, and yes, there are some clothes piled on top. The wood at the end of the room is the beadboard awaiting stain and then installation into the living room ceiling. See? Messy!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Sunday, Puppy Sunday: weekend pleasures

I'm given to understand that one can easily spend the entirety of the weekend on the computer, just farting around. What is that when there is such joy to be found, lounging on the sofa under a pretty coverlet and a pair of pups, a good book and a massive iced tea? I was sick this week, so I decided a leisurely Saturday was in order. The pups concurred, apparently. I think I'll go back and snuggle them some more, come to that!-

Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Yet another reason NPR should not be funded with money confiscated from us:

NPR is biased?

Qu'elle surprise! Qu'elle horreur!

Nakedly so, one afears. Is anyone surprised? Not likely.

Mosey over to Linoge's and see how it is they go about researching and booking their guests for their informative reports.

Bastiges. I want my money back. I never wanted to fork it over in the first place. Smug, double-dealing gits.