Diet Coke, and I guess real coke, does taste different in cans than it does when it comes from a bottle. Even those plastic bottles.
And the taste isn’t as good. From the cans, that is. Which is to say that the bottled taste is better.
I wonder why?
Anyway, I’ve always suspected this discrepancy, but grabbing a can from the fridge just now confirmed those suspicions. Sure wish I was quenching my need for that big diet cola taste from a bottle now.
For about a week. Then I deleted myself. I’m much relieved.
Entering that world was merely a matter of curiosity. One of my friends, a middle ager as myself, joked about how another of our buddies, also a chronological contemporary, was his Facebook Friend. I wanted to see what that meant. Then realized I had to join the network if I wanted to find out. So I did.
And those guys were listed as friends on each other’s page.
Hmm.
I did nothing more. Then I got an email, saying somebody I don’t know wanted to be my Facebook Friend. I ignored it. Then I got another email advising that an old nemesis wanted to be my Facebook Friend. I ignored it.
But, realized: Enough is enough. I cancelled my registration.
When you got some time to kill and you end up at youtube.com and somehow you start thinking of the “T.A.M.I Show,” which is arguably the greatest rock & roll show ever, you got to think of James Brown.
Today’s lesson: Simple. James Brown was as good as we remember. Check it out.
And, he could not only sing, but he could dance as good as he wanted. Check this little clip out:
And I’m caught one more time
Up on Cyprus Avenue
And I’m caught one more time
Up on Cyprus Avenue
And I’m conquered in a car seat
Not a thing that I can do
The CD release of Van Morrison’s first ever performance in its entirety of “Astral Weeks” in November at the Hollywood Bowl is now set for March 24. It was supposed to come out today (when I’m writing this), February 10. But, as those things go in the music biz, the release date was pushed back.
I did score a copy after much cajolery and obsessive pursuit of that goal. After all I’d been to the concert on a honeymoon trip and the time had long since passed to hear whether the show was as magnificent as the Film Babe and I believed it at the time.
Of this now confirmed tour de force performance, there really is only one question to ask.
In politics (which is sometimes but not always the same thing as real life.)
Just weeks into his administration, President Obama, referring to the selection of tax-owing Tom Daschle for his cabinet, simply said, “I screwed up.”
How damned refreshing. Sure the adminstration kept its head in the sand for a couple of days after the revelations about Daschle’s failure to report all his income. That is politics (real life) as usual. But it really didn’t take that long to throw in the towel and admit a mistake had been made.
The lesson is well taken. If we make a mistake, admit it. Be contrite. Apologize. Learn from it.
Like I said at the top: A little contrition goes a long way.
April may be the cruelest month to T.S. Eliot, but he never competed in the BEast in February. Unbeaten in January, Louisville’s magic sleigh flipped in a ditch Monday. The roll U of L was on has been momentarily sidetracked.
No. 1 UConn 68, U of L 51.
It wasn’t that close.
Forget that the Huskies ruled the charity line with a 20-2 edge in an oddly called slugfest rougher than the Super Bowl. The Cardinals would have had to play significantly better than in any previous game to have had a chance against a Connecticut squad — all seniors and juniors except frosh Kemba Walker, probably the best of them all — that trumps all of Louisville’s strengths. The good guys fell prey to the intimidating dynamic inside duo named Thabeet & Adrien and a four guard anschluss hotter than a microwave.
So, of course, the Film Babe and I went to a party which good friends’ host annually for the Super Bowl. What, you think we’re not patriotic or something?
Lots of bon homie. Three kinds of chili. The requisite guacamole and chips. Joanie’s to die for Italian Creme Cake with strawberry cream chees icing, and some lesser desserts. Some guys watched the golf tournament on one TV before kickoff. Others talked b-ball. The women mingled mostly among themselves.
It was good friends, good feedbag, good football. And Bruce.
Love him or not, Bruce Springsteen has always been the most seminal of rock & rollers. He’s a traditionalist, his best music emanating from Jersey’s blue collar streets, the folk tradition and Top 40 radio into rollicking anthems.
I’m not hear to critique his 12 minute halftime onslaught. I’ll leave that to critics who find it a necessary task. What I know is everyone at our party gathered. And enjoyed. Hey, how about that crotch shot.
And today I went to youtube.com to see if I could find a fitting version of my pick as rock’s greatest song, the one that embodies the teenage hope, melancholy, lust and verve that are the bases of rock & roll. And I did. Let me share it with you now.
Diet Coke, and I guess real coke, does taste different in cans than it does when it comes from a bottle. Even those plastic bottles.
