Monday, October 30, 2006

Sidebar Additions

In her most recent entry, L'Esprit de L'Escalier recounts:

"While sitting around a breakfast nook drinking with some high school friends yesterday, the topic turned to blogs. When I mentioned I blogged, a woman in my class commented that a blog seemed a totally inconsequential--almost delusional--vehicle for indulging self-absorption.

"Don't you just say what you do every day and expect people to read it?" she asked, almost rhetorically. She wasn't seeking an answer, merely validation of her insinuation that blogs are waste of everyone's time.

Though I hardly agreed with her, how can one who doesn't blog understand its value and potential? So, I merely said, "I wouldn't write a book about what I do every day and call it art. What makes you think that's what I do on my blog?"

Far be it from me to try to defend the blog as lacking in self-indulgence. Aren't blogs susceptible to the same level of artistic indulgence as other kinds of writing?

Absolutely. Like all artistic endeavors, blogs can range from the good to the bad to the ugly
" Aside from titling her blog with one of favorite French expressions, Ms. L'Esprit's entries are chock of the (sorry!) Spirit of the L'Esprit.

The link that led me to Ms. Esprit (et tous les choses comme ca) was the self-declared World of Yaxlich, a blogger who has mastered the self-referential thrid person monologue, which, as we all now know from the dreaded "You-reform" in Sweden caused severe delusional self-perception as "(a) very significant change in Swedish occurred in the 1960s, with the so-called du-reformen, "the you-reform". Previously, the proper way to address people of the same or higher social status had been by title and surname. The use of herr ("Mr" or "Sir"), fru ("Mrs" or "Ma'am") or fröken ("Miss") was only considered acceptable in initial conversation with strangers of unknown occupation, academic title or military rank. The fact that the listener should preferably be referred to in the third person tended to further complicate spoken communication between members of society" (excerpted from here).

Perhaps Mr. Yaxlich is not a lutefisk lover. Perhaps his style owes more to the Ghanian communicative process whereby "all speakers have a wealth of indirectness strategies to work with, including circumlocution (skirting the issue); indirectly authored speech forms, such as proverbs, metaphors, riddles, tales, and hyperbole; evasion; innuendo; pseudo-soliloquy (ostensibly talking to oneself); nonverbal strategies (sometimes including special props and costumes); the use of intermediaries; and pronoun mismatches. But the circumstances of application and frequency of use of specific indirectness strategies can vary from culture to culture. "

Whatever his basis for the one cool remove method, a visit to the World of Yaxlich is worth applying for a visa.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

Following the Trail of Crumbs

In lieu of arriving at Grandma's house, Mr. Whisky Prajer is leaving bread crumbs here and here to lead his hungry readers. Halloween's coming and his promised treat to his readers seems to be ready.

Friday, October 27, 2006

A Smileful

("Borrowed" from Blue Ridge Blog)

O.K., a show of paws. How many of you blog readers want to dogsit this adroable pooch? You can line up right behind me, thank you

Here's a shot, sans tennis balls.

Un-original Part #2

I subscribe to this daily message generator. It's a hit-or-miss sort of thing with the words that are sent. Some interesting thinking out there...or not. Usually good for a chuckle. Today's messages were the words:

Bromance:"Describes the complicated love and affection shared by two straight males.

Steve: Ah, Dave!!! I can't believe you stole this first pressing of Aladdin Sane from your record store for me. We were just talking about this the other night.
Dave: No sweat, pal.
Steve: That is some full-on bromance. You're the man.

Alcoholiday:"Holidays that end up being more about parties and getting drunk, rather than their intended meaning.

Mr Sam Alone: "I can't wait for the three day weekend, it's my favorite alcoholiday".

Footballsunday, a word that used to be two words, namely "Football" and "Sunday" is a subset of the umbrella word "Alcoholiday". Footballsunday used to be Churchsunday, but I guess it's more comfortable being preached to when enveloped in a couch than when seated in a splintery pew.

The Tooth Fairy's Haul

Religion is a subject I tend to stay away from. Too easy to spotlight my ignorance. Too emotional of a topic to tie an adult understanding to. It all comes down to making leaps and I prefer my feet to be solidly on the ground, even though that ground may open up and swallow me whole, depositing me down in you know where. I do enjoy reading other folks' take on religion. Bravery in theology is not my forte.

But when belief and physical combine, my interest perks up. For those of us getting by with a 1/4 tank of faith in the spiritual engine, there's nothing like a tangible item to help bridge the gap between the five senses and the thin air around us. At least until we find a filling station that'll provide the right fuel.

A trip a way's back to Italy with my son was an eye-opener for me. Italy is such a confusion of emotion, touch, beauty, and guilt for me anyway. The devestating glory of its churches, shrines, and cathedrals combined with the peculiarities of their construction that can only be concocted by the behaviour of man. For lack of a better way of putting it, it seemed to this tourist that a pseudo-cannibalistic mentality was in play, if not at the center of the structures' raison d'être at least at one of their cornerstones. Most of the churches had at least part of a body of a saint. Some had the entire corpse, but the guides were elusive in their explanations of the bodies in question. Truthfully, these were reallycorpora delecti, as most of the church's permanent residents (or there parts) were victims of what may feintly be termed as capital murder. These bodies or body parts have euphomistically been called relics for a while. This Catholic method of building a holy house and fitting it with appropriate art work back in the day was a cause for some of the over-the-top artists of the time. Some of the body parts stories are, well, simply ghoulish. The most intriguing body parts story had to do with St. Catherine of Siena. Siena, a city of beauty and intrigue. The SSan Domenico Church church in Siena houses the head and a finger of St. Catherine, while her body rests in the Minerva Church in Rome. St. Catherine is a bit like the Scarecrow, a piece here, a piece there, a piece way over there.

Per the guide's off the-cuff remarks, we pieced together (sorry!) that two churches in the general area of Siena would raid each other's building for parts of poor St. Catherine.

Having been raised a Catholic, mainly in the States, I was always used to a level of certain level of solemnity and an above-the-fray attitude such that humanity was squeezed out of religion. The trip to Italy was an explosion of humanness and religion for me. The distance between a church's physical substance and the its purported eternal airs was eliminated. While not a practicing Catholic, I appreciated the vicious need for corporeal connection that the churches in Italy offered. The utter blandness of the American Catholic churches, the lack of eye candy paintings and statues to focus on when the sermons turned into lectures, and the lack of the smell of the old confessions hanging like clean sheets around the confessionals made church-going in the States a brutally non-spiritual affair. (The only church that I felt great about was Notre Dame in Montreal, a magnificent and Old World connected cathedral. That link is a large download, but well worth the wait.)

This all came back to me the other day, when a conversation about the tooth fairy came up. Since my kids are past the Tooth-for-Dollars exchange program, I was wondering what the going market exchange rate was. A comparison of younger parents averaged to $5/tooth, with the first tooth exchangeable for an average of $10/ tooth. Some noted that their kids had started negotiating with the Tooth Fairy through adorably mis-spelled letters, stating their need for additional funds per tooth.

Then the second shoe dropped.
What does the parent do, as the agent for the Tooth Fairy, with said tooth after money has been exchanged? Some folks have patented their storage solution. Others offer pillows at $38 a pop, but I guess since you can re-use the pillow for each of the 20 teeth your child first has, this method comes to $1.90/tooth...except you can't be storing those teeth in that same pillow, right.

So, to celebrate your child's passages and show how much they mean to you and to reinforce Michael Blowhard's contention that the adults of the good ol' US of A has given up control to our kids, I suggest building our own little churches based on our child's teeth. Each structure is built upon a fallen tooth. The molars would be our kid's cathedrals. Divorced parents need not worry about having to make late-night raids on their ex-spouse's holdings to come up with the dental goods. Hey, there's plenty of teeth to go around for everybody!

Thursday, October 26, 2006


The 30-Second Bunnies Theatre Library, courtesy of Alien Productions comes to you here via a link from The World of Yaklich, whose site came to my attention via the always attentive Alcessa.

Whew. Everybody got credited and I've fed the ever-hungry machine of blogging.
An original entry is coming shortly so please keep on checking back.


P.S. my favorite Bunny Theatre production, all 30 second or less versions of major movies, was their version of Christmas Story. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. You'll shoot your eye out.

Friday, October 20, 2006

Drive Home Review #1

Sam Moore - Overnight Sensational
I'd read a few reviews and then I saw this cd at Target for $9.99. A bit over 3 gallons of gas. Was it worth a walk instead of a drive? Yes.

As part Sam & Dave, Sam Moore has obviously been around and "in", as "in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame". Sam & Dave split up multiple times and finally called it quits in 1981, just after a New Year’s Eve performance. Dave Prater was killed in a car accident in 1998 and Mr. Moore had an on-again off-again solo career. He’s lived the life and is still around to sing about it. His latest album, Overnight Sensational features songs sung the way his fame was created. Namely, using the vehicle of Duets. The album was produced by Randy (Yes! The judge from American Idol) Jackson. He does quite a commendable job on (most of) the tracks.

The Blow by Blow
Twelve songs.
Five solid play-them-multiple-times-and-you-can’t-kill-them songs.
One solid clunker.
One bone of contention.
Six other good songs that you may have the urge to skip through on occasion.

Five Solid songs:
1) I CAN'T STAND THE RAIN - WYNONNA with SAM MOORE: A tough song to do since there are at least two versions out there that are superb, Lowell George's (my personal favorite) and then the song’s composer, Ann Peebles, version. But Mr. Moore and Wynonna come through loud and clear… as do the excellent musicians backing them up.

2) BETTER TO HAVE AND NOT NEED - BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN with SAM MOORE: This is a shout out Sunday Meeting rendition that will have you converted to something. Anything.

3) AIN'T NO LOVE - STEVE WINWOOD with SAM MOORE: With Hammond B-3 quips throughout, Mr. Winwood’s distinctive voice, at times, overloads Mr. Moore's. The latter doesn't seem to mind as Mr. Winwood dominates this song. But, it's a live-and-let-live domination, so the song ends without any bad feelings or screechings. Next to the following song, I'd say this is my album favorite.

4) DON'T PLAY THAT SONG (YOU LIED) - BEKKA BRAMLETT with SAM MOORE: Bekka Bramlett, daughter of Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett, does her folks proud here (although Bekka could never come close to equalling Bonnie for a guy’s admiration (read down toward the bottom of the link re. a "s***ty bar in Columbus, Ohio"). That Bonnie was quite a gal. But this is about Bekka, whose strong voice melds well with Mr. Moore’s. A high degree of energy is generated.

5) IF I HAD NO LOOT - VAN HUNT and NIKKA COSTA with SAM MOORE Special guest BILLY F. GIBBONS (guitar): I'd heard Van Hunt via my son's collection of hip-hop and rat-a-tat music, but Ms. Costa was a mystery. This song is an ear worm; you will be humming or singing it at some inappropriate time of the day. All of the performers had WAY too much fun coming up with this song. As a trio, the singers share the verses well while playing off each other in a mutual admiration club sort of way.

One Solid Clunker:

The J. Geils Band put out this live album back in 1972-73. A great album. One of the best live recordings, ever. They did a cover of "Looking for a Love" that still blows me away. Mr. Moore and Mr. Jackson do not concoct even a serviceable version. Then, Mr. Bon Jovi is thrown into the effort. A disaster. He simply doesn't have the pipes or the attitooooode for this song. If he was singing about looking for a parking space, I'd understand. Mr. Jackson should have teamed up Mr. Moore with this fellow and then added a bit more tension and frantic need to this song and it would have been at least listenable. But you, yeah, you the reader, should check out Magic Dick and Peter Wolf on Full House for what this song is really about.

One Bone of Contention:

I'm not what you'd classify as a "Kumbaya" kind of guy. So, when I listened to WE SHALL BE FREE - PAUL RODGERS with SAM MOORE and then NONE OF US ARE FREE - STING with SAM MOORE Special guest SHEILA E. (percussion), my first thought was, "O.K., let's draw straws. Which one's got to go?". An album like this should not have any of these types of songs, but if you want to be gracious of the heart..well, o.k. let's let one in. One. There's two. Two leave me with a cranky attitude toward the,other songs which is why I just group them as Six other good songs and leave it at that. And while I'm on the harangue circuit, there are two songs with the word "Rain" in the title. That's just too much water for one cd. If there was a song with "Tears" instead of "Rain", the wetness quota would not have been exceded.


Thursday, October 19, 2006

Drive Home Reviews

It's a relaxing drive back home from work. Most folks are driving south to their homes in Lower Delaware. I, in turn, am driving north to Upper Delaware where most of these folks work. Minimal traffic going in my direction on most days. Sometimes it takes an hour; most times just 40-45 minutes. I tend to be listening to ATC on one of the local NPR affiliates. WSDL, broadcating from Salisbury, MD until I reach the canal, where the signal weakens and I unofficially enter the metropolitan area and so, a switch to WHYY out of Philly. Most times, I'll listen to the grimness of the day. But, on days when things were not perky at the office, downer news on the way home (yeah, yeah, I know. I should be informed), I put in a cd for some relief.

The other day, while listening and thinking...and driving, I came up with a new addition to this blog, which will hopefully be a regular feature. Confined within the stereo room that is my car, with no phones, no doors opening or closing, no kids screaming, and no spousal requests being filed, this would be the best room for me to concoct album reviews.

So, here I'll have Drive Home Reviews. I am not a shill of the recording industry, so I won;t be propounding the propoganda they provide when doling out freebies. I won't hold back praise or adoration, as the recordings tear up my life in that short drive home. I will scathe and possibly go over the deep end at times, as well, especially if I find that the hour's time has been wasted by overproduction of minor talent. The first one will be targeted for a Friday posting. Your rigorous comments will be most welcomed. Even eggs can be thrown in my general direction.
The windows are up; the volume's up as well.


Entertainment Compost Pile

Adding to the compost is this blogger's occasional 3 hour Sunday morning stint on WVUD, University of Delaware's student station.

So, if you're in need of a respite from the commercial bangings of the day, from 9:00am until 12:00 EST, catch a minimum of interruption from music and with no clanging commercials this coming Sunday on the internet connection at WVUD.

Playlist will include:
Bill Frisell assortment
Citizen Cope
Stanton Moore
Sam Moore
Slaid Cleaves. (Thanks again, WP for the intro)

...and a cast of thousand potential airplay items.

I am not much for the Spoken Word, well, at least not my spoken word. I max the music, min the non.

(F)Lurid, eh?

Just another reason not to go to Florida.

And about this incident? Haven't they caught that killer stingray yet? (Note: Poor taste and judgement exercised here!!) When will it ever be safe to go in the water?

O.K. O.K. Had my morning coffee. I'm better now. Florida! I didn't mean to caste dispersion your way. It's been a nasty morning; I apologize for taking it out on a whole state.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Child's Passage

"It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.
An excerpt from "On Turning Ten" by Billy Collins

Though he's a long way away from being 10, this entry on his son by Mr. Sgazzetti at Isoglossia brought back memories of this Billy Collins poem.

I won't be apologizing for posting a Billy Collins poem here. I love his immediacy, his intimacy, and his humour. Give me Wallace Stevens, ee cummings, Pablo Neruda, and T.S. Elliot and Mr. Collins and I've got enough poetry to chew on for my life's remainder. Some folks see Mr. Collins as too accessible or excessively tied to our time and our place. "He's not thick or impenetrable enough", they say. I plead stupidity to this comment. That or laziness. I like to read a poem without having to page through multiple reference books to comprehend the poet's point. Perhaps if these "difficult" poets insert weblinks to the esoterica inserted within their work, comprehension may be easier for their readers.

And damn if he's not one of the funniest poets around.

Anyway, here's to Adam. May the sidewalks of life be soft to him for at least a bit longer.

Careful of the Woman Reading

Before going here, swallow whatever coffee you have and cover your keyboard, just in case. Thanks, Alcessa, for the early morning joke.

Monday, October 16, 2006

Drawers, Right & Left

At work, I am a part of the Desk Set, that sedentary pack of keyboard punchers and paper-passers cubicled in some cruel experiment to see if fluorescent lighting promotes hair growth. We have dweeby heroes like Dilbert and the characters from Office Space. Where the noble (But squeaky voiced) Eagle represents the USA, our symbol is this. We toil on, knowing that danger is always around the next pile of paper (Warning! Don't click on that last link unless you have an empty stomach). The Office is not the public promotions vehicle we'd been looking for. Look what The Office has done in England, for God's sakes. Great Britain used to be a world power before...and now????

It is a sad lot we are. Even those of us who are "degreed" are flummoxed as how the idealism in the books turned into the reality of the office.

What to do? How do we not go the route of Sisyphus and end up with boulders on top of us at the bottom of the mountain of paper?

Drawers. That's the answer. Two of them, to be correct. One on either side of our desks. A right one. A left one.
Some folks in the office have a work-particular use for them. The accountants, over there in the left hand corner of the office keep their credits in their right hand drawer and their debits in the left hand one. Want to drive them crazy? Each April 1st, we come in extra early (because the accountants come in early), and switch their drawers. You want to see Koyaanisqatsi, office style version? Their lives will be out of balance for a spell.

Me? I use the drawers for my personal happiness. Right hand drawer - these. Left hand drawer - these. Chocolate, if there's a downer spirit hovering around my desk. Lemon creme if it's a sunny day tempting me by the window.

And if the accountants come by one late night and switch my drawers? Well, any cookie will do in a pinch and the change may just do me good.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Addendum, da dum, dum

(Bruce E Kaplan's frantic whimsy)

While I'm trying to further organize, just a note on some additions to the Better Places to be...

From The Shallow End, Gwynne is casting far and true. Plus, anyone connected with a person from the Land of Croats is well-versed in the absurdities of life, as we know it.

..and another mention of Mike Johnston over at The Online Photographer, who's kind enough to let other folks into his informative space.

Do you Hearing What I'm Not to Hear?

Based on this entry from the Illyrian Gazette (as pointed out by the estimable East Ethnia), things are looking up for some of the former republics of 1990's Yugoslavia. The soundtrack from the new movie starring Borat,(who did for Speedo what The Plague did for the growth of mid-14th century Europe), is titled Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. Those clicking sounds you hear are school districts all over the glorious U.S. of A. placing their orders in for this cd. Only through badly spoken English and cheap jokes will our youth be willing to undertake the difficult act of understanding a diffferent culture.

But, as the Illyrian Gazette points out, if the content and performance is carefully studied, one will see the culture of Macedonia (and non-former country Romania) exposed and not that of Borat's "native" Kazakhstan. Another slap of the smelly glove on poor Kazakhstan.

Can it be only a short time before Sacha Baron Cohen, man of intrigue, alights his eyes on Slovenia, Croatia, Montenegro, or Serbia? Hope he realizes that folks over there are still a touch trigger-happy. Not a good thing to rile up someone with good aim.

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Richard Hell and me. We're Like This!

Somewhere in the gloom of late teenage days, when all and every experience was glaumed for its immediate life-changing possibilities, I spent a night and an early morning at the now departed CBGB's. Or, at least I'm pretty sure I did. I recall walking into the club and it was dark. Outside. I remember walking out of the club and it was light. Outside. I don't recall what bands were playing. I strongly believe it was during a summer and am leaning toward 1976 or 1977. But, don't thrust a bible at me and expect me to swear on it. A lot of teenagey stuff was happening and that visit to CBGB's didn't stand out as a jewel, or even a semi-precious stone. We were all at an age where hypopraxia was impossible and getting by, consistently, on 4-5 hours sleep was always possible. We were up, but, I guess we weren't necessarily cognoscent.

Richard Hell, writing an op piece in today's NYT, knows and adores CBGB quite well both as a performer there and as a fan. In his piece, "Rock "n" Roll High School", one particular passage struck me. In talking about some of the creativity and expolsion of talent there Mr. Hell (always wanted to write that at some point, Mr. Hell), recalls,"The thing is, we were young there. You don’t get that back. Even children know that. They don’t want their old stuff thrown away. Everything should be kept. I regret everything I’ve ever thrown away. ".

My ever-loving wife and I have been going through intense concversations lately...o.k., not lately, but like, well, forever, about Laws of Physics regarding the inability of the same things to be occupying the same space. In marriage, this is call the Law of Physical Displacement. One spouse will claim Newtonian phsyics to prove the impossibility of mutual space occupation by simialr objects. The other spouse will concoct some space-time continuum thesis that only a Neal Stephenson might appreciate. Anything to slow down, if not miraculouosly stop, the outflow of those items so dear to preserving one's memories of them. Now I have Mr. Hell to quote to the ever-loving wife.

Mr. Hell "regret(s) everything (he's) ever thrown away." And he's, well, famous!"

That's nice for him. Will you be next quoting advice from Keith Richards when you go to trim those tree branches tomorow?"

Guess I'll put on Destiny Street and play "The Kid With The Replaceable Head". Or maybe "Downtown At Dawn " ? Yeah, that might clear up the cobwebs and fire up those memory synapses; I will recall who played that night at CBGB's. Or at least an acceptable facsimile of that night.

Ans it sounds like there will alwys be Vegas, in a few years, when they restructure the icon out there. Possibly right next to the Eiffel Tower.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Thickness of Paint

This YouTube was provided from a

familiar blog reader who also has some Croatian blood in him. If you view the entire presentation, you can conclude:
1) They use some really, really thick field paint in Croatia (notice the little jump of the ball on the slo-mo).
2) Drinking rakija before a football game is not a smart thing to do unless, of course, you are Croatian and it is considered of medicinal purpose.
3) The influential powers of Borat extend beyond the billboard.

Thanks to Delawhere for the clip.

On a more encouraging note, Mr. Sgazzetti over @ Isoglosia has been, to quote Karolyn Slowsky, On Fire! His latest post regarding the further adventures of his unbelievably photogenic son is here. Mr. Sgazzetti's pics are always a pleasure to feast on, over and over again. And his clever banter is self-deprecating (my favorite category of boasting) and, yet, remarkably innocent. Another post follows, in the same theme.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Road Trip Tunes

This past weekend saw the downsized family off to Pittsburgh to visit one of the departed-nest members at the University. The ever-loving wife is thinking the Empty nest syndrome is not the modus operandi for us, since we are still (heavily) partaking in the administration of the various coop-flyers' lives. As she puts it, "Our nest has merely expanded to include various states..."
To which, I'd retorted, "...and the sticks and ribbons for that nest-building have increased dramatically in cost."
The two of us are revisiting the Educationally Penniless State, an economic condition that Adam Smith failed to cover in his Wealth of Nations.

With promise of great weather for the weekend, a fast trip to see how our most recent departee was doing seemed in order. The mood was almost bucolic, all that was missing was some sheep (although we had this to ponder about). Our spirits were high. I was intensely monitoring myself for the unique questions only a father of a college-bound child can concoct, so as to minimize the glares and deep sighs from our ever-amazing daughter. Patience is a commodity long sought for in one's child. Throw in some bonehead questions to said child and that seeking becomes a long-term odyssey accompanied by poor lighting. To keep this paternal grilling preparation on low heat, I'd picked out some music for the 5 hour trip to take my mind off of the inquiries.

The ever-loving wife, ever-curious as to the stew cooking within my noggin, posed the q., "...and how did you pick out the music for this trip, dear? I always thought it was a random grab off the cd wall. I didn't realize that planning was involved." (I noticed an arch in her smile as she said the word, "dear".)

Having the tough hide developed through the leather goods shop that is the sacrament of marriage, I interpreted these japes and nips as my wife's turn in politesse, a frequent stopover in her many-times stated purpose of further understanding the creature she'd bonded with for life.
Fool that I am, I pontificated on for a bit about the uniqueness of each long trip's tunes. Words and word-combinations like "temporal", "speed/congestion plentitude", "feng shui of luggage comportment", "vocal declination vis-à-vis back seat padding", and "pasenger interminability" hurled from my mouth like mini-projectiles aimed at the dartboard of comprehension. I failed to detect the disguised sarcasm in my ever-loving spouse's question tone, so I roared on, a train headed for the inevitable derailment.

"So, you put so much time into this...project?"
Oh, Oh. The cloth was being laid out for my glorious multi-story splat. Like a bull, I roared on into the red.
"Why yes, I don't think people realize how much work that phrase In the Mood requires. You are confined to the limited space of your car, tied to a seat securing your safety and movement, and cursed with the knowledge that you'll be this way for at least 5 hours. A proper mood is a dire necessity." Throwing a bouquet of complements in her general direction regarding her engaging qualities of wit and story-telling, I, nonetheless, point out that music, even if it's simply a drape of background droning, contributes to the plentitude of charming tales that she regales us with on these long journies.

Crossing my fingers (yes, both hands still on the wheel) in hopes of placation, I squint in her gerneral direction for signs of confirmation. Like a fool, I bravely belabored my point.

"Jazz is fine, as long as it's agitated. Even a jazz vocalist is o.k. as long as it's not someone like Ella or Louis. The latter two should be left at home where, lounging back in a sofa, feet extended onto a coffee table, a glass of wine swirling in one's hand is perfectly acceptable deportment. Driving at 72 mph does not allow one to lounge, not if reaching a destination safely is one of that day's goals."
"But I love Ella!", my wife pleads.
"As do I. But, you also love sleeping in a sedentary position, which is against most state's driving laws if you're sitting in the driver's seat.
So, Ella's out and Tania Maria is in."

So, what else will be bombarded by?, she says, a mote of optimism struggling to survive.

I ignore the thematic war direction and stick to the facts of the dictatorial driver list.

Olu Dara. Both. Thick production. Interesting mix of trumpet, guitar, and, most defintely, a voice to eliminate trip ennui.
Los Lobos. The new one. Critics have compared it with Kiko. I'd say it's a great mix of Good Morning Azatlan and This Time, 2 of my favorite Los Lobos' albums.
Little Feat's The Last Record Album. One of my all-time favorite albums by anyone. The only fault I have with this album is that it's not long enough. Extended versions of all of the songs would have been greatly appreciated. A little harangue here: ANY Little Feat album put out after Lowell George's early death should NEVER be considered as Little Feat albums.
Billy Bragg’s Worker Playtime, because his heavily-accented voice will take you through the truly boring landscape that is a vital component of any trip.
Blackilicious’s The Craft is spoken word. No aural wordjam blocking up your (or your) passenger’s ears. Fast, funny, introspective.
Stanton Moore’s one of my favorite drummers along with Leon Parker. Moore’s All Kooked Out! brings in the sun on a rainy day. (looking forward to his newest release, III, but that’s another road trip.)
Toumani Diabete’s Symmetric Orchestra is a soaring amalgamation of drums, voices, and kora with a tempo-varied song list that will let you cover 100 miles of asphalt in a minimal amount of time. And all without (excessive) speeding.
Monty Alexander and Ernest Ranglin on Rock Steady was the token reggae-imbued album, although any of either Alexander's or Ranglin's albums, such as Ranglin's Below the Bassline would have done in a pinch. Side note: Mr. Ranglin's In Search of the Lost Riddim is a gorgeous cd released in 1998 to underwhelming success. A truly great recording.
Oh, Brother Where Art Thou, a 1995 release from The Legendary Jim Ruiz Group, (No, not that Oh, Brother Where Art Thou) The ever-loving wife thinks a beehive hairdo and a cocktail with tooth picked olives is de rigueur. I say that’s fine but none for the driver. He’s preoccupied listening to "Who’s going to drive My Bloody Yugo when I die". (Scroll down on the link.)
Steve Forbert’s The American in Me finishes off this particular road trip. Clangy and loud enough to keep said driver alert and yet introspective enough to keep the ever-loving wife thinking she’s traveling with a pensive kind of guy.

So, this music selection, some stimulating conversation, a blessing of minimal traffic, and no hell-bound tractor-trailers made this last westbound trip quite enjoyable.

Any special music choices that you make for those longer journies?

I stepped out of the Fossil Age and tried doing the Nano-FM music connection. I probably did it incorrectly. If you're travelling 200-500 miles (or more) how the heck do you get the Nano connected via the FM attachment that you don't have to be fluttering the dial as you are travelling through the unused FM dial? Should I have been reading the directions or is the only way that the Nano-FM connection work if you're driving in a 10 mile radius circle?

Inquiring mind would LOVE to know.

Labels: ,

Monday, October 02, 2006

Alarming Mom

This story comes out of Ohio and we still all know what happened there in 2004, so perhaps a bit of sKepticism should be exercised.

Although, thinking back on the Days of Youth, maybe not. A mother's voice development reaches its pinnacle right about the time you're 10 backyards away, planning some cruelty only an 8 yr. old can with too much time (and lousy television programming) on his hands. Only the sound of a Red Tailed Hawk was more piercing. But its talons weren't as quick or as sharp as the mother swooping down on one of her miscreant brood.

So, it makes sense that a fire alarm's shrill beep woould wake an adult but not necessarily a child. Won't be long soon before we see fire alarms with recorded messages from a mom.

(Fill in names here) Get Up! There's a fire. But pick up your mess and get on clean underwear before you leave. Don't want the fire department to see your room like that! Yes, this would be repeated over and over agains until you leave the premises.

Milestone or Millstone

A few days ago, seemingly without provocation, over 200 folks visited this site.
Breaking story on an entry? Sorry, a large NO to that.
Tearjerker moment of mass appeal? Nope, put away those handkerchiefs.
Free give-away of a must have object? Yo no tengo nada.

The cause seems to have been this long-ago entry. Seems if you Googled Borat and Speedo, this site came up as Numero Uno. Folks visiting based on that search spent a nanosecond, in most cases, to get a gape at this or this, both links coming from this daily Croatian newspaper, the cutting edge of Slavic news-gathering.

While the high visit numbers were, initially, encouraging, further thought brought woe and shame. Yes, Verging on Pertinence seems to have sold out to cheap thrills, low brow laughs, Speedo voyeurism, undependable Kazakhstan reportage, and unwittingly placed plugs for Borat's new movie.

I think I have to take a long hot shower, with lots of Borax (the only known Borat cleanser), to detox myself. I may have to take my blog in the shower stall with me. A sound scrubbing is in order.

Not to say anything detrimental about the movie, however. I'll be there with the rest of the cretins to laugh, cringe, and delight at non-PC humor. Just a Stooge at heart.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Click for Wilmington, Delaware Forecast Locations of visitors to this page eXTReMe Tracker
follow me on Twitter