The Song: "Rulers, Ruling All Things." Words & music by Midlake (Paul Alexander, Eric Nichelson, Eric Pulido, Mckenzie Smith and Tim Smith). Track 6 of The Courage of Others, 2010
When/how acquired: Purchased MP3, 2010
Listen/watch here.
I don't quite know what the words of this song mean, but they felt more than appropriate for me today, as I worked quite hard on a number of things and finished nothing. With luck, everything will be finished at once, sometime between now and Friday.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
"Let the other forty million, three hundred and seven/People who want to get famous."
The Song: "Mr. Sellack," The Roches. Words and music by Terre Roche. Track 3 of The Roches, 1979.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1987
Listen/watch here.
Last night I turned on the TV when I couldn't work any more, and found absolutely nothing to watch. No baseball, because of the Home Run Derby; none of the usual Monday night shows, because it's summertime. Instead, I had my choice of reality-based shows. I did not want to watch "The Bachelorette." I did not want to watch "America's Got Talent." I did not want to watch "Celebrity Chef Housewives of Peoria." I wasn't even in the mood for the series return of "No Reservations," although that's one of the few reality-based shows I do watch.
I wanted a story. I wound up ordering Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I on demand, because friends invited me to come along to the midnight show of Part II on Thursday. Most of what I watch on TV these days is movies, in fact -- not pay-per-view but Turner Classic Movies, the Sundance Channel, and the odd films that pop up on the Ovation network. I want to watch people pretending to be other people, not pretending to be themselves.
Something about that desperate desire to be on television breaks my heart. Are people so small, in their lives, in their worlds, that they need to be on TV just to prove to themselves that they exist? Do people think that being on television will turn them into something that they're not? I suspect they do. Of course, being on one of those shows does change them. For one thing, those shows need conflict to attract viewers, so I have no doubt that people being filmed look for opportunities to create that conflict. More conflict means more camera time -- more camera time that shows them to be people no one would want to know in real life. But they're famous, at least for a little while, and that seems to be the goal.
Where I notice this most of all, strange to say, is the supermarket checkout line. Tabloid covers used to be full of movie stars; now they're about reality TV "stars." This makes me weirdly sad, as I think about people looking through old copies of The Enquirer 40 years from now and having absolutely no idea who any of those people are. We're still watching 40-year-old episodes of "Bewitched." No one's going to be watching 40-year-old episodes of "Teen Moms."
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1987
Listen/watch here.
Last night I turned on the TV when I couldn't work any more, and found absolutely nothing to watch. No baseball, because of the Home Run Derby; none of the usual Monday night shows, because it's summertime. Instead, I had my choice of reality-based shows. I did not want to watch "The Bachelorette." I did not want to watch "America's Got Talent." I did not want to watch "Celebrity Chef Housewives of Peoria." I wasn't even in the mood for the series return of "No Reservations," although that's one of the few reality-based shows I do watch.
I wanted a story. I wound up ordering Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I on demand, because friends invited me to come along to the midnight show of Part II on Thursday. Most of what I watch on TV these days is movies, in fact -- not pay-per-view but Turner Classic Movies, the Sundance Channel, and the odd films that pop up on the Ovation network. I want to watch people pretending to be other people, not pretending to be themselves.
Something about that desperate desire to be on television breaks my heart. Are people so small, in their lives, in their worlds, that they need to be on TV just to prove to themselves that they exist? Do people think that being on television will turn them into something that they're not? I suspect they do. Of course, being on one of those shows does change them. For one thing, those shows need conflict to attract viewers, so I have no doubt that people being filmed look for opportunities to create that conflict. More conflict means more camera time -- more camera time that shows them to be people no one would want to know in real life. But they're famous, at least for a little while, and that seems to be the goal.
Where I notice this most of all, strange to say, is the supermarket checkout line. Tabloid covers used to be full of movie stars; now they're about reality TV "stars." This makes me weirdly sad, as I think about people looking through old copies of The Enquirer 40 years from now and having absolutely no idea who any of those people are. We're still watching 40-year-old episodes of "Bewitched." No one's going to be watching 40-year-old episodes of "Teen Moms."
Monday, July 11, 2011
"You might need me more than you think you will..."
The Song: "Brainy," The National. Words & music by The National (Aaron Dessner, Bryan Devendorf, Bryce Dessner, Matt Berninger & Scott Devendorf). Track 3 of Boxer, 2007.
When/how acquired: Purchased MP3, 2009
Listen/watch here.
Hi there. I know I've been away too long when friends start to write to ask whether I'm okay, because I haven't posted in a while.
Last week was an object lesson in many things, but most of all in the fine art of asking for help. My friends and family are constantly bailing me out in some fashion, and I realized last week that this is because, paradoxically, I do not ask for help in a timely manner. I don't want to admit that things are beyond me, and therefore I keep that secret (or flatter myself that I keep it secret) until it's obvious to everyone that I'm not coping, and then I do look like an idiot.
Had I gone to the doctor when I first got sick, no one would have accused me of faking it or malingering or being a big baby whiner. (Why I should accuse myself of those things, I do not know.) And had I gone to the doctor when I first got sick, I would not have missed the trip to New York I had planned, not only for a variety of work-related reasons but also to spend quality time with friends I hadn't seen in a while.
Now I am a week behind, because I got very little done last week, and will have to do all the things I'd hoped to do in person over the phone or by email. And that, at least, I might be a big baby whiner about.
I don't remember how or when I first heard this album, but it was probably through my brother-in-law, Scott. If you click through to the YouTube video I've linked to, you'll see the comment, "Every time someone listens to the national, my diary gets invaded by a stranger." I feel the same way. The whole album is a mine tunnel through my soul, and this song in particular kills me.
When/how acquired: Purchased MP3, 2009
Listen/watch here.
Hi there. I know I've been away too long when friends start to write to ask whether I'm okay, because I haven't posted in a while.
Last week was an object lesson in many things, but most of all in the fine art of asking for help. My friends and family are constantly bailing me out in some fashion, and I realized last week that this is because, paradoxically, I do not ask for help in a timely manner. I don't want to admit that things are beyond me, and therefore I keep that secret (or flatter myself that I keep it secret) until it's obvious to everyone that I'm not coping, and then I do look like an idiot.
Had I gone to the doctor when I first got sick, no one would have accused me of faking it or malingering or being a big baby whiner. (Why I should accuse myself of those things, I do not know.) And had I gone to the doctor when I first got sick, I would not have missed the trip to New York I had planned, not only for a variety of work-related reasons but also to spend quality time with friends I hadn't seen in a while.
Now I am a week behind, because I got very little done last week, and will have to do all the things I'd hoped to do in person over the phone or by email. And that, at least, I might be a big baby whiner about.
I don't remember how or when I first heard this album, but it was probably through my brother-in-law, Scott. If you click through to the YouTube video I've linked to, you'll see the comment, "Every time someone listens to the national, my diary gets invaded by a stranger." I feel the same way. The whole album is a mine tunnel through my soul, and this song in particular kills me.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
"I ain't nothing but tired/Man, I'm just tired and bored with myself."
The Song: "Dancing in the Dark," Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band. Words & music by Bruce Springsteen. Track 11 of Born in the U.S.A., 1984.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1984.
Listen/watch here.
This is not my favorite track off this album, which is not my favorite Springsteen album, but it was the record that made him a star, and "I'm on Fire," "Bobby Jean" and "No Surrender" stand with Springsteen's very best work.
I was supposed to go to New York today, and instead am going to the doctor about a cough I have had, off and on, for the past six weeks. If I am honest about it, I've had this cough, off and on, for considerably longer than that. I don't go to doctors. I feel ashamed of myself when I get sick, and going to the doctor feels like an exercise in ritual humiliation, besides being horrifyingly expensive. Once upon a time I had a regular doctor; once upon a time I had good health insurance. See my earlier post about living like a refugee.
This will change, I think, sooner rather than later. Exactly how, I couldn't yet tell you. In the meantime, I'll try to be better about posting for the rest of the month.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1984.
Listen/watch here.
This is not my favorite track off this album, which is not my favorite Springsteen album, but it was the record that made him a star, and "I'm on Fire," "Bobby Jean" and "No Surrender" stand with Springsteen's very best work.
I was supposed to go to New York today, and instead am going to the doctor about a cough I have had, off and on, for the past six weeks. If I am honest about it, I've had this cough, off and on, for considerably longer than that. I don't go to doctors. I feel ashamed of myself when I get sick, and going to the doctor feels like an exercise in ritual humiliation, besides being horrifyingly expensive. Once upon a time I had a regular doctor; once upon a time I had good health insurance. See my earlier post about living like a refugee.
This will change, I think, sooner rather than later. Exactly how, I couldn't yet tell you. In the meantime, I'll try to be better about posting for the rest of the month.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
"Abe says, 'Where do you want this killin’ done?'/God says, 'Out on Highway 61.'”
The Song: "Highway 61 Revisited," Bob Dylan. Words & music by Bob Dylan. Track 7 of Highway 61 Revisited, 1965.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 2008.
Listen/watch here.
The Old Testament reading in today's missal is the Bible story that bothers me most, the story of God's demand that Abraham sacrifice his son Isaac as proof of his devotion. Abraham takes Isaac up the mountain to the place of sacrifice, and begins to prepare him as he would a lamb; at the last minute God intervenes and spares Isaac's life.
This story is a foundation myth of three of the world's religions, and was presented to me as a child as evidence of God's great mercy. I don't see it that way. I see it as something much more mysterious and terrifying. What kind of God demands so great a sacrifice? (What kind of God, for that matter, demands a sacrifice at all?) And then, when God sees that Abraham is willing to make that sacrifice, what kind of God disrespects that by saying, "Never mind, I was just testing you." I find the reprieve even more disturbing than the original demand. Are we not to believe what God tells us, what God asks of us? Is God so capricious and careless of our feelings and our faith?
The Catholic theologians who taught me said that this was both a paradox and a promise, a mystery solved by God's own sacrifice of Jesus as a symbol of God's love for us. I wasn't sure about that as a child, and I am not sure about it now. If God exists everywhere and in all times simultaneously, how does God learn? How is God's nature revealed to God? Is God self-aware? How can God not be? (I am deliberately avoiding pronouns; "God the Father" is a convenience but in my mind a limiting form of reference to that aspect of the Almighty.)
I'm not saying I don't believe. I do believe, which is why this troubles me so much. Later, in the book of Job, God blasts Job for challenging God's decisions -- "Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?"
Ultimately, the only way a thinking person can get through a day, much less a life, is to accept that we never know when we're going to wind up on Highway 61. Things happen for reasons we don't understand. As the proverbs say, the beginning of wisdom is the fear of the Lord.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 2008.
Listen/watch here.
The Old Testament reading in today's missal is the Bible story that bothers me most, the story of God's demand that Abraham sacrifice his son Isaac as proof of his devotion. Abraham takes Isaac up the mountain to the place of sacrifice, and begins to prepare him as he would a lamb; at the last minute God intervenes and spares Isaac's life.
This story is a foundation myth of three of the world's religions, and was presented to me as a child as evidence of God's great mercy. I don't see it that way. I see it as something much more mysterious and terrifying. What kind of God demands so great a sacrifice? (What kind of God, for that matter, demands a sacrifice at all?) And then, when God sees that Abraham is willing to make that sacrifice, what kind of God disrespects that by saying, "Never mind, I was just testing you." I find the reprieve even more disturbing than the original demand. Are we not to believe what God tells us, what God asks of us? Is God so capricious and careless of our feelings and our faith?
The Catholic theologians who taught me said that this was both a paradox and a promise, a mystery solved by God's own sacrifice of Jesus as a symbol of God's love for us. I wasn't sure about that as a child, and I am not sure about it now. If God exists everywhere and in all times simultaneously, how does God learn? How is God's nature revealed to God? Is God self-aware? How can God not be? (I am deliberately avoiding pronouns; "God the Father" is a convenience but in my mind a limiting form of reference to that aspect of the Almighty.)
I'm not saying I don't believe. I do believe, which is why this troubles me so much. Later, in the book of Job, God blasts Job for challenging God's decisions -- "Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?"
Ultimately, the only way a thinking person can get through a day, much less a life, is to accept that we never know when we're going to wind up on Highway 61. Things happen for reasons we don't understand. As the proverbs say, the beginning of wisdom is the fear of the Lord.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
"But what you gonna do when you/Slowly fade... I go invisible"
The Song: "Invisible," Michael Penn. Words & music by Michael Penn. Track 7 of March, 1989.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1990; purchased MP3, 2007.
Listen/watch here.
It is something that happens to middle-aged women: we become invisible. The author Laura Lippman has written about it more eloquently than I can, though I can't find a citation right now.
I am, by nature, vocation and profession, a facilitator. I am most comfortable behind the scenes. I do not like to have my picture taken. I don't usually mind it when people don't remember my name, and don't expect people who call me Clair to be able to spell it correctly.
But today, this week, I am having a hard time with it.
If you see a news item about an incident of mayhem in a small New England town, you will know that I simply had one too many days of invisibility.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1990; purchased MP3, 2007.
Listen/watch here.
It is something that happens to middle-aged women: we become invisible. The author Laura Lippman has written about it more eloquently than I can, though I can't find a citation right now.
I am, by nature, vocation and profession, a facilitator. I am most comfortable behind the scenes. I do not like to have my picture taken. I don't usually mind it when people don't remember my name, and don't expect people who call me Clair to be able to spell it correctly.
But today, this week, I am having a hard time with it.
If you see a news item about an incident of mayhem in a small New England town, you will know that I simply had one too many days of invisibility.
Friday, June 24, 2011
"Who knows why you wanna lay there and revel in your abandon."
The Song: "Refugee," Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers. Words & music by Tom Petty & Mike Campbell. Track 1 of Damn the Torpedoes, 1979.
When/how acquired: Gift bootleg cassette, c. 1981.
Listen/watch here.
If I were ever to make a playlist that tried to explain my life, this song would be on it. I live like a refugee. I admit it. I have for most of my adult life, even when I didn't need to. I don't need to. I can't seem to help it. At this point, which is midlife if I live to be 90, I probably ought to get some help for it.
When/how acquired: Gift bootleg cassette, c. 1981.
Listen/watch here.
If I were ever to make a playlist that tried to explain my life, this song would be on it. I live like a refugee. I admit it. I have for most of my adult life, even when I didn't need to. I don't need to. I can't seem to help it. At this point, which is midlife if I live to be 90, I probably ought to get some help for it.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
"Hey, you could be/A hero in your own hometown."
The Song: "Hero in Your Own Hometown," Mary Chapin Carpenter. Words & music by Mary Chapin Carpenter. Track 2 of A Place in the World, 1996.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1996.
I can't find a version of this song available for preview. You should probably just buy the album.
Yesterday I went down to Boston for the launch of BURIED SECRETS by Joseph Finder, at Brookline Booksmith. Brookline Booksmith is one of the world's great bookstores, and if I had any money I would spend a lot of it there. It made me feel great to see such a wonderful collection of books, new and old, on topics I might otherwise never think much about -- science, sociology, phrases for travelers visiting Poland.
And it was great to see so many people turn out for Joe's book launch. Joe lives in Boston, and the crowd was about evenly split between fans and personal friends. It is not a small thing to have your friends turn out for a book launch. It often seems easier for people to stay home, especially when the Green Line is full of people trying to get to a Red Sox home game. (They lost, by the way. Everyone would have been better off going to Brookline Booksmith.)
BURIED SECRETS, which I did a very little bit of work on, is the second adventure for Joe's series character, Nick Heller, a "private spy." As the book begins, Nick has returned to his hometown of Boston to set up his own practice, and an old friend asks for help with a problem he can't go to the police about.
Many things make Boston a particularly good setting for a hero like Nick, and I wish I'd thought to ask Joe about that last night. Undoubtedly there will be other chances, as it looks like Nick will be fighting crime on the streets of Beantown for years to come.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1996.
I can't find a version of this song available for preview. You should probably just buy the album.
Yesterday I went down to Boston for the launch of BURIED SECRETS by Joseph Finder, at Brookline Booksmith. Brookline Booksmith is one of the world's great bookstores, and if I had any money I would spend a lot of it there. It made me feel great to see such a wonderful collection of books, new and old, on topics I might otherwise never think much about -- science, sociology, phrases for travelers visiting Poland.
And it was great to see so many people turn out for Joe's book launch. Joe lives in Boston, and the crowd was about evenly split between fans and personal friends. It is not a small thing to have your friends turn out for a book launch. It often seems easier for people to stay home, especially when the Green Line is full of people trying to get to a Red Sox home game. (They lost, by the way. Everyone would have been better off going to Brookline Booksmith.)
BURIED SECRETS, which I did a very little bit of work on, is the second adventure for Joe's series character, Nick Heller, a "private spy." As the book begins, Nick has returned to his hometown of Boston to set up his own practice, and an old friend asks for help with a problem he can't go to the police about.
Many things make Boston a particularly good setting for a hero like Nick, and I wish I'd thought to ask Joe about that last night. Undoubtedly there will be other chances, as it looks like Nick will be fighting crime on the streets of Beantown for years to come.
Monday, June 20, 2011
"And in the quick of the night they reach for their moment/And try to make an honest stand..."
The Song: "Jungleland," Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band. Words & music by Bruce Springsteen. Track 8 of Born to Run, 1975.
When/how acquired: Gift LP, 1980.
Listen. Watch.
There was rock and roll before Clarence Clemons, and there will be rock and roll after him. But this song was the dividing line. It changed everything. Even now I listen to it in awe. It is poetry in words and music, and Clarence's solo disembowels us and breaks our hearts and makes us believe in whatever it was we hoped for when we were sixteen years old.
The rest of us have to live without him. Rest in peace, Big Man.
When/how acquired: Gift LP, 1980.
Listen. Watch.
There was rock and roll before Clarence Clemons, and there will be rock and roll after him. But this song was the dividing line. It changed everything. Even now I listen to it in awe. It is poetry in words and music, and Clarence's solo disembowels us and breaks our hearts and makes us believe in whatever it was we hoped for when we were sixteen years old.
The rest of us have to live without him. Rest in peace, Big Man.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
"C'est la vie, said the old folks/It goes to show you never can tell."
The Song: "You Never Can Tell," Chuck Berry. Words & music by Chuck Berry. Track 9 of the Pulp Fiction soundtrack, 1994.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1994; downloaded MP3, 2010.
Listen/watch here.
It was not quite a teenaged wedding yesterday — my nephew George is 23 — but the old folks, including me, certainly wished them well. Today's quotation might have been "I knew the bride when she used to rock & roll," but George's bride Carissa actually does still rock & roll, so it wouldn't be nearly as appropriate.
Most of the people who read this blog are going to turn up at breakfast in about 15 minutes, so all I'll say is that yesterday was lovely, and I hope it's the first of many lovely days ahead.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1994; downloaded MP3, 2010.
Listen/watch here.
It was not quite a teenaged wedding yesterday — my nephew George is 23 — but the old folks, including me, certainly wished them well. Today's quotation might have been "I knew the bride when she used to rock & roll," but George's bride Carissa actually does still rock & roll, so it wouldn't be nearly as appropriate.
Most of the people who read this blog are going to turn up at breakfast in about 15 minutes, so all I'll say is that yesterday was lovely, and I hope it's the first of many lovely days ahead.
Friday, June 17, 2011
"Feels like home to me/Feels like I'm on my way back/Where I come from."
The Song: "Feels Like Home," Mae Robertson. Words & music by Randy Newman. Track 12 of Smile, 2002.
When/how acquired: Downloaded MP3, 2008.
I can't find Mae Robertson's cover online, but you can listen to/see Randy Newman's original here.
The air hit me like a wet, smoky blanket when I walked out of the Jacksonville airport last night. I had forgotten what real humidity felt like, and will not be complaining about Maine's weather for the rest of the summer.
But I grew up in weather like this (minus the smoke, coming from the fires throughout central Florida), and was surprised by how much it felt like home.
Homesickness, as I've said before in this space, is the essential human condition. It's one of my rationalizations for living in Maine: I will always be a stranger in a strange land there, so will never relax and fool myself into thinking I'm at home when I'm not. But the longing for home is powerful, if we could only be clear about what home is.
This song offers the possibility that home might just be the right person. I hope that's true, and I especially hope it for my nephew George and his fiancee Carissa, who are getting married here later today.
When/how acquired: Downloaded MP3, 2008.
I can't find Mae Robertson's cover online, but you can listen to/see Randy Newman's original here.
The air hit me like a wet, smoky blanket when I walked out of the Jacksonville airport last night. I had forgotten what real humidity felt like, and will not be complaining about Maine's weather for the rest of the summer.
But I grew up in weather like this (minus the smoke, coming from the fires throughout central Florida), and was surprised by how much it felt like home.
Homesickness, as I've said before in this space, is the essential human condition. It's one of my rationalizations for living in Maine: I will always be a stranger in a strange land there, so will never relax and fool myself into thinking I'm at home when I'm not. But the longing for home is powerful, if we could only be clear about what home is.
This song offers the possibility that home might just be the right person. I hope that's true, and I especially hope it for my nephew George and his fiancee Carissa, who are getting married here later today.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
"I've got no time for you right now/Don't bother me."
The Song: "Don't Bother Me," The Smithereens. Words & music by George Harrison. Track 7 of Meet the Smithereens, 2007.
When/how acquired: Gift CD, 2009.
Listen/watch here.
Oy, I just realized it's Thursday and I haven't been here in days. Sorry. Scrambling on many fronts, getting ready to leave for Florida this afternoon for my nephew George's wedding, and fighting something that started as allergies and became bronchitis. I'm still coughing, although I must be better, because if I hadn't gotten better from earlier in the week I'd be dead.
This CD, a gift from my friend Tom, is one of the more delightful oddities in my collection. It's a track-by-track cover of Meet the Beatles, which my mother owned an original pressing of. God only knows what that would be worth now; my dad might still have it, but it can't be in very good shape. We played it to a wafer when I was a kid.
The Beatles were my earliest exposure to popular music. My mother was an executive secretary in Capitol Records' distribution office from 1960 until her marriage, in 1965; she had a front-row seat for Beatlemania, and took Cynthia Lennon shopping during the Beatles' first New York visit. She met them all, and George was her favorite. At a reception for the Beatles at the Plaza Hotel, during their first visit, George spilled a drink, and immediately got down on the carpet with a napkin to blot it up. Mom never forgot that.
I'm embarrassed to say that I don't own Meet the Beatles in any format, although I have almost all the other Beatles album on CD. The Smithereens' cover version is terrific, faithful to the original arrangments but adding their own distinctive jangle. I recommend it.
When/how acquired: Gift CD, 2009.
Listen/watch here.
Oy, I just realized it's Thursday and I haven't been here in days. Sorry. Scrambling on many fronts, getting ready to leave for Florida this afternoon for my nephew George's wedding, and fighting something that started as allergies and became bronchitis. I'm still coughing, although I must be better, because if I hadn't gotten better from earlier in the week I'd be dead.
This CD, a gift from my friend Tom, is one of the more delightful oddities in my collection. It's a track-by-track cover of Meet the Beatles, which my mother owned an original pressing of. God only knows what that would be worth now; my dad might still have it, but it can't be in very good shape. We played it to a wafer when I was a kid.
The Beatles were my earliest exposure to popular music. My mother was an executive secretary in Capitol Records' distribution office from 1960 until her marriage, in 1965; she had a front-row seat for Beatlemania, and took Cynthia Lennon shopping during the Beatles' first New York visit. She met them all, and George was her favorite. At a reception for the Beatles at the Plaza Hotel, during their first visit, George spilled a drink, and immediately got down on the carpet with a napkin to blot it up. Mom never forgot that.
I'm embarrassed to say that I don't own Meet the Beatles in any format, although I have almost all the other Beatles album on CD. The Smithereens' cover version is terrific, faithful to the original arrangments but adding their own distinctive jangle. I recommend it.
Monday, June 13, 2011
"When the change was made uptown/And the big man joined the band/From the coastline to the city/All the little pretties raise their hands."
The Song: "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out," Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band. Words & music by Bruce Springsteen. Track 2 of Born to Run, 1975.
When/how acquired: Gift LP, c. 1980.
Listen/watch here.
Turned on the news this morning and could not understand what everyone was talking about, because the only news that matters this morning is that Clarence Clemons had a stroke. The Big Man is 69, amazingly enough -- the same age as my father -- and this song is 36 years old, but come on: we're not ready to say goodbye.
It's impossible to explain or overstate this album's place in my life. I have a signed copy of the album cover on my bedroom wall, a long-ago gift from my high school boyfriend, who won it from a radio station. The music is hardwired into my DNA. Virginia Beach wasn't the Jersey Shore, but it was close enough, and these songs gave my friends and me stories we could tell about ourselves, or at least aspire to.
By coincidence, this morning's Wall Street Journal reports on a scientific study that seems to prove what most of us already knew: the music we love as teenagers strikes something deep in our brains, and stays there. I was 12 or 13 when I first heard this song -- at a dance recital, of all places -- and I'll be able to sing along to it when I'm 90, I hope.
Here's hoping that Clarence will play it when he's 90, too.
When/how acquired: Gift LP, c. 1980.
Listen/watch here.
Turned on the news this morning and could not understand what everyone was talking about, because the only news that matters this morning is that Clarence Clemons had a stroke. The Big Man is 69, amazingly enough -- the same age as my father -- and this song is 36 years old, but come on: we're not ready to say goodbye.
It's impossible to explain or overstate this album's place in my life. I have a signed copy of the album cover on my bedroom wall, a long-ago gift from my high school boyfriend, who won it from a radio station. The music is hardwired into my DNA. Virginia Beach wasn't the Jersey Shore, but it was close enough, and these songs gave my friends and me stories we could tell about ourselves, or at least aspire to.
By coincidence, this morning's Wall Street Journal reports on a scientific study that seems to prove what most of us already knew: the music we love as teenagers strikes something deep in our brains, and stays there. I was 12 or 13 when I first heard this song -- at a dance recital, of all places -- and I'll be able to sing along to it when I'm 90, I hope.
Here's hoping that Clarence will play it when he's 90, too.
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
"Words are very unnecessary/They can only do harm."
The Song: "Enjoy the Silence," Depeche Mode. Words & music by Martin L. Gore. Track 6 of Violator, 1990.
When/how acquired: I have no idea. It's in my iTunes; I suspect I borrowed it from a housemate, sometime around 1995.
Listen/watch here.
Violator is one of those albums that everyone of a certain age and worldview owns, or should. It's telling that I have absolutely no idea how or when I acquired it. I just have it, as if it magically appeared in my music collection because it knew it needed to be there.
On a semi-related subject, I recently saw a list of people's greatest regrets at the end of their lives. It was touching and much what you'd expect: spent too much time at work, didn't take enough risks, didn't give themselves credit for being the person they were. To that list I would add: I didn't spend enough time at gay discos. Seriously, I didn't. I didn't spend enough time dancing in a safe place when I was the right age and body shape to do that. If I had it to do over, I've have gone dancing a LOT more. A lot.
I digress. Today's song was an obvious choice, especially after my client and friend John Connolly played it on his Internet radio show ABC to XTC this morning. It had been in my head since yesterday afternoon, when I made the mistake of watching Rep. Weiner's press conference. Congressman Weiner's press conference was one of the weirdest pieces of Washington theater I've ever seen, and I watched the Whitewater hearings pretty much gavel-to-gavel (I was recovering from back surgery, flipping between C-SPAN and "Animaniacs").
The first moral of yesterday's squirmfest was, don't be late to your own press conference.
The second, and most important, is Image Management 101: stop talking as soon as possible. State your message and get off the stage. Answer as few questions as possible. Do not solicit additional questions. Really, just stop talking after you've said what you had to say.
Rep. Weiner's initial statement was fine, if painful. (And Chris, credit where credit is due: you were right, about all of it.) I'm glad he didn't put his wife through the humiliation of joining him on the platform. All the humiliation was his, and I feel certain that was the source of the tears, not any true repentance — although I shouldn't say that, because who knows? Once he started taking questions, though, he slashed himself back open and legitimized further speculation. Idiotic, and enough to make any self-respecting press secretary quit. (I fully expect to see an announcement of that resignation before the end of the week.)
Today is the publication date of INK FLAMINGOS, the fourth and probably final installment in the Tattoo Shop Mysteries by my dear friend Karen E. Olson. INK FLAMINGOS is not only a solid, entertaining thriller (with a really nice edgy romance folded in), but also has the distinction of being the very first book ever dedicated to me. Yes, really. I may need to go buy ten copies today just to prove it to my family.
When/how acquired: I have no idea. It's in my iTunes; I suspect I borrowed it from a housemate, sometime around 1995.
Listen/watch here.
Violator is one of those albums that everyone of a certain age and worldview owns, or should. It's telling that I have absolutely no idea how or when I acquired it. I just have it, as if it magically appeared in my music collection because it knew it needed to be there.
On a semi-related subject, I recently saw a list of people's greatest regrets at the end of their lives. It was touching and much what you'd expect: spent too much time at work, didn't take enough risks, didn't give themselves credit for being the person they were. To that list I would add: I didn't spend enough time at gay discos. Seriously, I didn't. I didn't spend enough time dancing in a safe place when I was the right age and body shape to do that. If I had it to do over, I've have gone dancing a LOT more. A lot.
I digress. Today's song was an obvious choice, especially after my client and friend John Connolly played it on his Internet radio show ABC to XTC this morning. It had been in my head since yesterday afternoon, when I made the mistake of watching Rep. Weiner's press conference. Congressman Weiner's press conference was one of the weirdest pieces of Washington theater I've ever seen, and I watched the Whitewater hearings pretty much gavel-to-gavel (I was recovering from back surgery, flipping between C-SPAN and "Animaniacs").
The first moral of yesterday's squirmfest was, don't be late to your own press conference.
The second, and most important, is Image Management 101: stop talking as soon as possible. State your message and get off the stage. Answer as few questions as possible. Do not solicit additional questions. Really, just stop talking after you've said what you had to say.
Rep. Weiner's initial statement was fine, if painful. (And Chris, credit where credit is due: you were right, about all of it.) I'm glad he didn't put his wife through the humiliation of joining him on the platform. All the humiliation was his, and I feel certain that was the source of the tears, not any true repentance — although I shouldn't say that, because who knows? Once he started taking questions, though, he slashed himself back open and legitimized further speculation. Idiotic, and enough to make any self-respecting press secretary quit. (I fully expect to see an announcement of that resignation before the end of the week.)
Today is the publication date of INK FLAMINGOS, the fourth and probably final installment in the Tattoo Shop Mysteries by my dear friend Karen E. Olson. INK FLAMINGOS is not only a solid, entertaining thriller (with a really nice edgy romance folded in), but also has the distinction of being the very first book ever dedicated to me. Yes, really. I may need to go buy ten copies today just to prove it to my family.
Saturday, June 04, 2011
"For this bleak existence/Man is never bad enough/Though his sheer persistence/Can be lovely stuff."
The Song: "Song of the Insufficiency of Human Endeavor," C.K. Alexander. Words & music by Bertholt Brecht & Kurt Weill; translation by Ralph Manheim and John Willett. Track 17 of The Three Penny Opera (Broadway Revival Cast), 1976.
When/how acquired: Purchased LP, 1984; purchased MP3, 2011
Can't find this online to share, but you can go buy it on iTunes or Amazon. Do it. Youll thank me.
By sheer luck this morning I discovered that this recording, which I've been hunting for at least ten years, is now available for purchase online, and has been for two years. How could I have missed it?
As far as I'm concerned, this is the definitive English-language production of this show. I saw a much feebler version, with Sting as Macheath, at the National Theatre in 1990 or so; Sting, while a charismatic presence on screen and at rock concerts, simply could not carry the role. Mask & Bauble did its own version as its spring musical in 1984, which was pretty terrific, if memory serves. It was an impressionable time for me, and this show was a major force in shaping my worldview even to this day.
Between this acquisition, the gorgeous weather, a long walk with Dizzy and last night's excellent audience for Earnest, I'm having a pretty good Saturday morning. Hope yours is equally good. Special birthday greetings today to my dear friend, colleague and co-conspirator Tom Ehrenfeld, who is responsible for this blog in many ways, and has been a support to me in more ways than one for - erk - more than 25 years.
Earnest closes tonight with one last performance. I'll be sad when it's over.
When/how acquired: Purchased LP, 1984; purchased MP3, 2011
Can't find this online to share, but you can go buy it on iTunes or Amazon. Do it. Youll thank me.
By sheer luck this morning I discovered that this recording, which I've been hunting for at least ten years, is now available for purchase online, and has been for two years. How could I have missed it?
As far as I'm concerned, this is the definitive English-language production of this show. I saw a much feebler version, with Sting as Macheath, at the National Theatre in 1990 or so; Sting, while a charismatic presence on screen and at rock concerts, simply could not carry the role. Mask & Bauble did its own version as its spring musical in 1984, which was pretty terrific, if memory serves. It was an impressionable time for me, and this show was a major force in shaping my worldview even to this day.
Between this acquisition, the gorgeous weather, a long walk with Dizzy and last night's excellent audience for Earnest, I'm having a pretty good Saturday morning. Hope yours is equally good. Special birthday greetings today to my dear friend, colleague and co-conspirator Tom Ehrenfeld, who is responsible for this blog in many ways, and has been a support to me in more ways than one for - erk - more than 25 years.
Earnest closes tonight with one last performance. I'll be sad when it's over.
Friday, June 03, 2011
"I sleep with my fists clenched tight/When I don't lie awake all night."
The Song: "Tears Before Bedtime," Elvis Costello & the Attractions. Words & music by Elvis Costello. Track 2 of Imperial Bedroom, 1982.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1983; purchased CD, c. 1994.
I can't find this version online. You can check out two very different versions of this song here and here.
It surprises me that I haven't quoted Imperial Bedroom more often in this blog, because it was the soundtrack of the summer after my senior year in high school, and is one of my Desert Island Discs. It is pure genius, beginning to end, and has probably had way too much influence on my romantic history.
Anyway, I do sleep with my fists clenched, when I sleep. No idea why, but this morning I woke up with my right hand clenched so tightly that I'm still having trouble typing, even after a shower and washing the dishes and walking the dog. If I won the lottery I would go to one of those sleep centers and let them evaluate me, and give me drugs if necessary. I don't play the lottery.
Dizzy sleeps with a purple winged dragon I bought him over the winter. It was an expensive toy, advertised as being exceptionally durable, and so far the advertising holds true. He's very attached to it; if it's still up on the bed in the morning after our walk, he'll bark at me until I get it down for him, so he can nap with it. I would love to know what it represents to him.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1983; purchased CD, c. 1994.
I can't find this version online. You can check out two very different versions of this song here and here.
It surprises me that I haven't quoted Imperial Bedroom more often in this blog, because it was the soundtrack of the summer after my senior year in high school, and is one of my Desert Island Discs. It is pure genius, beginning to end, and has probably had way too much influence on my romantic history.
Anyway, I do sleep with my fists clenched, when I sleep. No idea why, but this morning I woke up with my right hand clenched so tightly that I'm still having trouble typing, even after a shower and washing the dishes and walking the dog. If I won the lottery I would go to one of those sleep centers and let them evaluate me, and give me drugs if necessary. I don't play the lottery.
Dizzy sleeps with a purple winged dragon I bought him over the winter. It was an expensive toy, advertised as being exceptionally durable, and so far the advertising holds true. He's very attached to it; if it's still up on the bed in the morning after our walk, he'll bark at me until I get it down for him, so he can nap with it. I would love to know what it represents to him.
Thursday, June 02, 2011
"What's a man now/What's a man mean/Is he rough or is he rugged/Cultural and clean?"
The Song: "Real Men," Joe Jackson. Words & music by Joe Jackson. Track 8 of Night and Day, 1982.
When/how acquired: Bootleg cassette copy, 1984; purchased MP3, 2007.
Listen/watch here.
I admit I'm paying more attention than I should to the Anthony Weiner Twitter uproar, in which someone Tweeted a photo of an excited man in his underwear to a Seattle college student. Rep. Weiner's response to all of this has been, to put it mildly, bizarre. The photo might be him, he says, but he didn't send it.
The most logical explanation, which I haven't heard anyone offer, is that Rep. Weiner doesn't manage his own Twitter account. I can't imagine that most public figures do, or at least not full-time. Twitter is fun, but a terrible distraction. I have one author client who rations himself to an hour in the morning and an hour at the end of the day, and another who treats Twitter as a sort of online bar, which I think is exactly right - an entertainment, not a serious medium of communication.
It's an extremely tricky medium for politicians, because it doesn't allow for nuance or consideration. Twitter's about knee-jerk reactions in 140 characters or less, and that's not something any serious politician should be doing. Twitter's also interactive, and engaging the public in an open forum that leaves a permanent record is a high-risk political activity.
So I would guess that most elected officials delegate their Twitter feed to their legislative correspondents (LCs). LCs are the lowest-ranking professional staff in a Congressional office. Their title is their job description: they handle letters and emails that come into the office, providing routine responses where they can and routing action items to legislative assistants, district-office caseworkers, and other branches of government where appropriate. The typical LC is under the age of 25, right out of college, and might be making $27,000 (which is not enough to live independently in Washington, DC; junior Hill staffers almost always live with roommates or in group houses).
Therefore, my first thought when I heard about the Weiner scandal (!) was that an LC had gotten drunk one night and decided to use the Congressman's Twitter account to send a photo of his anatomy to his girlfriend. When the Congressman's office first bungled its response, I assumed it was because Rep. Weiner didn't want to admit that it's not him Tweeting. But now his series of non-explanation explanations and non-denial denials have just gotten weirder and weirder, and I've given up trying to come up with any new theories.
Today's quotation, though, was almost another Joe Jackson line — "Don't you know that it's different for girls?" — because in all seriousness, this is not a situation that a female legislator would ever find herself in. Who takes photos of their own genitalia, clothed or unclothed? Who assumes that anyone else would want to see them? Good grief.
Lady Bracknell and I both disapprove. You have three more chances to see her, tonight, tomorrow and Saturday at Gaslight Theater.
When/how acquired: Bootleg cassette copy, 1984; purchased MP3, 2007.
Listen/watch here.
I admit I'm paying more attention than I should to the Anthony Weiner Twitter uproar, in which someone Tweeted a photo of an excited man in his underwear to a Seattle college student. Rep. Weiner's response to all of this has been, to put it mildly, bizarre. The photo might be him, he says, but he didn't send it.
The most logical explanation, which I haven't heard anyone offer, is that Rep. Weiner doesn't manage his own Twitter account. I can't imagine that most public figures do, or at least not full-time. Twitter is fun, but a terrible distraction. I have one author client who rations himself to an hour in the morning and an hour at the end of the day, and another who treats Twitter as a sort of online bar, which I think is exactly right - an entertainment, not a serious medium of communication.
It's an extremely tricky medium for politicians, because it doesn't allow for nuance or consideration. Twitter's about knee-jerk reactions in 140 characters or less, and that's not something any serious politician should be doing. Twitter's also interactive, and engaging the public in an open forum that leaves a permanent record is a high-risk political activity.
So I would guess that most elected officials delegate their Twitter feed to their legislative correspondents (LCs). LCs are the lowest-ranking professional staff in a Congressional office. Their title is their job description: they handle letters and emails that come into the office, providing routine responses where they can and routing action items to legislative assistants, district-office caseworkers, and other branches of government where appropriate. The typical LC is under the age of 25, right out of college, and might be making $27,000 (which is not enough to live independently in Washington, DC; junior Hill staffers almost always live with roommates or in group houses).
Therefore, my first thought when I heard about the Weiner scandal (!) was that an LC had gotten drunk one night and decided to use the Congressman's Twitter account to send a photo of his anatomy to his girlfriend. When the Congressman's office first bungled its response, I assumed it was because Rep. Weiner didn't want to admit that it's not him Tweeting. But now his series of non-explanation explanations and non-denial denials have just gotten weirder and weirder, and I've given up trying to come up with any new theories.
Today's quotation, though, was almost another Joe Jackson line — "Don't you know that it's different for girls?" — because in all seriousness, this is not a situation that a female legislator would ever find herself in. Who takes photos of their own genitalia, clothed or unclothed? Who assumes that anyone else would want to see them? Good grief.
Lady Bracknell and I both disapprove. You have three more chances to see her, tonight, tomorrow and Saturday at Gaslight Theater.
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
"All romantics meet the same fate someday/Cynical and drunk and boring someone in some dark cafe."
The Song: "The Last Time I Saw Richard," Joni Mitchell. Words & music by Joni Mitchell. Track 10 of Blue, 1971.
When/how acquired: Bootleg cassette, c. 1984; downloaded MP3, 2008.
Listen/watch here.
Romantics are just people who believe that life is supposed to follow a narrative, and that that narrative is supposed to be driven by emotions rather than practicality. I would not describe myself as a romantic, though I certainly was in earlier days. Young people should be. Young people should believe that life is supposed to go in certain ways. Character emerges from how we react when we discover that the universe laughs at "supposed to."
This month marks the 40th anniversary of Blue. I first heard it in high school, but didn't really discover it until the summer of 1984. I was sharing a basement apartment in Glover Park with my best friend, Laurie, who listened to it on a more or less continuous loop. It's a very different album now, as I listen to it at 45, than it was when I listened to it at 18. It's still just as wondrous, which marks it as a true work of art.
When/how acquired: Bootleg cassette, c. 1984; downloaded MP3, 2008.
Listen/watch here.
Romantics are just people who believe that life is supposed to follow a narrative, and that that narrative is supposed to be driven by emotions rather than practicality. I would not describe myself as a romantic, though I certainly was in earlier days. Young people should be. Young people should believe that life is supposed to go in certain ways. Character emerges from how we react when we discover that the universe laughs at "supposed to."
This month marks the 40th anniversary of Blue. I first heard it in high school, but didn't really discover it until the summer of 1984. I was sharing a basement apartment in Glover Park with my best friend, Laurie, who listened to it on a more or less continuous loop. It's a very different album now, as I listen to it at 45, than it was when I listened to it at 18. It's still just as wondrous, which marks it as a true work of art.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
"I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock/As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock."
The Song: "One of These Things First," Nick Drake. Words & music by Nick Drake. Track 4 of Bryter Layter, 1970.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 2004.
Listen/watch here.
My elementary school library was small, but at least three shelves were dedicated to Bobbs-Merrill's "Childhood of Famous Americans" series, biographies that humanized the great names of American history by showing us episodes from their early years. These episodes may or may not have been true; the books were meant to be moral guides as much as anything else, and most people who become famous as adults don't have biographers keeping track of their childhood achievements.
Typically, my favorite of these books made no pretense at all at nonfiction. This was Virginia Dare, Mystery Girl by Augusta Stevenson, who wrote about a dozen of these books, including volumes on Benjamin Franklin, Molly Pitcher, Buffalo Bill and the Wright Brothers. Virginia Dare was, of course, the first English child born in the New World, part of Sir Walter Raleigh's Lost Colony. She disappeared with everyone else sometime between 1587 and 1590, but legends persisted of a blonde girl who lived among the Chowanocs, and an 18th-century surveyor reported meeting Hatteras people who had gray eyes.
Virginia Dare, Mystery Girl was pure speculation about the young Virginia's life as an adopted member of a native tribe (adopted by the chief, naturally). The book was originally published in 1958 and has not been brought back into print with other titles in the series -- maybe because it was fiction, maybe because its treatment of native cultures would now seem ignorant and insensitive. The book's hard to find; I'm seeing only two copies on ABEBooks.com right now, one priced at $30, one at $87.19. My birthday's in November . . .
Anyway, I read the book so many times my mother told me to stop checking it out of the library, and what I remember about it was a climactic scene in which the young Virginia proved her standing as a member of the tribe by beating a rival at something called "mudwalking." According to this book, the Chesapeake Indians hunted waterfowl in the swamps, and used their children to walk across the surface of the marshes in order to retrieve fallen birds. The mud is like quicksand, full of sinkholes, and adults were too heavy; children were light and could move fast enough to get across and back without being sucked in.
That image of mudwalking, of moving fast enough to avoid breaking a surface, captured my imagination. According to Ms. Stevenson, the key was to keep your feet moving, and not look down. I tried it myself, in puddles and muddy fields, but could never get it right. My feet stuck, and I knew that if I'd been Virginia Dare, I'd have drowned in quicksand.
But I never forgot the image or the metaphor, and sometimes I think I've been mudwalking ever since. As another month ends and another season turns, I understand that my days of mudwalking are coming to an end. At some point I will have to stop moving from task to task, look down, and get real about all those other things I could have been or done.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 2004.
Listen/watch here.
My elementary school library was small, but at least three shelves were dedicated to Bobbs-Merrill's "Childhood of Famous Americans" series, biographies that humanized the great names of American history by showing us episodes from their early years. These episodes may or may not have been true; the books were meant to be moral guides as much as anything else, and most people who become famous as adults don't have biographers keeping track of their childhood achievements.
Typically, my favorite of these books made no pretense at all at nonfiction. This was Virginia Dare, Mystery Girl by Augusta Stevenson, who wrote about a dozen of these books, including volumes on Benjamin Franklin, Molly Pitcher, Buffalo Bill and the Wright Brothers. Virginia Dare was, of course, the first English child born in the New World, part of Sir Walter Raleigh's Lost Colony. She disappeared with everyone else sometime between 1587 and 1590, but legends persisted of a blonde girl who lived among the Chowanocs, and an 18th-century surveyor reported meeting Hatteras people who had gray eyes.
Virginia Dare, Mystery Girl was pure speculation about the young Virginia's life as an adopted member of a native tribe (adopted by the chief, naturally). The book was originally published in 1958 and has not been brought back into print with other titles in the series -- maybe because it was fiction, maybe because its treatment of native cultures would now seem ignorant and insensitive. The book's hard to find; I'm seeing only two copies on ABEBooks.com right now, one priced at $30, one at $87.19. My birthday's in November . . .
Anyway, I read the book so many times my mother told me to stop checking it out of the library, and what I remember about it was a climactic scene in which the young Virginia proved her standing as a member of the tribe by beating a rival at something called "mudwalking." According to this book, the Chesapeake Indians hunted waterfowl in the swamps, and used their children to walk across the surface of the marshes in order to retrieve fallen birds. The mud is like quicksand, full of sinkholes, and adults were too heavy; children were light and could move fast enough to get across and back without being sucked in.
That image of mudwalking, of moving fast enough to avoid breaking a surface, captured my imagination. According to Ms. Stevenson, the key was to keep your feet moving, and not look down. I tried it myself, in puddles and muddy fields, but could never get it right. My feet stuck, and I knew that if I'd been Virginia Dare, I'd have drowned in quicksand.
But I never forgot the image or the metaphor, and sometimes I think I've been mudwalking ever since. As another month ends and another season turns, I understand that my days of mudwalking are coming to an end. At some point I will have to stop moving from task to task, look down, and get real about all those other things I could have been or done.
Monday, May 30, 2011
"She said, 'I'm tired of the war/I want the kind of work I had before/A wedding dress, or something white/To wear upon my swollen appetite."
The Song: "Joan of Arc," Jennifer Warnes. Words & music by Leonard Cohen. Track 4 of Famous Blue Raincoat, 1987.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1987.
Listen/watch here.
Today is both Memorial Day and the feast of St. Joan of Arc, which feels appropriate. Joan was 16 when she left home -- at the direction, she said, of the Archangel Michael, Saint Margaret and Saint Catherine -- to fight for Charles VII against the Burgundians and the English invaders. At the age of 17, she led Charles' troops to victory and watched as he was crowned King of France.
Some records say that she wanted to go home then, but she saw that the English remained in France and needed to be expelled, and that Charles' policy of appeasing the Burgundians would lead to disaster. Indeed, the Burgundians kept fighting, despite Charles' ruinous truce with them, and Joan was captured in Compiègne in May 1430. John of Luxembourg, an ally of the Duke of Burgundy, sold Joan to the English for a fortune, and the English used a corrupt Bishop to try Joan for witchcraft.
Joan was charged with heresy and with "difformitate habitus," degenerate or monstrous dress -- the military apparel that disguised her gender and protected her from rape. She was heard to say that she wanted to wear a dress, but wearing a dress in prison left her even more vulnerable to threats of rape. Her friends brought her soldier's clothing again, and she insisted on wearing it -- the trousers tied to her blouse and jerkin, offering her some protection -- even though she knew it would prove the charges against her.
She was burned at the stake as a heretic on May 30, 1431, looking at a cross and calling the name of Jesus. The campaign to clear her name began within a generation, but her sainthood was not finally proclaimed until 1909. She is, of course, the patron saint of France, but also of soldiers (particularly female soldiers), prisoners, captives, and rape victims.
Her story reminds us that death is not the worst thing that can happen to soldiers in wartime, and that devotion to a righteous cause can often approach the divine.
Today, on Memorial Day, I particularly remember my father's college roommate, LTJG Danny Moran, killed in action off the USS Coral Sea on January 15, 1967. I don't remember Lieutenant Moran, but his widow, Kelly, was a much-loved presence of my childhood, and she would probably be surprised to know how often I still think of her.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1987.
Listen/watch here.
Today is both Memorial Day and the feast of St. Joan of Arc, which feels appropriate. Joan was 16 when she left home -- at the direction, she said, of the Archangel Michael, Saint Margaret and Saint Catherine -- to fight for Charles VII against the Burgundians and the English invaders. At the age of 17, she led Charles' troops to victory and watched as he was crowned King of France.
Some records say that she wanted to go home then, but she saw that the English remained in France and needed to be expelled, and that Charles' policy of appeasing the Burgundians would lead to disaster. Indeed, the Burgundians kept fighting, despite Charles' ruinous truce with them, and Joan was captured in Compiègne in May 1430. John of Luxembourg, an ally of the Duke of Burgundy, sold Joan to the English for a fortune, and the English used a corrupt Bishop to try Joan for witchcraft.
Joan was charged with heresy and with "difformitate habitus," degenerate or monstrous dress -- the military apparel that disguised her gender and protected her from rape. She was heard to say that she wanted to wear a dress, but wearing a dress in prison left her even more vulnerable to threats of rape. Her friends brought her soldier's clothing again, and she insisted on wearing it -- the trousers tied to her blouse and jerkin, offering her some protection -- even though she knew it would prove the charges against her.
She was burned at the stake as a heretic on May 30, 1431, looking at a cross and calling the name of Jesus. The campaign to clear her name began within a generation, but her sainthood was not finally proclaimed until 1909. She is, of course, the patron saint of France, but also of soldiers (particularly female soldiers), prisoners, captives, and rape victims.
Her story reminds us that death is not the worst thing that can happen to soldiers in wartime, and that devotion to a righteous cause can often approach the divine.
Today, on Memorial Day, I particularly remember my father's college roommate, LTJG Danny Moran, killed in action off the USS Coral Sea on January 15, 1967. I don't remember Lieutenant Moran, but his widow, Kelly, was a much-loved presence of my childhood, and she would probably be surprised to know how often I still think of her.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
"I find sometimes it's easy to be myself/Sometimes I find it's better to be somebody else."
The Song: "So Much to Say," Dave Matthews Band. Words & music by David J. Matthews, Peter Griesar, and Boyd Tinsley. Track 1 of Crash, 1996.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1996.
Listen/watch here.
I was first on stage at the age of five, in an adaptation of Peter Pan by the Linden Knoll School. My twin sister and I played Lost Boys, and sang "I Won't Grow Up" and -- if memory serves -- "A Pirate's Life." We wore ugly olive-green shirts and shorts, and sported very short haircuts. It was the best time I had had in my life to that point. I liked the glamor of it, I liked the applause, but most of all I liked the pretending.
Theater is one of the oldest human art forms. I would argue that it is the most valuable. Of all the fine arts, theater is the one that teaches us empathy. It challenges us to imagine what it's like to be someone else, dealing with situations we'll never face in real life.
Those performance reality shows don't interest me -- not "American Idol," not "X Factor," not "The Voice," -- because that culture of stardom is diametrically opposed, even inimical, to what I value about live performance. Live performance, to me, is not about adulation of the individual. It's about exploring alternate realities with others in order to find new ways to connect. It's about diffusing oneself, not concentrating it, trying new selves on in an effort to make our real selves kinder and more insightful. The best theatrical productions are not star vehicles; they're ensembles in which the whole is greater than sum of its parts.
I think, I hope, The Importance of Being Earnest is that kind of ensemble. We're all having a great time up there. We make each other laugh and admire each other's work, and I think that shows. I'm so glad to have had that experience, and sad we only have five performances left. I'll miss it when it's over.
If you'd like to come see us, performances continue tonight, tomorrow, and next Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Call 207-626-3698 or visit Gaslight Theater's website for details.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1996.
Listen/watch here.
I was first on stage at the age of five, in an adaptation of Peter Pan by the Linden Knoll School. My twin sister and I played Lost Boys, and sang "I Won't Grow Up" and -- if memory serves -- "A Pirate's Life." We wore ugly olive-green shirts and shorts, and sported very short haircuts. It was the best time I had had in my life to that point. I liked the glamor of it, I liked the applause, but most of all I liked the pretending.
Theater is one of the oldest human art forms. I would argue that it is the most valuable. Of all the fine arts, theater is the one that teaches us empathy. It challenges us to imagine what it's like to be someone else, dealing with situations we'll never face in real life.
Those performance reality shows don't interest me -- not "American Idol," not "X Factor," not "The Voice," -- because that culture of stardom is diametrically opposed, even inimical, to what I value about live performance. Live performance, to me, is not about adulation of the individual. It's about exploring alternate realities with others in order to find new ways to connect. It's about diffusing oneself, not concentrating it, trying new selves on in an effort to make our real selves kinder and more insightful. The best theatrical productions are not star vehicles; they're ensembles in which the whole is greater than sum of its parts.
I think, I hope, The Importance of Being Earnest is that kind of ensemble. We're all having a great time up there. We make each other laugh and admire each other's work, and I think that shows. I'm so glad to have had that experience, and sad we only have five performances left. I'll miss it when it's over.
If you'd like to come see us, performances continue tonight, tomorrow, and next Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Call 207-626-3698 or visit Gaslight Theater's website for details.
Friday, May 27, 2011
"Having been some days in preparation,/A splendid time is guaranteed for all."
The Song: "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!" The Beatles. Words & music by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Track 7 from Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, 1967.
When/how acquired: Gift LP, c. 1977.
Listen/watch here.
The Importance of Being Earnest opens tonight at Gaslight Theater. Shows run tonight, tomorrow, Sunday afternoon, next Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. We're having a good time with it. The weather's supposed to be crummy again this weekend, so if you're in the area, you should come see us.
This was one of the first albums I ever owned, and is one of a handful I've owned in three formats. It's one of those permanent works of art I take for granted. I won't listen to it for months, or even longer, but will hear something from it again and think, "Wow, that's just amazing." It always sounds fresh to me, and I hear new things in it every time.
When/how acquired: Gift LP, c. 1977.
Listen/watch here.
The Importance of Being Earnest opens tonight at Gaslight Theater. Shows run tonight, tomorrow, Sunday afternoon, next Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. We're having a good time with it. The weather's supposed to be crummy again this weekend, so if you're in the area, you should come see us.
This was one of the first albums I ever owned, and is one of a handful I've owned in three formats. It's one of those permanent works of art I take for granted. I won't listen to it for months, or even longer, but will hear something from it again and think, "Wow, that's just amazing." It always sounds fresh to me, and I hear new things in it every time.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
"You know I like it, though/I like this car a lot."
The Song: "Dodge Veg-O-Matic," The Modern Lovers. Words & music by Jonathan Richman. Track 9 of Rock N Roll with The Modern Lovers, 1977.
When/how acquired: Purchased cut-out cassette, c. 1984.
Listen/watch here.
When haters call Jonathan Richman "precious," this is probably the album they're talking about. It is unapologetically a kids' album for adults, featuring not only this song but others called "Ice Cream Man" and "Rockin Rockin Leprechauns," plus a cover of "The Wheels on the Bus" that features a monster. (I used to sing that one to a little girl I babysat, whose mother wasn't thrilled that her two-year-old was singing about monsters.) Still, I defy you to listen to this album and stay in a bad mood.
My own car is still moving, unlike the Dodge Veg-o-Matic. It does need some work, which I'll probably have done sometime in the next couple of weeks. It's not a small amount of money, but it's less than a car payment plus insurance on a new car would be, which makes it acceptable.
We're having a second consecutive day of sunshine here in central Maine, which is making me feel almost recklessly optimistic. Last night's final dress rehearsal of The Importance of Being Earnest went very well indeed, and I find myself talking like Lady Bracknell even offstage, which is becoming annoying even to me. Still, Lady Bracknell is easier company than my last major role (Sister Aloysius in Doubt). The weather's supposed to get rotten again this weekend, so you might as well come see us, if you're anywhere in the neighborhood. Details are here.
When/how acquired: Purchased cut-out cassette, c. 1984.
Listen/watch here.
When haters call Jonathan Richman "precious," this is probably the album they're talking about. It is unapologetically a kids' album for adults, featuring not only this song but others called "Ice Cream Man" and "Rockin Rockin Leprechauns," plus a cover of "The Wheels on the Bus" that features a monster. (I used to sing that one to a little girl I babysat, whose mother wasn't thrilled that her two-year-old was singing about monsters.) Still, I defy you to listen to this album and stay in a bad mood.
My own car is still moving, unlike the Dodge Veg-o-Matic. It does need some work, which I'll probably have done sometime in the next couple of weeks. It's not a small amount of money, but it's less than a car payment plus insurance on a new car would be, which makes it acceptable.
We're having a second consecutive day of sunshine here in central Maine, which is making me feel almost recklessly optimistic. Last night's final dress rehearsal of The Importance of Being Earnest went very well indeed, and I find myself talking like Lady Bracknell even offstage, which is becoming annoying even to me. Still, Lady Bracknell is easier company than my last major role (Sister Aloysius in Doubt). The weather's supposed to get rotten again this weekend, so you might as well come see us, if you're anywhere in the neighborhood. Details are here.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
"I need to laugh, and when the sun is out/I've got something I can laugh about."
The Song: "Good Day Sunshine," The Beatles. Words & music by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Side Two, Track 1 of Revolver, 1966.
When/how acquired: Gift LP, c. 1979.
Listen/watch here. (Also check out this truly odd cultural artifact, an episode of "The Beatles" cartoon series based on the song. No, those are obviously not The Beatles' own voices.)
The sun is out this morning for the first time in almost two weeks. It's amazing how much of a difference it makes not only to my mood, but to Dizzy's as well. Things that felt overwhelming last week feel like minor hassles, even the fact that my car's Check Engine light is on AGAIN.
My relationship with my car has become dysfunctional. I love my car. It's been with me for 11 years now, and it has more than 140,000 miles on it. It's paid for, and costs almost nothing to register or insure. I don't know how much longer I'll be driving; eventually, as my field of vision continues to narrow, I'll have to quit. I want/need/expect this car to be the last one I own.
But I admit that I need to sit down with someone who can be objective, and figure out just how much I can keep putting into its repairs. The idea of buying anything new (it wouldn't be new, it would be gently used) fills me with despair. This, I understand, is why people stay in jobs and relationships of all kinds well past the point they should leave. And this is also why I find myself making excuses for the car, and keeping secrets on its behalf, to avoid having these conversations with people who would take my side over the car's.
The car, I understand, has no feelings in this matter.
When/how acquired: Gift LP, c. 1979.
Listen/watch here. (Also check out this truly odd cultural artifact, an episode of "The Beatles" cartoon series based on the song. No, those are obviously not The Beatles' own voices.)
The sun is out this morning for the first time in almost two weeks. It's amazing how much of a difference it makes not only to my mood, but to Dizzy's as well. Things that felt overwhelming last week feel like minor hassles, even the fact that my car's Check Engine light is on AGAIN.
My relationship with my car has become dysfunctional. I love my car. It's been with me for 11 years now, and it has more than 140,000 miles on it. It's paid for, and costs almost nothing to register or insure. I don't know how much longer I'll be driving; eventually, as my field of vision continues to narrow, I'll have to quit. I want/need/expect this car to be the last one I own.
But I admit that I need to sit down with someone who can be objective, and figure out just how much I can keep putting into its repairs. The idea of buying anything new (it wouldn't be new, it would be gently used) fills me with despair. This, I understand, is why people stay in jobs and relationships of all kinds well past the point they should leave. And this is also why I find myself making excuses for the car, and keeping secrets on its behalf, to avoid having these conversations with people who would take my side over the car's.
The car, I understand, has no feelings in this matter.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
"If I'd have paid attention to what others were thinkin', the heart inside me would have died."
The Song: "Up to Me," Bob Dylan. Words & music by Bob Dylan. Disc 2, Track 3 of Biograph, 1985.
When/how acquired: Gift cassette, 1985.
Listen to an excerpt here.
It's Bob Dylan's 70th birthday. Happy birthday, sir.
These are lines I wouldn't mind having on my tombstone:
This cassette box set was a Christmas present from my parents, my senior year of college. I needed it. I needed this song in particular.
When I present myself to be judged, I won't be able to take credit for anything good I ever did, because those were the things I did without thinking, the things I did just because I had to. When I've thought about things, I've made some pretty bad decisions.
That is not in any way to say that I am good by nature.
When/how acquired: Gift cassette, 1985.
Listen to an excerpt here.
It's Bob Dylan's 70th birthday. Happy birthday, sir.
These are lines I wouldn't mind having on my tombstone:
If I'd have thought about it I never would have done it, I guess I would have let it slide
If I'd have paid attention to what others were thinkin', the heart inside me would have died
But I was just too stubborn to ever be governed by enforced insanity
Someone had to reach for the rising star, I guess it was up to me.
This cassette box set was a Christmas present from my parents, my senior year of college. I needed it. I needed this song in particular.
When I present myself to be judged, I won't be able to take credit for anything good I ever did, because those were the things I did without thinking, the things I did just because I had to. When I've thought about things, I've made some pretty bad decisions.
That is not in any way to say that I am good by nature.
Monday, May 23, 2011
"When I think of heaven/Deliver me in a black-winged bird/I think of flying."
The Song: "Rain King," Counting Crows. Words & music by Adam Duritz and David Bryson. Track 7 of August and Everything After, 1993.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1994.
Listen/watch here.
It's still raining here. Watching the news from Joplin, Missouri and Minneapolis, I can't complain. I hope the Family Radio left-behinds will rally to help the victims of this weekend's disasters. Ways to help are here.
This album came out in the fall of 1993, but I don't think I bought it until after the year turned. It was an essential part of the soundtrack of my summer of 1994, when I got back into amateur theater (playing a housekeeper, of course; servants are my specialty), took my first solo vacation, and had back surgery. I spent a big chunk of 1994 on the road, and have a vivid memory of listening to this album on the drives to and from Dulles Airport.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1994.
Listen/watch here.
It's still raining here. Watching the news from Joplin, Missouri and Minneapolis, I can't complain. I hope the Family Radio left-behinds will rally to help the victims of this weekend's disasters. Ways to help are here.
This album came out in the fall of 1993, but I don't think I bought it until after the year turned. It was an essential part of the soundtrack of my summer of 1994, when I got back into amateur theater (playing a housekeeper, of course; servants are my specialty), took my first solo vacation, and had back surgery. I spent a big chunk of 1994 on the road, and have a vivid memory of listening to this album on the drives to and from Dulles Airport.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
"A lot of people won't get no supper tonight/A lot of people won't get no justice tonight."
The Song: "Armagideon Time," The Clash. Words & music by C.S. Dodd & Willi Williams. Track 10 of the Grosse Pointe Blank soundtrack, 1997.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1997.
Listen/watch here.
It's early in the morning on the East Coast of the United States, but it feels safe to say that predictions of the Rapture were premature, at best. Cultwatch.org offers compassionate advice for people who genuinely believed that Jesus would return today, but it's hard not to feel impatient with them. It's hard to imagine a greater sin of pride than presuming to know the mind of God, especially since the Gospel of Matthew is explicit: "Therefore, stay awake, for you know neither the day nor the hour" (Matthew 25:13).
If that weren't enough, the rest of that chapter makes it even more clear: preparing for the second coming has absolutely nothing to do with predicting dates for the end of the world. It's about looking for Christ in everyone, and doing what we can for each other while we can. All those people who battened down the hatches in preparation for being taken up to heaven don't seem to have read to the end of Chapter 25.
So all you Rapture believers, unless you were out there in the food banks and the shelters and the hospitals and the prisons, I'm not interested in a word you have to say. Disappointed, you say? Ungrateful, I call it.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1997.
Listen/watch here.
It's early in the morning on the East Coast of the United States, but it feels safe to say that predictions of the Rapture were premature, at best. Cultwatch.org offers compassionate advice for people who genuinely believed that Jesus would return today, but it's hard not to feel impatient with them. It's hard to imagine a greater sin of pride than presuming to know the mind of God, especially since the Gospel of Matthew is explicit: "Therefore, stay awake, for you know neither the day nor the hour" (Matthew 25:13).
If that weren't enough, the rest of that chapter makes it even more clear: preparing for the second coming has absolutely nothing to do with predicting dates for the end of the world. It's about looking for Christ in everyone, and doing what we can for each other while we can. All those people who battened down the hatches in preparation for being taken up to heaven don't seem to have read to the end of Chapter 25.
When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit upon his glorious throne, and all the nations will be assembled before him. And he will separate them one from another, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will place the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.
Then the king will say to those on his right, "Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.
"For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me."
Then the righteous will answer him and say, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?"
And the king will say to them in reply, "Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me."
So all you Rapture believers, unless you were out there in the food banks and the shelters and the hospitals and the prisons, I'm not interested in a word you have to say. Disappointed, you say? Ungrateful, I call it.
Friday, May 20, 2011
"There’s only one step down from here, baby/It’s called the land of permanent bliss"
The Song: "Sweetheart Like You," Bob Dylan. Words & music by Bob Dylan. Track 2 of Infidels, 1983.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1984.
Listen/watch here.
On any given day, this is my favorite Bob Dylan song. People say it's sexist. I don't hear it that way. I hear it as a conversation held very late at night, at closing time, between a man and a woman young enough to be his daughter. It's a song that got me through some hard times when I really needed the help.
Bob Dylan turns 70 this month. I'm grateful to him for this song, and for so many others. So much has been written about him, more has been said, and I don't have much to add. I suspect he's not a particularly nice guy. That strikes me as spectacularly irrelevant. He's brought us all along on his personal journey, which has helped me feel less alone. For that, I am grateful.
My friend Tom Ehrenfeld introduced me to this album in the summer of 1984, and I have owned it in some format ever since. It gets dismissed as "minor" Dylan, which annoys me. Who gets to say what's minor? What Infidels is, is personal. Even its overtly political songs ("Neighborhood Bully" and "Union Sundown") feel like laments over personal betrayals rather than efforts to change the world. Dylan, 42 when he made this record, is taking stock at midlife and mourning his losses, including the loss of the better self he hoped he'd be.
The quantum physicists talk about an infinite number of parallel universes, in which, theoretically, an infinite number of parallel selves are living the lives we didn't choose in this one. In at least one of those universes, I am celebrating my 22nd wedding anniversary today. All things considered, I think I'm better off in this one.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1984.
Listen/watch here.
On any given day, this is my favorite Bob Dylan song. People say it's sexist. I don't hear it that way. I hear it as a conversation held very late at night, at closing time, between a man and a woman young enough to be his daughter. It's a song that got me through some hard times when I really needed the help.
Bob Dylan turns 70 this month. I'm grateful to him for this song, and for so many others. So much has been written about him, more has been said, and I don't have much to add. I suspect he's not a particularly nice guy. That strikes me as spectacularly irrelevant. He's brought us all along on his personal journey, which has helped me feel less alone. For that, I am grateful.
My friend Tom Ehrenfeld introduced me to this album in the summer of 1984, and I have owned it in some format ever since. It gets dismissed as "minor" Dylan, which annoys me. Who gets to say what's minor? What Infidels is, is personal. Even its overtly political songs ("Neighborhood Bully" and "Union Sundown") feel like laments over personal betrayals rather than efforts to change the world. Dylan, 42 when he made this record, is taking stock at midlife and mourning his losses, including the loss of the better self he hoped he'd be.
The quantum physicists talk about an infinite number of parallel universes, in which, theoretically, an infinite number of parallel selves are living the lives we didn't choose in this one. In at least one of those universes, I am celebrating my 22nd wedding anniversary today. All things considered, I think I'm better off in this one.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
"I am trying not to have a bad day/Now everybody knows the way that is."
The Song: "The Train," The Roches. Words & music by Suzzy Roche. Track 6 from The Roches, 1979.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1987; purchased CD, c. 1990; downloaded MP3, 2007.
Listen/watch here.
My dear college friend Laurie Richardson introduced me to The Roches in our freshman year, and the songs on this album have been part of the soundtrack of my life for almost (erk) 30 years. Lines from this song, in particular, come up for me almost once a day. Today's quotation might just as easily have been "He's miserable and I am miserable/We are miserable..."
It's been raining all week. They say we might see some sun tomorrow. I'm trying to have a sense of humor about this, but the week has not gone well, I am very behind on almost everything, and I spent most of yesterday in tears for reasons real and imaginary. Even standing on my head, which almost always helps, made no difference at all to the bleakness of the landscape.
The world turns. Things are bound to get better. They always have before.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1987; purchased CD, c. 1990; downloaded MP3, 2007.
Listen/watch here.
My dear college friend Laurie Richardson introduced me to The Roches in our freshman year, and the songs on this album have been part of the soundtrack of my life for almost (erk) 30 years. Lines from this song, in particular, come up for me almost once a day. Today's quotation might just as easily have been "He's miserable and I am miserable/We are miserable..."
It's been raining all week. They say we might see some sun tomorrow. I'm trying to have a sense of humor about this, but the week has not gone well, I am very behind on almost everything, and I spent most of yesterday in tears for reasons real and imaginary. Even standing on my head, which almost always helps, made no difference at all to the bleakness of the landscape.
The world turns. Things are bound to get better. They always have before.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
"You look surprised/You shouldn't be/This world is full of creeps like me."
The Song: "Creeps Like Me," Lyle Lovett. Words & music by Lyle Lovett. Track 5 of I Love Everybody, 1994.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1994
Listen/watch here (that's a live version with John Hiatt).
I may have to declare a news boycott this week, as the Creep Parade just goes on and on. It's more than distracting; it's demoralizing, even depressing, as the rain continues in central Maine and I feel more and more overwhelmed.
I'm supposed to go to Portland tonight to see Steve Martin, but am not sure I'll get there. It's a dark drive at night, made much worse in bad weather. I do not want to be that person who pushed her luck once too many times. I have an extra ticket, and I could also use a ride; if anyone's interested, send me an email.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1994
Listen/watch here (that's a live version with John Hiatt).
I may have to declare a news boycott this week, as the Creep Parade just goes on and on. It's more than distracting; it's demoralizing, even depressing, as the rain continues in central Maine and I feel more and more overwhelmed.
I'm supposed to go to Portland tonight to see Steve Martin, but am not sure I'll get there. It's a dark drive at night, made much worse in bad weather. I do not want to be that person who pushed her luck once too many times. I have an extra ticket, and I could also use a ride; if anyone's interested, send me an email.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
"You can't call it cheatin'/Cause she reminds me of you."
The Song: "Cheatin," Gin Blossoms. Words & music by Jesse Valenzuela and Doug Hopkins. Track 12 of New Miserable Experience, 1992.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1992.
Listen/watch here.
It's shaping up to be a good week for tabloid reporters, as powerful men are forced to deal with the consequences of their actions. These situations are often more complicated than we want to admit, though these complications never reduce anyone's personal responsibility. No, there's no excuse for a man who simply takes what he wants; but how many people had to conspire, for how long, to make him believe that he could?
The most troubling part of the news about Arnold Schwarzenegger's secret child is not the child, but the secrecy. This was a secret that he and the child's mother kept for a decade, possibly even from the child. How could any marriage survive its revelation?
We all keep secrets, sometimes for very good reasons. I know a bit about that. I'm not someone who believes that honesty is always the best policy. But except for sociopaths, what secrets do is divide the self into pieces - the part the world sees, living the secret, and the part that remembers the truth and hides it. The more secrets, the more pieces, until it becomes harder and harder to keep track of who knows what and what the truth actually is.
Which is why it is literally true, sometimes, that the truth can set one free. I don't expect or want any more information about the Schwarzenegger family than we've gotten. But I hope that the revelations set at least a couple of people free.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1992.
Listen/watch here.
It's shaping up to be a good week for tabloid reporters, as powerful men are forced to deal with the consequences of their actions. These situations are often more complicated than we want to admit, though these complications never reduce anyone's personal responsibility. No, there's no excuse for a man who simply takes what he wants; but how many people had to conspire, for how long, to make him believe that he could?
The most troubling part of the news about Arnold Schwarzenegger's secret child is not the child, but the secrecy. This was a secret that he and the child's mother kept for a decade, possibly even from the child. How could any marriage survive its revelation?
We all keep secrets, sometimes for very good reasons. I know a bit about that. I'm not someone who believes that honesty is always the best policy. But except for sociopaths, what secrets do is divide the self into pieces - the part the world sees, living the secret, and the part that remembers the truth and hides it. The more secrets, the more pieces, until it becomes harder and harder to keep track of who knows what and what the truth actually is.
Which is why it is literally true, sometimes, that the truth can set one free. I don't expect or want any more information about the Schwarzenegger family than we've gotten. But I hope that the revelations set at least a couple of people free.
Monday, May 16, 2011
"Give blood/But don't expect to ever see rewards."
The Song: "Give Blood," Pete Townshend. Words & music by Pete Townshend. Track 1 of White City: A Novel, 1985.
When/how acquired: Purchased cutout cassette, c. 1987.
Listen/watch here.
An easy choice today, as I'm giving blood this afternoon. If you can, you should.
I still have a case of cassette tapes in my car, and another big box of them in the spare bedroom. I don't play them -- my car stereo still has a cassette player, but that's the only one I own -- but I can't bring myself to give them away. They were all so precious to me, in their time: hunted for, saved for, purchased when I'd have been better off spending the money on something practical.
This tape I remember buying, though I don't remember exactly when. It was in a cutout bin at the Kemp Mill Records store that used to be at 19th and M Street in Washington, DC. I found it during my lunch break on a weekday. It cost $1.99, and I was as delighted as if I'd found a dollar on the sidewalk.
White City is, as its full title suggests, a story cycle. A video was made at the same time, but I've never seen it. It's similar in subject matter, if not in tone, to another of my favorite acquisitions from around this time, the soundtrack to the 1985 movie Absolute Beginners. Which I also, as it happens, own only on cassette.
When/how acquired: Purchased cutout cassette, c. 1987.
Listen/watch here.
An easy choice today, as I'm giving blood this afternoon. If you can, you should.
I still have a case of cassette tapes in my car, and another big box of them in the spare bedroom. I don't play them -- my car stereo still has a cassette player, but that's the only one I own -- but I can't bring myself to give them away. They were all so precious to me, in their time: hunted for, saved for, purchased when I'd have been better off spending the money on something practical.
This tape I remember buying, though I don't remember exactly when. It was in a cutout bin at the Kemp Mill Records store that used to be at 19th and M Street in Washington, DC. I found it during my lunch break on a weekday. It cost $1.99, and I was as delighted as if I'd found a dollar on the sidewalk.
White City is, as its full title suggests, a story cycle. A video was made at the same time, but I've never seen it. It's similar in subject matter, if not in tone, to another of my favorite acquisitions from around this time, the soundtrack to the 1985 movie Absolute Beginners. Which I also, as it happens, own only on cassette.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
"I also dreamt, which pleased me most/That you loved me still the same."
The Song: "Marble Halls," Enya. Words & music by Alfred Bunn and Michael William Balfe. Track 10 of Shepherd Moons, 1991.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1992.
Listen/watch here.
I am not ashamed of loving Enya, nor of loving this album in particular. It is infallibly soothing, and this song is probably my favorite track.
This version is part of the soundtrack of The Age of Innocence, but the song itself is quite old. It was written as an aria for the 1843 opera The Bohemian Girl, and is probably the only part of that opera anyone still remembers. It features prominently in James Joyce's short story "Clay," when the elderly spinster Maria sings it at a Christmas party, after making a choice in a game that predicts her own death.
Has everyone heard/seen these predictions about the end of the world on May 21? It's not the first time people have predicted the end of the world, and will certainly not be the last; in fact, I think the Mayan apocalypse is supposed to be coming in 2012, so we'll see whose gods prevail. I feel pretty complacent about this, as I have a hard time believing the Almighty keeps much track of human calendars.
And if the world DOES end on May 21, I won't have to worry about knowing my lines for the opening night of The Importance of Being Earnest on May 27. So that's a bonus.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1992.
Listen/watch here.
I am not ashamed of loving Enya, nor of loving this album in particular. It is infallibly soothing, and this song is probably my favorite track.
This version is part of the soundtrack of The Age of Innocence, but the song itself is quite old. It was written as an aria for the 1843 opera The Bohemian Girl, and is probably the only part of that opera anyone still remembers. It features prominently in James Joyce's short story "Clay," when the elderly spinster Maria sings it at a Christmas party, after making a choice in a game that predicts her own death.
Has everyone heard/seen these predictions about the end of the world on May 21? It's not the first time people have predicted the end of the world, and will certainly not be the last; in fact, I think the Mayan apocalypse is supposed to be coming in 2012, so we'll see whose gods prevail. I feel pretty complacent about this, as I have a hard time believing the Almighty keeps much track of human calendars.
And if the world DOES end on May 21, I won't have to worry about knowing my lines for the opening night of The Importance of Being Earnest on May 27. So that's a bonus.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
"President say, 'Little fat man, isn't it a shame/What the river has done to this poor cracker's land.'"
The Song: "Louisiana 1927," Randy Newman. Words & music by Randy Newman. Track 1 of Good Old Boys, 1974.
When/how acquired: Purchased LP, 1987.
Listen/watch here.
Today's post is going to be a little scattered, I'm afraid. I'm a little scattered. Yesterday I got lost two separate times, driving to two familiar places in daylight, just because I missed the turns I needed to take. It's more than a metaphor.
But things could be worse. I live on top of a hill, in part of the United States that is not currently underwater. Nothing, not even fire, is as devastating as flood; as Randy Newman says, it washes everything away, and ruins even things that may look unharmed. It's time for me to make another blood donation, and while I do that I'll see what spare change I can scrape together for the Red Cross. It's important.
This album may have been the last I bought on vinyl. It was either this one or the New York Shakespeare Festival recording of Threepenny Opera (which I lost somewhere, and would love to have again in any format). I didn't even own a record player, though my then-fiance did.
I bought this album when I had no money to spend on anything. It was the soundtrack for Arena Stage's production of the musical adaptation of All the King's Men, which I had seen as my friend Carla's guest (she was working there). That's still one of the best things I've ever seen on stage, and I don't understand why it's not produced more often. Candy Buckley was devastating as Sadie, Casey Biggs was remarkable as Jack Burden, and the great Stanley Anderson was phenomenal as Willie Stark. All the King's Men was, in fact, a play before it was a novel, and its roots in Greek tragedy are obvious on the stage.
But I digress. I've been digressing. I feel flooded myself, and need to shake things out and dry things off and save whatever's salvageable. And yes, I know that's cryptic. I don't quite understand it yet myself.
When/how acquired: Purchased LP, 1987.
Listen/watch here.
Today's post is going to be a little scattered, I'm afraid. I'm a little scattered. Yesterday I got lost two separate times, driving to two familiar places in daylight, just because I missed the turns I needed to take. It's more than a metaphor.
But things could be worse. I live on top of a hill, in part of the United States that is not currently underwater. Nothing, not even fire, is as devastating as flood; as Randy Newman says, it washes everything away, and ruins even things that may look unharmed. It's time for me to make another blood donation, and while I do that I'll see what spare change I can scrape together for the Red Cross. It's important.
This album may have been the last I bought on vinyl. It was either this one or the New York Shakespeare Festival recording of Threepenny Opera (which I lost somewhere, and would love to have again in any format). I didn't even own a record player, though my then-fiance did.
I bought this album when I had no money to spend on anything. It was the soundtrack for Arena Stage's production of the musical adaptation of All the King's Men, which I had seen as my friend Carla's guest (she was working there). That's still one of the best things I've ever seen on stage, and I don't understand why it's not produced more often. Candy Buckley was devastating as Sadie, Casey Biggs was remarkable as Jack Burden, and the great Stanley Anderson was phenomenal as Willie Stark. All the King's Men was, in fact, a play before it was a novel, and its roots in Greek tragedy are obvious on the stage.
But I digress. I've been digressing. I feel flooded myself, and need to shake things out and dry things off and save whatever's salvageable. And yes, I know that's cryptic. I don't quite understand it yet myself.
Thursday, May 05, 2011
"Most of the time/I'm clear focused all around/Most of the time"
The Song: "Most of the Time," Bob Dylan. Words & music by Bob Dylan. Track 6 of Oh Mercy, 1989.
When/how acquired: Purchased MP3, 2005.
Listen/watch here.
Between one thing and another, it's been a tough week. I'm a little overwhelmed, and if you're waiting for a work project from me, I thank you for your patience and promise you'll hear from me very soon.
In the meantime, I'm going to try to stay offline for most of the next couple of days. I'll check emails in the morning and evening, but if you need an immediate response on something, call.
I was late to this album, which I've come to consider one of Dylan's very best. My friend Allison Burnett used to rave about it, but I don't think I ever even listened to the whole thing until reading the first volume of Dylan's memoirs, which discusses the making of this album at length. Allison was right, as he so often is, and Oh Mercy probably stands third among my favorite Dylan albums, after Blood on the Tracks and Infidels.
When/how acquired: Purchased MP3, 2005.
Listen/watch here.
Between one thing and another, it's been a tough week. I'm a little overwhelmed, and if you're waiting for a work project from me, I thank you for your patience and promise you'll hear from me very soon.
In the meantime, I'm going to try to stay offline for most of the next couple of days. I'll check emails in the morning and evening, but if you need an immediate response on something, call.
I was late to this album, which I've come to consider one of Dylan's very best. My friend Allison Burnett used to rave about it, but I don't think I ever even listened to the whole thing until reading the first volume of Dylan's memoirs, which discusses the making of this album at length. Allison was right, as he so often is, and Oh Mercy probably stands third among my favorite Dylan albums, after Blood on the Tracks and Infidels.
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
"I know I will be loosened/From bonds that hold me fast/And the chains all around me/Will fall away at last"
The Song: "Fisherman's Blues," The Waterboys. Words & music by Mike Scott and Steve Wickham. Track 1 of Fisherman's Blues, 1988.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1989; purchased CD, 1990.
Listen/watch here.
My dad leaves for Crete today, to join the USNS Big Horn (T-AO-198) as an ordinary seaman for a Mediterranean cruise that will last at least four months.
I don't know what to write about this that would not be much too personal for him, me and the rest of the family. But I can and do say congratulations and good luck, and I hope it brings you everything you're looking for. Fair winds and following seas, Dad, and safe journeys wherever you go.
This song makes me feel better about almost everything. I think I need to listen to it a few more times.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1989; purchased CD, 1990.
Listen/watch here.
My dad leaves for Crete today, to join the USNS Big Horn (T-AO-198) as an ordinary seaman for a Mediterranean cruise that will last at least four months.
I don't know what to write about this that would not be much too personal for him, me and the rest of the family. But I can and do say congratulations and good luck, and I hope it brings you everything you're looking for. Fair winds and following seas, Dad, and safe journeys wherever you go.
This song makes me feel better about almost everything. I think I need to listen to it a few more times.
Monday, May 02, 2011
"May your strength give us strength/May your faith give us faith/May your hope give us hope/May your love give us love."
The Song: "Into the Fire," Bruce Springsteen. Words & music by Bruce Springsteen. Track 2 of The Rising, 2002.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 2002.
Listen/watch here.
On my flight back to Portland over the weekend, I had the privilege of sharing my seat with Banks, a seven-year-old black Lab who works for the Federal Emergency Management Agency. He and his handler were on their way to a kennel outside Portland for a week's R&R, having recently returned from Japan. His handler said that Japan had been worse than Haiti, although the destruction in Haiti had been worse, because "at least in Haiti some of the people we found were alive." She's been doing this work since the Oklahoma City bombing, in 1995.
Banks let me pet him, and licked my hand, but looked at me with eyes that have seen things I hope I never see. He is so good at his job that he's coming up here for breeding purposes, in hopes of making more puppies that will search for victims, and save them if they can.
This world has heroes, and not all of them are human.
I am sitting here much later than I'd expected to be up, watching the celebrations after the announcement of Osama bin Laden's death. This is not a death that brings anyone back. It might even lead to more deaths, if bin Laden's followers decide to retaliate. I have a nephew serving on an Air Force base in Japan and a father who's about to fly out to a Navy supply ship in the Mediterranean on Wednesday. They're not safer today than they were yesterday.
And yet I'm grateful, and I'm astonished, and relieved in a way I can't explain. Brave, brave men went into that compound in Pakistan and did what was necessary. So many people have died, over the past 10 years, to get to that one firefight, and I am grateful to them all.
All of us Americans need to live in a way that deserves such courage, such dedication. All of us people do.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 2002.
Listen/watch here.
On my flight back to Portland over the weekend, I had the privilege of sharing my seat with Banks, a seven-year-old black Lab who works for the Federal Emergency Management Agency. He and his handler were on their way to a kennel outside Portland for a week's R&R, having recently returned from Japan. His handler said that Japan had been worse than Haiti, although the destruction in Haiti had been worse, because "at least in Haiti some of the people we found were alive." She's been doing this work since the Oklahoma City bombing, in 1995.
Banks let me pet him, and licked my hand, but looked at me with eyes that have seen things I hope I never see. He is so good at his job that he's coming up here for breeding purposes, in hopes of making more puppies that will search for victims, and save them if they can.
This world has heroes, and not all of them are human.
I am sitting here much later than I'd expected to be up, watching the celebrations after the announcement of Osama bin Laden's death. This is not a death that brings anyone back. It might even lead to more deaths, if bin Laden's followers decide to retaliate. I have a nephew serving on an Air Force base in Japan and a father who's about to fly out to a Navy supply ship in the Mediterranean on Wednesday. They're not safer today than they were yesterday.
And yet I'm grateful, and I'm astonished, and relieved in a way I can't explain. Brave, brave men went into that compound in Pakistan and did what was necessary. So many people have died, over the past 10 years, to get to that one firefight, and I am grateful to them all.
All of us Americans need to live in a way that deserves such courage, such dedication. All of us people do.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
"Precious time is slipping away/You know she's only queen for a day/It doesn't matter to which god you pray/Precious time is slipping away."
The Song: "Precious Time," Van Morrison. Words & music by Van Morrison. Track 9 of Back on Top, 1999.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1999
Listen/watch here.
Today is my mother's 70th birthday. I miss her so much, and would like to think of something good to do to mark the occasion. Instead I'm going to build sets, I'll do some manuscript work for a client, some copywriting for another, some publicity work for a third. I'll pick Dizzy up from the kennel late this afternoon and work well into the night, scrambling to catch up after three days in New York. I guess those are all good things, although if Mom were alive we'd all be in Virginia Beach helping her celebrate. I wish we'd thought to do that anyway, even without her. I live too far away from my family.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1999
Listen/watch here.
Today is my mother's 70th birthday. I miss her so much, and would like to think of something good to do to mark the occasion. Instead I'm going to build sets, I'll do some manuscript work for a client, some copywriting for another, some publicity work for a third. I'll pick Dizzy up from the kennel late this afternoon and work well into the night, scrambling to catch up after three days in New York. I guess those are all good things, although if Mom were alive we'd all be in Virginia Beach helping her celebrate. I wish we'd thought to do that anyway, even without her. I live too far away from my family.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
"Universe man, universe man/Size of the entire universe man/Usually kind to smaller man/Universe man."
The Song: "Particle Man," They Might Be Giants. Words and music by John Flansburgh and John Linnell. Track 7 of Flood, 1990.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1990.
Listen/watch here.
I woke up this morning with this song in my head for no reason, then logged onto Twitter to discover that it is TMBG Awareness Day. So well played, gentlemen, and now that I've downloaded your new MP3s, will you turn the mind control ray off, please?
We don't listen to enough polka music in modern life, and the accordion is a seriously underrated instrument. Flood is one of my favorite albums, and since it never fails to cheer me up, it's in heavy rotation in my iTunes playlist. It too was one of the CDs the smasher/grabber stole in Montreal, so maybe those lost CDs will be this week's theme.
Anyway, you should take two minutes from your day and watch the independent "Particle Man" cartoon I've linked to above. I have no idea what the lyrics of "Particle Man" are supposed to be about, but they inspire me with a random existential cheer. Triangle Man hates Particle Man, for no reason, but Universe Man is generally kinder. Also, he has a watch with a minute hand, a millennium hand, and an eon hand. Those blown deadlines look pretty insignificant against the power of the millennium hand, don't they?
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1990.
Listen/watch here.
I woke up this morning with this song in my head for no reason, then logged onto Twitter to discover that it is TMBG Awareness Day. So well played, gentlemen, and now that I've downloaded your new MP3s, will you turn the mind control ray off, please?
We don't listen to enough polka music in modern life, and the accordion is a seriously underrated instrument. Flood is one of my favorite albums, and since it never fails to cheer me up, it's in heavy rotation in my iTunes playlist. It too was one of the CDs the smasher/grabber stole in Montreal, so maybe those lost CDs will be this week's theme.
Anyway, you should take two minutes from your day and watch the independent "Particle Man" cartoon I've linked to above. I have no idea what the lyrics of "Particle Man" are supposed to be about, but they inspire me with a random existential cheer. Triangle Man hates Particle Man, for no reason, but Universe Man is generally kinder. Also, he has a watch with a minute hand, a millennium hand, and an eon hand. Those blown deadlines look pretty insignificant against the power of the millennium hand, don't they?
Monday, April 25, 2011
"London calling, yes I was there too/An' you know what they said? Well, some of it was true!"
The Song: "London Calling," The Clash. Words & music by Joe Strummer and Mick Jones. Track 1 of London Calling, 1979.
When/how acquired: Bootleg cassette, c. 1981; purchased CD, c. 1990
Listen/watch here.
On any given day, London Calling is the one album I'd need on a desert island. It's so thoroughly interwoven into my life that I don't remember the first time I heard it, but I suspect it was in Norfolk Academy's art classroom, which doubled as a dressing room for school theater productions. A copy of the CD was one of several stolen from my car in Montreal in 2005, and it's the only CD I actually replaced, even though I'd uploaded it to my iTunes.
You're not going to get any snark about the royal wedding from me, although I doubt I'll wake up early to watch. (I'm supposed to be in New York on Friday. I do plan to be in New York on Friday, but it will depend on what my eye looks like on Wednesday morning. No, I've already explained too much.)
Anyway, I believe in marriage, I love weddings, and I have no objections to the Windsors. They work hard, and I don't envy their lives for a moment. I'm glad Americans don't have royalty, but I see its value, especially as the historical artifact it's become. Modern-day royalty are like ghosts among us, reminders of both the good and bad of how things used to be. I love that Kate Middleton's parents used to be flight attendants, and that the future heirs to the throne of England will have that as part of their heritage as well as the first Duke of Marlborough. And no one can deny that the wedding's been great for the global economy, from tourism to magazine publishing to whatever factories (probably in central America) make those tea towels.
It's been much too long since I traveled to England. It's been much too long since I took any kind of real trip. Invitations are welcome, especially if they come with plane tickets.
When/how acquired: Bootleg cassette, c. 1981; purchased CD, c. 1990
Listen/watch here.
On any given day, London Calling is the one album I'd need on a desert island. It's so thoroughly interwoven into my life that I don't remember the first time I heard it, but I suspect it was in Norfolk Academy's art classroom, which doubled as a dressing room for school theater productions. A copy of the CD was one of several stolen from my car in Montreal in 2005, and it's the only CD I actually replaced, even though I'd uploaded it to my iTunes.
You're not going to get any snark about the royal wedding from me, although I doubt I'll wake up early to watch. (I'm supposed to be in New York on Friday. I do plan to be in New York on Friday, but it will depend on what my eye looks like on Wednesday morning. No, I've already explained too much.)
Anyway, I believe in marriage, I love weddings, and I have no objections to the Windsors. They work hard, and I don't envy their lives for a moment. I'm glad Americans don't have royalty, but I see its value, especially as the historical artifact it's become. Modern-day royalty are like ghosts among us, reminders of both the good and bad of how things used to be. I love that Kate Middleton's parents used to be flight attendants, and that the future heirs to the throne of England will have that as part of their heritage as well as the first Duke of Marlborough. And no one can deny that the wedding's been great for the global economy, from tourism to magazine publishing to whatever factories (probably in central America) make those tea towels.
It's been much too long since I traveled to England. It's been much too long since I took any kind of real trip. Invitations are welcome, especially if they come with plane tickets.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Five Random Questions with BRETT BATTLES
I'm sorry I haven't been around this week. As usual, I'm desperately behind on several projects, and crippled by allergies. Had to cancel plans to spend Easter in Washington, and now I have a full-blown case of allergic pinkeye — I am 45 years old and have never had pinkeye, so this is mortifying as well as painful. Working with one eye open slows me down even more than I would have expected.
Fortunately, my pal Brett Battles has released a new book this week. SICK has the distinction of being my first true e-book; that is, the first book I've ever read to be published exclusively in electronic format. It's very different from his Jonathan Quinn novels, about an international hit man (although those are great, and you should read them). SICK is an apocalyptic thriller set in the near future.
Army officer Daniel Ash wakes up one morning to find his wife dead and his daughter critically ill, victims of a mysterious sudden sickness that has overtaken his whole small installation. Ash, inexplicably, seems immune. These things aren't accidents. SICK is a breathless, nonstop chase-and-race thriller that reminded me of the opening chapters of Stephen King's THE STAND. Its subtitle is "A Project Eden Thriller," and without giving anything away, its ending makes clear that Ash's fight is just starting. It's available from both Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
Brett agreed to answer Five Random Questions for the blog.
1. Disneyland or Disney World, and what's your favorite ride?
Disneyland, since I’ve been going there regularly since I was five. And favorite ride? When I was young my favorite wasn’t actually a ride, it was the Swiss Family Robinson tree house. I LOVED exploring that, but it’s gone now, or rather redone and renamed Tarzan’s Treehouse. UGH! These days? Anything but A Small World. I hate that ride!
2. What was the first record you ever bought?
GRAND ILLUSION by Styx.
3. What was your first paying job? ("Paying" as in "got a check," not cash for mowing lawns.)
McDonald's.
4. Who's your favorite James Bond?
I’ve always been partial to Sean Connery, but I gotta say Daniel Craig has become my new favorite.
5. Do you know any poems by heart?
How much wood can an woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood...wait, that’s not a poem, is it?
Fortunately, my pal Brett Battles has released a new book this week. SICK has the distinction of being my first true e-book; that is, the first book I've ever read to be published exclusively in electronic format. It's very different from his Jonathan Quinn novels, about an international hit man (although those are great, and you should read them). SICK is an apocalyptic thriller set in the near future. Army officer Daniel Ash wakes up one morning to find his wife dead and his daughter critically ill, victims of a mysterious sudden sickness that has overtaken his whole small installation. Ash, inexplicably, seems immune. These things aren't accidents. SICK is a breathless, nonstop chase-and-race thriller that reminded me of the opening chapters of Stephen King's THE STAND. Its subtitle is "A Project Eden Thriller," and without giving anything away, its ending makes clear that Ash's fight is just starting. It's available from both Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
Brett agreed to answer Five Random Questions for the blog.
1. Disneyland or Disney World, and what's your favorite ride?
Disneyland, since I’ve been going there regularly since I was five. And favorite ride? When I was young my favorite wasn’t actually a ride, it was the Swiss Family Robinson tree house. I LOVED exploring that, but it’s gone now, or rather redone and renamed Tarzan’s Treehouse. UGH! These days? Anything but A Small World. I hate that ride!
2. What was the first record you ever bought?
GRAND ILLUSION by Styx.
3. What was your first paying job? ("Paying" as in "got a check," not cash for mowing lawns.)
McDonald's.
4. Who's your favorite James Bond?
I’ve always been partial to Sean Connery, but I gotta say Daniel Craig has become my new favorite.
5. Do you know any poems by heart?
How much wood can an woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood...wait, that’s not a poem, is it?
Monday, April 18, 2011
Five Random Questions with LISA LUTZ and DAVID HAYWARD
I've gotten very bad about posting my reading lists here, partly because I'm having a terrible time keeping track of what I'm allowed to admit I've read. I get very early copies of books, read books in manuscript, read for clients under confidentiality agreements, read candidates for awards nominations that are obviously confidential, and — well, you get the idea.
But one of my happiest reading adventures this winter was an early copy of HEADS YOU LOSE, a collaborative mystery that becomes a piece of performance art with the addition of emails exchanged between the authors as they wrote the book. This kind of meta-fiction is hard to pull off without becoming annoying, but HEADS YOU LOSE walks that line beautifully. The underlying mystery works — a brother and sister who grow pot in Northern California find a headless body on their land, and decide to hide it rather than call the police — but the emails between chapters are both hilarious and educational, almost a tutorial in novel-writing.
Lisa is the award-winning author of the marvelous Spellman detective novels. David is a recovering poet. They used to date. I am delighted that they agreed to answer Five Random Questions for the blog.
1. What can you cook without a recipe?
Lisa: Eggs.
Dave: Tea.
2. Please describe the circumstances of your worst-ever haircut.
Lisa: Thanks for asking. It was 1997, I think. I asked Dave to take a little off the bottom and he just hacked off several chunks of hair without any clear aesthetic point of view. I should note he was rather drunk at the time. But still, it seemed deliberate to me.
Dave: I tend to steer clear of drunk barbers, so I can’t recall a particularly terrible haircut. But my worst phase was probably a modern rock look in the early ’90s.
3. What's your favorite season, and why?
Lisa: Winter. I’ll take precipitation in any form I can get it and as often as possible.
Dave: Spring and fall (tie) because I’m noncommittal.
4. What's the last nonfiction book you read?
Lisa: Packing for Mars by Mary Roach. Educational and hilarious. If she wrote my science textbooks in high school, I might actually remember something.
Dave: Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself: A Road Trip With David Foster Wallace by David Lipsky. Sad and irresistible.
5. Which house would you belong to at Hogwarts?
Lisa: I think I’m a mix of Gryffindor and Slytherin. I’ve got the loyalty part of Gryffindor, and I think I have a bit of the cunning and resourcefulness of a Slytherin. But my blood is not pure. Dave hasn’t read the books, so I’ll answer for him. He’s 100 percent Ravenclaw — intelligence, creativity, learning, and wit. Although, I’m not saying he has all of those qualities, but at least 25%.
Dave: This has to be a trap. I’m keeping my mouth shut.
But one of my happiest reading adventures this winter was an early copy of HEADS YOU LOSE, a collaborative mystery that becomes a piece of performance art with the addition of emails exchanged between the authors as they wrote the book. This kind of meta-fiction is hard to pull off without becoming annoying, but HEADS YOU LOSE walks that line beautifully. The underlying mystery works — a brother and sister who grow pot in Northern California find a headless body on their land, and decide to hide it rather than call the police — but the emails between chapters are both hilarious and educational, almost a tutorial in novel-writing. Lisa is the award-winning author of the marvelous Spellman detective novels. David is a recovering poet. They used to date. I am delighted that they agreed to answer Five Random Questions for the blog.
1. What can you cook without a recipe?
Lisa: Eggs.
Dave: Tea.
2. Please describe the circumstances of your worst-ever haircut.
Lisa: Thanks for asking. It was 1997, I think. I asked Dave to take a little off the bottom and he just hacked off several chunks of hair without any clear aesthetic point of view. I should note he was rather drunk at the time. But still, it seemed deliberate to me.
Dave: I tend to steer clear of drunk barbers, so I can’t recall a particularly terrible haircut. But my worst phase was probably a modern rock look in the early ’90s.
3. What's your favorite season, and why?
Lisa: Winter. I’ll take precipitation in any form I can get it and as often as possible.
Dave: Spring and fall (tie) because I’m noncommittal.
4. What's the last nonfiction book you read?
Lisa: Packing for Mars by Mary Roach. Educational and hilarious. If she wrote my science textbooks in high school, I might actually remember something.
Dave: Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself: A Road Trip With David Foster Wallace by David Lipsky. Sad and irresistible.
5. Which house would you belong to at Hogwarts?
Lisa: I think I’m a mix of Gryffindor and Slytherin. I’ve got the loyalty part of Gryffindor, and I think I have a bit of the cunning and resourcefulness of a Slytherin. But my blood is not pure. Dave hasn’t read the books, so I’ll answer for him. He’s 100 percent Ravenclaw — intelligence, creativity, learning, and wit. Although, I’m not saying he has all of those qualities, but at least 25%.
Dave: This has to be a trap. I’m keeping my mouth shut.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
"That there were sorrows to be healed/And mercy, mercy in this world."
The Song: "Song of Bernadette," Jennifer Warnes. Words & music by Leonard Cohen. Track 7 of Famous Blue Raincoat, 1987.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1987.
Listen/watch here.
I have written about this album before. It is one I would need on a desert island, and it's not an exaggeration to say it might have saved my life. Certainly it helped me live with myself at a time when that was very, very hard. This song, in particular, still makes me cry, and if you don't mist up a little at it, how do we know each other?
Today is the feast day of St. Bernadette, unlikeliest of saints. She was a desperately poor, uneducated 14-year-old girl when she saw a dazzling light and a "small young lady" at a grotto outside her small town. Her own parents didn't believe her. The police threatened to arrest her. Her fellow townspeople thought she was insane, but were amazed when a spring flowed clear from a place that had been nothing but mud. Bernadette said that the lady asked for penance, and said that a chapel should be built on the site, and that people should come.
Now that site is the shrine of Lourdes, where 67 people with fatal or crippling illnesses have experienced cures certified by the Catholic Church as miracles. Countless more people give Lourdes credit for miraculous cures of their own, although unconfirmed by doctors or scientists. The water, tested over a period of 150 years, is perfectly ordinary mineral water. Bernadette herself said that the healing came from prayer, not from the water itself.
Bernadette died at the age of 35. Paradoxically, she was sick for most of her life, with cholera, asthma, and finally the tuberculosis that killed her. But she believed that her life was touched by miracles, and was canonized in 1933, 54 years after her death.
A friend once told me that I had lived a magic life, and I agreed that it was true. But I think that magic lives are as much about what you notice as about what actually happens to you. It's about what you keep track of, and how you keep score. Bernadette, poor and sickly, felt blessed. Whether or not you believe she saw the Virgin Mary, her ability to feel loved in the midst of doubt makes her a role model — for Leonard Cohen, and for me.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1987.
Listen/watch here.
I have written about this album before. It is one I would need on a desert island, and it's not an exaggeration to say it might have saved my life. Certainly it helped me live with myself at a time when that was very, very hard. This song, in particular, still makes me cry, and if you don't mist up a little at it, how do we know each other?
Today is the feast day of St. Bernadette, unlikeliest of saints. She was a desperately poor, uneducated 14-year-old girl when she saw a dazzling light and a "small young lady" at a grotto outside her small town. Her own parents didn't believe her. The police threatened to arrest her. Her fellow townspeople thought she was insane, but were amazed when a spring flowed clear from a place that had been nothing but mud. Bernadette said that the lady asked for penance, and said that a chapel should be built on the site, and that people should come.
Now that site is the shrine of Lourdes, where 67 people with fatal or crippling illnesses have experienced cures certified by the Catholic Church as miracles. Countless more people give Lourdes credit for miraculous cures of their own, although unconfirmed by doctors or scientists. The water, tested over a period of 150 years, is perfectly ordinary mineral water. Bernadette herself said that the healing came from prayer, not from the water itself.
Bernadette died at the age of 35. Paradoxically, she was sick for most of her life, with cholera, asthma, and finally the tuberculosis that killed her. But she believed that her life was touched by miracles, and was canonized in 1933, 54 years after her death.
A friend once told me that I had lived a magic life, and I agreed that it was true. But I think that magic lives are as much about what you notice as about what actually happens to you. It's about what you keep track of, and how you keep score. Bernadette, poor and sickly, felt blessed. Whether or not you believe she saw the Virgin Mary, her ability to feel loved in the midst of doubt makes her a role model — for Leonard Cohen, and for me.
Friday, April 15, 2011
"Every mother's son's romantic/Every mother's son is frantic."
The Song: "Faron Young," Prefab Sprout. Words & music by Paddy McAloon. Track 1 of Steve McQueen, 1985.
When/how acquired: Gift CD, 2007.
Listen/watch here.
Is it just me, or is everyone a little nuts this week? Not saying we don't all have reason, although I suspect that franticness is contagious. I'm just not sure whether it started with me, or whether I caught it from someone and am passing it along. At this point, it doesn't matter.
This album was a Christmas present from a friend, and new to me, although it had been released more than 20 years earlier. It was released in the U.S. as Two Wheels Good, because Steve McQueen's estate objected to the use of his name as a title.
Faron Young was still alive when this album came out, though he hadn't recorded anything since 1980, and was fighting a losing battle with alcohol, emphysema and mental illness. He recorded three more albums in the late 1980s-early 1990s, but as a kid growing up in Tidewater Virginia, I knew him mainly as the spokesman for BC Powder (which, by the way, is still the best hangover remedy I know, though almost impossible to find north of Virginia). He killed himself in 1996, and was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2000.
Click here to see his duet with Willie Nelson on "Ain't It Funny How Time Slips Away." It's a beautiful voice, and nice to see the real affection between these two old friends. Faron Young was his own worst enemy, but aren't we all?
When/how acquired: Gift CD, 2007.
Listen/watch here.
Is it just me, or is everyone a little nuts this week? Not saying we don't all have reason, although I suspect that franticness is contagious. I'm just not sure whether it started with me, or whether I caught it from someone and am passing it along. At this point, it doesn't matter.
This album was a Christmas present from a friend, and new to me, although it had been released more than 20 years earlier. It was released in the U.S. as Two Wheels Good, because Steve McQueen's estate objected to the use of his name as a title.
Faron Young was still alive when this album came out, though he hadn't recorded anything since 1980, and was fighting a losing battle with alcohol, emphysema and mental illness. He recorded three more albums in the late 1980s-early 1990s, but as a kid growing up in Tidewater Virginia, I knew him mainly as the spokesman for BC Powder (which, by the way, is still the best hangover remedy I know, though almost impossible to find north of Virginia). He killed himself in 1996, and was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2000.
Click here to see his duet with Willie Nelson on "Ain't It Funny How Time Slips Away." It's a beautiful voice, and nice to see the real affection between these two old friends. Faron Young was his own worst enemy, but aren't we all?
Thursday, April 14, 2011
"But falling over you/Is the news of the day."
The Song: "The Ghost in You," The Psychedelic Furs. Words & music by Richard Butler and Tim Butler. Track 11 of All of This and Nothing, 1988 (originally Track 1 of Mirror Moves, 1984, but I never owned that).
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1990; purchased CD, c. 1998.
Listen/watch here.
The Psychedelic Furs rank high among my favorite bands of the 1980s, perhaps second only to The Replacements. On any given day this might be my favorite Furs song (although my favorite of their albums is Forever Now, no contest).
Anyway, it's been a tricky week. Many tasks to be juggled, and I'm distracted and sad for no real reason, or at least no reason I care to look at.
I tripped over Dizzy last night. It was bound to happen; my night vision is pretty much gone, to the point that it takes a fair amount of light for me even to distinguish shadows anymore. The narrowing of my field of vision acts as a sort of letterbox, showing me only a kidney-shaped strip of what normal people see.
Most of the time, that's plenty. I see what I'm looking at, and always will, barring some terrible accident. It actually comes in handy sometimes. I swear it's improved both my bowling and my putting, and I'm a decent shot with a rifle because nothing peripheral distracts me.
I don't know what I don't see, but the brain is marvelous at filling in information when I know what's there. It lets me believe I see more than I do, in familiar settings - which is why I tripped over Dizzy last night. He wasn't in his usual place, and I just didn't see him.
He wasn't hurt, and neither was I. He forgot it almost immediately, but I won't.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, c. 1990; purchased CD, c. 1998.
Listen/watch here.
The Psychedelic Furs rank high among my favorite bands of the 1980s, perhaps second only to The Replacements. On any given day this might be my favorite Furs song (although my favorite of their albums is Forever Now, no contest).
Anyway, it's been a tricky week. Many tasks to be juggled, and I'm distracted and sad for no real reason, or at least no reason I care to look at.
I tripped over Dizzy last night. It was bound to happen; my night vision is pretty much gone, to the point that it takes a fair amount of light for me even to distinguish shadows anymore. The narrowing of my field of vision acts as a sort of letterbox, showing me only a kidney-shaped strip of what normal people see.
Most of the time, that's plenty. I see what I'm looking at, and always will, barring some terrible accident. It actually comes in handy sometimes. I swear it's improved both my bowling and my putting, and I'm a decent shot with a rifle because nothing peripheral distracts me.
I don't know what I don't see, but the brain is marvelous at filling in information when I know what's there. It lets me believe I see more than I do, in familiar settings - which is why I tripped over Dizzy last night. He wasn't in his usual place, and I just didn't see him.
He wasn't hurt, and neither was I. He forgot it almost immediately, but I won't.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
"Their walls are built of cannon balls/Their motto is don't tread on me."
The Song: "Uncle John's Band," The Grateful Dead. Words by Robert Hunter; music by Jerry Garcia. Track 1 of Workingman's Dead, 1970.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, c. 1991.
Listen/watch here.
My friend Scott, a Charleston native, told me once that he'd heard these lines referred to Fort Moultrie, which has cannonballs in its walls. Kathy and I climbed on those walls as children, during summers in Charleston with our grandparents. They probably don't let you do that any more.
Fort Moultrie is now part of Fort Sumter National Monument, which is getting a lot of attention today as it's the 150th anniversary of the first shots fired in the Civil War. I suspect that not as many tourists visit Fort Moultrie, which is a shame, because I always thought it was even more interesting than its counterpart in the harbor. It was the official federal garrison in Charleston before South Carolina seceded in December 1860; after secession, the federal troops moved to Fort Sumter, surrounded by water, with the idea that it would be easier to defend.
After the Civil War, Fort Moultrie was a working Army installation through the Second World War. My mother remembered seeing German prisoners of war sunbathing there, when she and her family spent summers on Sullivan Island. She was a tiny child then, and her lasting memory was of envying the prisoners because they had chocolate bars, which were rationed.
Fort Moultrie is one of a handful of places I've visited that I would say, beyond question, is haunted. The Seminole leader Osceola died of malaria there, three months after being lured to Fort Payton under false promises of a peace negotiation. He's buried at Fort Moultrie, despite a bizarre scheme to steal his bones as recently as 1966. I don't know whether he haunts Fort Moultrie, but it wouldn't surprise me.
This song is probably my single favorite Grateful Dead tune, and an infallible mood lifter. It's the first track on my "Music for a Bad Mood" playlist, which I created as a mix tape at least 15 years ago, and have updated only slightly in the conversion to MP3s.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, c. 1991.
Listen/watch here.
My friend Scott, a Charleston native, told me once that he'd heard these lines referred to Fort Moultrie, which has cannonballs in its walls. Kathy and I climbed on those walls as children, during summers in Charleston with our grandparents. They probably don't let you do that any more.
Fort Moultrie is now part of Fort Sumter National Monument, which is getting a lot of attention today as it's the 150th anniversary of the first shots fired in the Civil War. I suspect that not as many tourists visit Fort Moultrie, which is a shame, because I always thought it was even more interesting than its counterpart in the harbor. It was the official federal garrison in Charleston before South Carolina seceded in December 1860; after secession, the federal troops moved to Fort Sumter, surrounded by water, with the idea that it would be easier to defend.
After the Civil War, Fort Moultrie was a working Army installation through the Second World War. My mother remembered seeing German prisoners of war sunbathing there, when she and her family spent summers on Sullivan Island. She was a tiny child then, and her lasting memory was of envying the prisoners because they had chocolate bars, which were rationed.
Fort Moultrie is one of a handful of places I've visited that I would say, beyond question, is haunted. The Seminole leader Osceola died of malaria there, three months after being lured to Fort Payton under false promises of a peace negotiation. He's buried at Fort Moultrie, despite a bizarre scheme to steal his bones as recently as 1966. I don't know whether he haunts Fort Moultrie, but it wouldn't surprise me.
This song is probably my single favorite Grateful Dead tune, and an infallible mood lifter. It's the first track on my "Music for a Bad Mood" playlist, which I created as a mix tape at least 15 years ago, and have updated only slightly in the conversion to MP3s.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
"The world was moving/She was right there with it, and she was."
The Song: "And She Was," Talking Heads. Words & music by David Byrne. Track 1 of Little Creatures, 1985.
When/how acquired: Bootleg cassette copy, 1986; downloaded MP3, 2005.
Listen/watch here.
Once upon a time on a sunny Thursday afternoon, a baby girl was born in a military hospital in Washington, DC. Her parents named her Hope, because that was what was left at the bottom of the box of troubles.
Twenty-five years later, that baby girl is the amazing Claire Bea, who is everything her parents hoped for and more. Happy birthday, baby girl.
When/how acquired: Bootleg cassette copy, 1986; downloaded MP3, 2005.
Listen/watch here.
Once upon a time on a sunny Thursday afternoon, a baby girl was born in a military hospital in Washington, DC. Her parents named her Hope, because that was what was left at the bottom of the box of troubles.
Twenty-five years later, that baby girl is the amazing Claire Bea, who is everything her parents hoped for and more. Happy birthday, baby girl.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
"Waving goodbye with tears in my eyes/Well sure I made it but you know it was a hell of a trip."
The Song: "Flashback Blues," John Prine. Words & music by John Prine. Track 13 of John Prine, 1971.
When/how acquired: Purchased LP, c. 1980.
Sorry, couldn't find a version of this online. You should own this album, anyway.
Almost exactly seven years ago, I sat at my desk in Los Angeles and said, "I gotta get out of here."
The phone rang. It was my friend Anna, who had recently married the man of her dreams, and I repeated this to her.
She said, "You should move to Maine."
I scoffed. I had never lived north of the Mason-Dixon line, except for the accident of my birth (in New Rochelle, NY) and the three months my family spent with Dad's parents in the Bronx, before my brother Ed was born. I didn't do winter. I couldn't stand the cold, and Anna knew this perfectly well.
Still, something clicked in my brain, and a series of odd coincidences over the next few months all repeated Anna's invitation: Maine, Maine, Maine. Within a weirdly short period of time, the idea of moving to Maine went from ridiculous to something that seemed like the obvious next step.
Longtime readers of this blog know it took me a while to get there. I'm not going to go back over it; if you want the story, read the first three months of this blog's archives. But get here I did, eventually, and it was Anna who welcomed me and found me a place to live and showed me the ropes of life in Maine. It was Anna who introduced me to Gaslight Theater and Literacy Volunteers, and to my first new friends here.
And now Anna and her growing family are leaving Maine, and leaving me behind. The news was official yesterday afternoon: they're moving to Florida next month.
I am not moving to Florida.
When/how acquired: Purchased LP, c. 1980.
Sorry, couldn't find a version of this online. You should own this album, anyway.
Almost exactly seven years ago, I sat at my desk in Los Angeles and said, "I gotta get out of here."
The phone rang. It was my friend Anna, who had recently married the man of her dreams, and I repeated this to her.
She said, "You should move to Maine."
I scoffed. I had never lived north of the Mason-Dixon line, except for the accident of my birth (in New Rochelle, NY) and the three months my family spent with Dad's parents in the Bronx, before my brother Ed was born. I didn't do winter. I couldn't stand the cold, and Anna knew this perfectly well.
Still, something clicked in my brain, and a series of odd coincidences over the next few months all repeated Anna's invitation: Maine, Maine, Maine. Within a weirdly short period of time, the idea of moving to Maine went from ridiculous to something that seemed like the obvious next step.
Longtime readers of this blog know it took me a while to get there. I'm not going to go back over it; if you want the story, read the first three months of this blog's archives. But get here I did, eventually, and it was Anna who welcomed me and found me a place to live and showed me the ropes of life in Maine. It was Anna who introduced me to Gaslight Theater and Literacy Volunteers, and to my first new friends here.
And now Anna and her growing family are leaving Maine, and leaving me behind. The news was official yesterday afternoon: they're moving to Florida next month.
I am not moving to Florida.
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
"I believe the angels listen, God hears us pray"
The Song: "I Believe," Chris Isaak. Words & music by Chris Isaak. Track 12 of Forever Blue, 1995.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1995.
Listen/watch here.
I listened to this record almost constantly for about three months after I bought it, but realized this morning (and iTunes confirmed) that I haven't played it in two years. Chris Isaak is like an old boyfriend: I don't miss him when he's gone, but am always glad to see him again, and then ask myself, "Now why did we break up, again?" Sometimes, as this song points out, things just don't work out, and no one can explain it.
But I do believe that the angels listen and God hears us pray, and this morning's prayers are for my aunt Patricia, who's having some surgery today. I am ashamed that it took a hospital stay for me to call her -- I only have two living blood-relation aunts, plus three by marriage -- but very glad that I did, whatever the reason. My extended family is scattered across the United States, and while this may be good strategy for our long-term plans for world domination, I wish we all saw each other more often.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, 1995.
Listen/watch here.
I listened to this record almost constantly for about three months after I bought it, but realized this morning (and iTunes confirmed) that I haven't played it in two years. Chris Isaak is like an old boyfriend: I don't miss him when he's gone, but am always glad to see him again, and then ask myself, "Now why did we break up, again?" Sometimes, as this song points out, things just don't work out, and no one can explain it.
But I do believe that the angels listen and God hears us pray, and this morning's prayers are for my aunt Patricia, who's having some surgery today. I am ashamed that it took a hospital stay for me to call her -- I only have two living blood-relation aunts, plus three by marriage -- but very glad that I did, whatever the reason. My extended family is scattered across the United States, and while this may be good strategy for our long-term plans for world domination, I wish we all saw each other more often.
Monday, April 04, 2011
"What more in the name of love?"
The Song: "Pride," Nouvelle Vague. Words & music by Adam Clayton, Paul Hewson, Larry Mullen, & David Evans (U2). Track 11, Disk 2 of Best of Nouvelle Vague (Limited Edition), 2010.
When/how acquired: Gift CD, 2010.
Listen here.
"Nouvelle Vague" means "New Wave," and this French group specializes in bossa nova ("new wave" in Portuguese) arrangements of 1980s classics. A little precious? Maybe, but I love them, and was delighted to get this CD last Christmas from the friend who'd originally turned me on to them.
It's the only version of this song I own, because — and this might surprise even people who know me well — I am not a particular fan of U2. I've seen them live (once), and The Joshua Tree will always be part of my personal soundtrack of 1987, but I never loved them as much as I felt I was supposed to.
That said, this is a great song. It commemorates the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., 43 years ago today. My twin sister Kathy and I were not even two and a half when Dr. King was assassinated, but my earliest memories come from that time. I just don't know what I actually remember, and what are confabulations from stories I heard later.
Easter 1968 fell on April 14, ten days after Dr. King's assassination. I know I remember that Easter: my new blue coat, which I loved; my hat, which was not as pretty as Kathy's; and my shiny patent leather shoes, which pinched.
The big event of that Easter, though, was that we got a puppy, a German Shepherd/Alaskan husky mix. My mother called him Boyfriend, because he would be her company while our father was at sea. She was two months pregnant with what would turn out to be my sisters Peggy and Susan.
I wish so hard that Mom was still alive — for so many reasons, but I wish I had asked her more about that time. Did she know she was pregnant when Dr. King was assassinated? Was she afraid, alone in a working-class neighborhood in Norfolk? Was that why Daddy bought the puppy?
It would be good to think that the world is a better place, 43 years after Dr. King's assassination. But this weekend brought news of Americans killed in retaliation for an American cult's burning of the Koran, and of the murder of a Catholic police officer in Northern Ireland. People are still killing each other in the name of love, and the thought of that makes me feel very sick, and very tired.
Dr. King would be 82 if he were alive today.
When/how acquired: Gift CD, 2010.
Listen here.
"Nouvelle Vague" means "New Wave," and this French group specializes in bossa nova ("new wave" in Portuguese) arrangements of 1980s classics. A little precious? Maybe, but I love them, and was delighted to get this CD last Christmas from the friend who'd originally turned me on to them.
It's the only version of this song I own, because — and this might surprise even people who know me well — I am not a particular fan of U2. I've seen them live (once), and The Joshua Tree will always be part of my personal soundtrack of 1987, but I never loved them as much as I felt I was supposed to.
That said, this is a great song. It commemorates the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., 43 years ago today. My twin sister Kathy and I were not even two and a half when Dr. King was assassinated, but my earliest memories come from that time. I just don't know what I actually remember, and what are confabulations from stories I heard later.
Easter 1968 fell on April 14, ten days after Dr. King's assassination. I know I remember that Easter: my new blue coat, which I loved; my hat, which was not as pretty as Kathy's; and my shiny patent leather shoes, which pinched.
The big event of that Easter, though, was that we got a puppy, a German Shepherd/Alaskan husky mix. My mother called him Boyfriend, because he would be her company while our father was at sea. She was two months pregnant with what would turn out to be my sisters Peggy and Susan.
I wish so hard that Mom was still alive — for so many reasons, but I wish I had asked her more about that time. Did she know she was pregnant when Dr. King was assassinated? Was she afraid, alone in a working-class neighborhood in Norfolk? Was that why Daddy bought the puppy?
It would be good to think that the world is a better place, 43 years after Dr. King's assassination. But this weekend brought news of Americans killed in retaliation for an American cult's burning of the Koran, and of the murder of a Catholic police officer in Northern Ireland. People are still killing each other in the name of love, and the thought of that makes me feel very sick, and very tired.
Dr. King would be 82 if he were alive today.
Saturday, April 02, 2011
"Baby it's sad,/But baby it's a fact/People have torches/For people like that."
The Song: "Pride of Frankenstein," Too Much Joy. Words & music by Too Much Joy (Jay Blumenfeld, Tim Quirk, Sandy Smallens & Tommy Vinton). Track 8 of Cereal Killers, 1991.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1991; purchased CD, c. 2000.
Listen/read about it here.
People are pack animals, which should scare anyone who stops to think about it. Management and Organizational Behavior was a required course in the Business school when I was an undergraduate, but since I was in the School of Foreign Service, I missed it, and now I'm sorry. It would come in handy. I have, however, read Charles Mackay's classic Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds, which is as timely and interesting today as it was when first published in 1841.
As with everything else in modern life, the Internet speeds up and facilitates pack behavior. I've done a lot of thinking this week about the time I spend online and its unintended consequences on the rest of my life. Haven't come to any conclusions yet, but a subscription to Mac Freedom may be in my future.
This song is one of the highlights of an album that ranks among my all-time favorites. Too Much Joy probably still stands as the band I've seen most often live, even though officially they broke up about ten years ago. (My brother Ed and I were both at the concert recorded for their live album, Live at Least, and I think you can hear us singing along with the Theme Song at the end of the show.) Anyway, it felt appropriate, especially because I've just watched the original Frankenstein again on Turner Classic Movies.
When/how acquired: Purchased cassette, 1991; purchased CD, c. 2000.
Listen/read about it here.
People are pack animals, which should scare anyone who stops to think about it. Management and Organizational Behavior was a required course in the Business school when I was an undergraduate, but since I was in the School of Foreign Service, I missed it, and now I'm sorry. It would come in handy. I have, however, read Charles Mackay's classic Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds, which is as timely and interesting today as it was when first published in 1841.
As with everything else in modern life, the Internet speeds up and facilitates pack behavior. I've done a lot of thinking this week about the time I spend online and its unintended consequences on the rest of my life. Haven't come to any conclusions yet, but a subscription to Mac Freedom may be in my future.
This song is one of the highlights of an album that ranks among my all-time favorites. Too Much Joy probably still stands as the band I've seen most often live, even though officially they broke up about ten years ago. (My brother Ed and I were both at the concert recorded for their live album, Live at Least, and I think you can hear us singing along with the Theme Song at the end of the show.) Anyway, it felt appropriate, especially because I've just watched the original Frankenstein again on Turner Classic Movies.
Friday, April 01, 2011
"Guess you must be/Runnin' out of fools"
The Song: "Runnin' Out of Fools," Neko Case. Words & music by Richard Ahlert and Kay Rogers. Track 12 of Blacklisted, 2002.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, c. 2004.
Listen/watch here.
Neko Case sounds like Dusty Springfield on this cover, which is not to say she isn't amazing in her own right. As far as I'm concerned, she can do no wrong. She's on a short list of artists I can't believe I haven't seen live.
Most April Fools' jokes are mean, and I'm far too susceptible to them, for reasons explained in the last post. Like Fox Mulder, I want to believe. This morning's email brought the traditional ThinkGeek April Fools' newsletter, and all I could think was, "Man, I wish this was true." Especially the Playmobil Apple Store Playset. I would totally buy that.
I am much too busy, but hope to finish several things today. In triage mode, hoping today's snowstorm doesn't crash the powerlines, and anxiously waiting for 10:00 a.m., when tickets go on sale for Elvis Costello at the State Theatre this summer. Dizzy was up most of the night, sick after eating a whole rib bone; now he's passed out on the floor, and I need to get my work done.
When/how acquired: Purchased CD, c. 2004.
Listen/watch here.
Neko Case sounds like Dusty Springfield on this cover, which is not to say she isn't amazing in her own right. As far as I'm concerned, she can do no wrong. She's on a short list of artists I can't believe I haven't seen live.
Most April Fools' jokes are mean, and I'm far too susceptible to them, for reasons explained in the last post. Like Fox Mulder, I want to believe. This morning's email brought the traditional ThinkGeek April Fools' newsletter, and all I could think was, "Man, I wish this was true." Especially the Playmobil Apple Store Playset. I would totally buy that.
I am much too busy, but hope to finish several things today. In triage mode, hoping today's snowstorm doesn't crash the powerlines, and anxiously waiting for 10:00 a.m., when tickets go on sale for Elvis Costello at the State Theatre this summer. Dizzy was up most of the night, sick after eating a whole rib bone; now he's passed out on the floor, and I need to get my work done.
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