2 Things

I’ve been inattentive to my blog for some time (Geez, really? Over a month is “inattentive?” How long does “abandoned” take?) and, while I’ve known this and thought about what I could say to crank it up again, two things happened recently that have kicked my ass into gear.

The first thing was the death of my friend George this weekend. Don’t get me wrong, George didn’t know me and I didn’t personally know George, but I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that I felt like I knew George, even if it was just a little. And now he’s gone, and I feel very much like I’ve lost a friend. Now look, I’m not gonna eulogize the guy, I just want to appreciate what he taught me and the laughs he gave me whilst making me think. I downloaded his last album on Amazon last night and listened to it this morning as I was dealing with e-mails and computer admin stuff. I can’t wait to play it for my Sweetie during our next driving trip. From what I know about George, I think he’d lambast anyone’s ass for leaving their blog alone this long. “Write, goddamnit! Get your shit out there!”

Here's one of his later bouts of philosophy that you might enjoy (and it's mostly worksafe).



The other thing was… I got called on it. Yep, my friend Brian (who is my window on NYC) noticed that I’ve been perpetually predisposed to procrastination (how’d’ya like that little bit of alliteration, George?) and then he called me on it in his blog. So naturally, I must rise to the challenge and bestir my semi-mobile buns to bring my blog up to date.

Now I feel guilty, ‘cause you’re all going to think that it takes a famous comic biting the dust and a friend calling my bluff to get me to blog. Now you’re thinking that you’ll have to wait until some other famous comic croaks and another one of my more observant compadres point out my proclivity for procrastination (really, I just like typing the word “procrastination,” it’s fun!) before I blog again. Au contraire, mon frère!

But it’s the doing, not the talking, that gets it done. So here I go…

Music I can't get enough of

I picked up Firewater's latest, "The Golden Hour," last week, and though I've had about 9 different discs to peruse since then, I still keep coming back to this record. It's really cool, very loose and worldly, yet so very accessible. This is my first exposure to Firewater, so I thought I'd share with you as well.

Kudos to the idea of traveling around and making music with whoever shows up, regardless of whether you speak the language or what your expectations are. Check out the video below to get a taste of why the album, then the two samples down below should help move you to hear more. I think this might be my obsession of the year.



“Borneo”

"Three Legged Dog"

Why I prefer not to fly

I hadn't intended to write about traveling, but this article made me chuckle and sigh at the same time.

My wife and I like to drive for trips. We drive from our home in northwest Arkansas to my parents' home in South Carolina, or our annual beach trip (which is mighty unlikely this year, given that my mom's in the hospital and so many of the older ones are gone), or my occasional pilgrimage to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota.

When we drive, we see the country and get a feel for the landscape. We also use a lot of gas, which makes it more expensive a way of getting around nowadays. [And no, we don't have SUVs - seriously not my style.] Even though we're using the highways, we chat with others at rest stops and see various displays of kindness and cluelessness, probably in an equal enough measure. And you can't just stop the plane and get off when you see something interesting, like the Spam Museum or Crazy Debbie's Fireworks and Bait Shop.

Damn sure you can't find that last one in an airport terminal. (If you could, I'll bet it would be in Texas. Just sayin'...)

So is that the essence of why I do not prefer flying? No. The essence is all about control - I have the control of my time, not someone else. I don't mind the whole TSA experience (I usually wear loafers) except for the silly shit; yeah, my hair gel + contact lens solution is so dangerous it can only be contained by a Ziploc baggie, and god forbid I try to take a soda through, I must buy one at 250% above cost in the terminal.

And I have medical equipment in my bag and on my person, so I have to go thru the hand search every time (they can't wand me). That's OK, I can deal with that. I've yet to meet even a grumpy TSA agent that didn't react favorably to a smile and a friendly greeting.

But de plane, de plane... I always want to moo, loudly, when boarding and deplaning. I no longer check my luggage (I've been well taught by Delta and others, thank you), so I'm limited to what I can carry on (or gate-check). If I have to change my ticket, it costs me an extra $100 or more. My long legs do not enjoy confinement, yet there's no way I can afford a more comfortable seat in first class. They won't let me play my mp3 player (which has no wireless capability) because it could affect the navigation systems, yet the airlines are testing cell phone usage during flights, and you can imagine how much better THAT is going to make the whole in-flight experience.

And remember the nice TSA agents? They're sweethearts compared to airline employees. Ye gods, I've not seen a more depressed set of people since I worked in tech support. And they're also charm proof, which sucks for me.

Wonder why that industry is in trouble all the time?

Like they needed my endorsement, but…

.. go see “Iron Man” anyway.

I just caught it tonight (yes, it’s been a while since I’ve left the comfort of my Netflix queue/Redbox/couch for the cinema, much less paid for a night movie – oh, the pain!) and it was quite masterful. Robert Downey Jr. basically IS the movie, and he carries this one quite well, able to be serious while also displaying his quirky sense of humor. I really do wonder how many of his lines were improv. The SFX were gorgeous, and kudos to the digital systems at the theater, as I never felt it was too loud and never saw artifacts or any evidence that it wasn’t film on the screen.

The baggage that Downey carries with him from his wilder years wraps around his portrayal of Tony Stark quite well, adding nuance to his mannerisms and a knowing look in his eyes. For example, watch Downey’s eyes in the scene near the end when Pepper Potts (the lovely Gwyneth Paltrow) is prepping him for a press conference and he reminds her of that night, and she reminds him that the rest of that night didn’t go very well for her. The flash of charm quickly doused by sober reality, and then the walls come back down.

And don’t miss Stan the Man’s cameo – the man behind the creation of many of the Marvel heroes, surrounded by bunnies (and in a bit of a costume himself) at a benefit that Downey’s character attends on the spur of the moment.

I’m excited that Marvel has already released plans for “Iron Man 2.” There were quite a few little loose ends left dangling that fans of the comic will definitely pick up on, such as the Ten Rings reference and the government agency with the unwieldy title of Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. By the end of the movie, they just go by the acronym, giving one of the younger audience members several rows in front of me a bit of a thrill; “Cool!” was his somewhat un-whispered response.

Yeah, Marvel rules. Good times.

Real Women of Rock

A bit of sad news this weekend (yeah, like the post about Murphy was packed with laffs) as we learn of the passing of Danny Federici, organist and keyboardist for Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band. Something that I haven't seen mentioned in a lot of the stories was that Danny actually developed that keyboard-operated glockenspiel for use in concert (referred to as a glock in a box). He played with Bruce for over 40 years, and he was the exception to the rule that accordion players don't belong in rock 'n' roll. We'll miss you, Dan.


And now for something completely different.

I found a great article this weekend about the real women behind three famous rock songs and I thought they were made up. (Except Sharona - I actually had that 45 with her pic on it, and it fueled quite a few warm fantasies in my idiotic adolescence.) It's kinda cool to find out that these rock music muses/icons were real, but now I find myself wondering who else is real and who else is made up in the music I love? Is Nick Cave's "Lazarus" real? How real was the girl behind "867-5309?" Billy Joel's "Leyna?" Fountains of Wayne's "Revolving Dora" or "Yolanda Hayes?" How about Alice Cooper's "Cold Ethyl?"

OK, maybe I don't wanna know. Wish I could find that old 45, though... or a least the picture sleeve. ;-)

RIP Murphy, 1992(?) - 2008

Today I lost a good friend, and now I'll take the time to remember him. His name was Murphy.

Murphy, like a lot of kitties that find us, just walked up to the back porch one day and demanded attention. He looked around, liked what he saw, and began an intense lobbying campaign to become an indoor kitty. He liked to serenade us at night (and this was after he was fixed) so we knew he would be a good watch cat. When we moved our bedroom to the second floor, he figured out how to get up on the roof and would continue his vocal vigil, perched on the window air conditioner outside our bedroom, content in the knowledge that we knew he was out there.

During that summer, my Sweetie discovered Murphy laying on the guest bed. She had no idea how he got in, but figured that he'd slipped in when one of us had gone in or out. So she put him out... only to find him splayed on the guest bed again later that afternoon. Seems he'd discovered a loose screen on an open window and availed himself of the guest quarters, confident we'd treat him like the royalty he was.

Murphy finally lost a "frank exchange of views" with another outdoor creature and was laid up inside to heal for a while (while we worked to pay his vet bill). When the time came to go back out, my Sweetie opened the door and pointed the way for him - and he promptly screamed and ran back into the house. He was an inside kitty then, see. No more of that outside business.

Murphy always loved my beard, and let me know that he was not as much in love when there was no beard. He'd rub his nose into my whiskers and sometimes lick them if he thought I hadn't cleaned thoroughly enough after dinner. His tongue was rougher than my stubble could ever be, and there were a few times he served as an un-ignorable "rub" alarm on mornings when he thought I should be up. Now.

Murphy did love to be between my Sweetie and me as we went to bed at night; having multiple hands for petting & loving was the best! And he would purr loudly enough to let us know his deep appreciation. His purring was definitely a great sound to go to sleep to.

Purring wasn't his only vocalization; he talked to himself, carrying on conversations from room to room sometimes... probably wondering aloud what the hell we thought we were doing, not petting him or something. Murph was pretty much the mellowest cat I've known, with the tiniest of exceptions regarding either toenail clipping or fur brushing (for more than .25 of a minute with a real brush instead of the hand). Those few neighborhood kids we knew loved Murphy, 'cause he never chided them for playing with him or dragging him around. He was always loving to just about anyone, even showing patience with the idiocy of dogs.

So here's to Murphy; we loved you and loved the fact you wanted to hang out as long as you did with the gang here. We'll miss you.

Yeah, he really loved that sofa.

RIP the record store

I was thinking about record stores after reading this article about record stores going the way of the horse and carriage. I remember some of the first record stores I ever went to as a child, when I was shopping Meri’s and Woolworths’s at the old Richland Mall and debating about buying an old 45 at Meri’s for a premium price as opposed to the current selections over at Woolworth’s for a slightly cheaper price. (I keep thinking it was 99 cents vs. $1.29, which was a lotta comic book and bubblegum money back in ’73.)

I still have some of the 45’s but nothing hooked up to play ’em on. My wife has a valuable collection of 8-tracks that cause some amusement for me (I was never a fan of the 8-track, even when it was the music media of choice for friends in grade school and junior high). I’m not quite like my NYC buddy Brian, who’s moved everything to hard drive – I still have a large CD and LP collection. Yes, one day I should get all the undigitized stuff digitized, but it’s not happening anytime soon. Maybe after retirement? Good joke.

There was Barry, the owner of Flipside records, who I became friends with and who would pass on some cool promo LPs for a buck or two. We’d talk about all the different bands and what he liked and what I liked. I’ve never found a good digital version of that great Gary Myrick & the Figures LP.

I worked at Peaches Records and Tapes for a while, even while never passing the polygraph (why one needed a polygraph to work at a record store is still a freaking mystery to me – guess they figured drug testing would’ve been absolutely ridiculous). While I worked the stacks at Peaches, I pondered the greater mysteries of the universe (past the polygraph bit), like why the hell Ray Charles was in country, of all sections, and why one would play Prince’s “Sign of the Times” on the store’s stereo system without knowing what was going to come out of the speakers beforehand. I recall the growing CD section and shrinking LP section, while cassettes held their own… for a while, anyway.

The last time I really thought about flipping thru the stacks at a record store was while I was watching “High Fidelity,” which was released the same year that Metallica sued Napster, and the NSYNC release “No Strings Attached” debuted with record (pardon the pun) sales of 2.4 million CDs… probably the last time that’ll ever happen.

I had a Scot friend in college, in the college radio station actually, whose chosen nom d’air was Dredge Sludge, who turned me on to Budgie, Riot, Judas Priest, and other English Metal back before hair and metal became so friendly. Dredge wound up running a local chain of record stores (though I do wish he’d gone into brewing, because he made one of the absolute best Guinness knockoffs in his basement, he could’ve gotten ahead of the whole craft brewing movement). I ran into him many years ago, (after 2000) and he was livid about downloaders, professed hatred for Chuck D for embracing what was already happening, and was basically quite pissed off about where the record business was going.

I loved the used record stores and used CD shops, but even they seem to be sliding down that gravity well as I see more DVDs than CDs in there. Nate and I would check out a few in KC when we were up there on a work jaunt or two… now he probably knows where all the good ones are – or no longer has need of them, eh?

Well, the record business has gone there and now, there aren’t as many great little record shops to browse around. And it’s a part of my life that I’ll miss quite a lot. I’ll still pop in to the odd used music shop (shout out to Papa Jazz in Columbia, SC, I stop there every time I’m in town; and Vintage Stock closer to home), but most of my browsing is done thru the ‘net today, via music blogs or odd radio stations, podcasts, etc. …

And yes, I know he did a couple of country music albums, but really, Ray Charles did NOT belong in the country section.