I live in a part of my hometown where everybody seems to be interconnected, where there are not a lot of degrees of separation. Where your cousin is likely to work with your neighbor’s uncle. The mother of your daughter’s current BF went to the junior prom 25 years ago with your boss’s brother. A former fellow bandmate of your Louisville contractor teaches guitar to your former fraternity brother. In New Orleans.
That kind of stuff.
An educated area, yet when asked what school one attended, the intention is to learn what high school, not college.
I’ve often joked that on my deathbed, two people will walk in together and provide the final tie in to everyone I’ve known.
I am used to connectivity.
So, I look for links in my life.
* * * * *
I am a huge music fan.
Rock & Roll.
I’m full with it, my history with it. I can tell you exactly where I was when I first heard “Walk Don’t Run.” What acts were on the bill at the first concert I attended. “Biggest Show of Stars.” On July 29, 1961.
I’ve often mused whether I’d have made it as I have to double sevens without tuneage to provide a necessary soundtrack along the way. Read the rest of this entry »
Some days are traditionally and annually more difficult than others.
Perspective: I used to get really depressed at halftime of the Orange Bowl, when it was always played on New Year’s night. For decades I’d always had the last week of the year off, and it would hit me hard that the next morning’s wake up meant: Back To Real Life.
So has become the Monday after the First Saturday in May.
Even on a sunny, crisp day like today, when I’m blessed with few responsibilities.
There’s the fact that Derby is over. I don’t go to the track. Or the parade. Or the boat race. Or even to hear Drive By Truckers, though I was well intentioned to do so. But I love the energy around town, and know it is the most glorious time of the year for many in our burg.
We even had the sun shine through late Derby afternoon. Thanks to the spirit specters of Matt Winn and Irvin S. Cobb. Which beauteous weather lasted through Sunday for the brunchers and party hearty crowd that was still full tilt one more day.
And, for others like me, this Monday marks the end of my year’s gravtitational pull, the New Orleans JazzFest. I only went first weekend, ceding to the inevitable Old Folks Boogie, from which I naturally suffer thanks to the ever accelerating “maturation process.” Even though I wasn’t present in New Orleans this weekend as I was last, I still kept watching the clock, finally finding some relief at 8:00 Sunday, when I knew the last notes had been played, that the bon temps roulez had expired.
Thus, we come to today, in the Printemps of some disconsolation.
It really matters not that it’s glorious outside, that honeysuckle aromisizes the air, that the warmth and recreation of summer is just ahead. Today there is the let down that comes about when too much anticipation is focused on a singular event, and it passes.
Fortunately it is fleeting, not terminal.
(I am reminded of 1976. That was the year of my first JazzFest. I went down for a weekend. Then called work and advised I was slipping off to the beach for a week. Then called again and advised I’d be staying for the second weekend of JazzFest. Then returned for Derby week. All of which was fueled — in copious quantities — by the inebriants of the day. Even attended a big bash on the Sunday after Derby. Dealing with that Monday let down turned out not to be a problem. I went to sleep Sunday evening. Didn’t wake up until Tuesday morning.) Read the rest of this entry »
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.
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:
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.
As if we didn’t already know, it’s always startling when we realize that, all other of life’s powerful forces notwithstanding, nature rules. Period.
Sometimes, she can be a mutha. Like now with this snow and ice storm we are experiencing in the heartland. When trees and limbs are cracking from ice, and streets are impassible and snow is covering ice, and power lines are down and the spouse is going stir crazy, etc, etc.
The flip side, of course, is that it’s really beautiful outside. Unless the view is of some major oak tree crashing into the second floor.
Despite the hyperbolic reaction by public and press to today’s inauguration of Barack Obama, it is impossible to overstate it symbolic significance.
In my lifetime, a Louisville couple was prosecuted and persecuted for selling their home to a black family. A regional restaurant chain threatened to close its locations in town if it was forced to serve blacks. Etc, etc.
Today’s moment has been a long time coming.
It is not the end of the road.
But today’s lesson is that, with perseverence, good often triumphs over not-so-good and it should be heralded to the highest degree.
You’ve seen the commercials, I’m sure, the ones with that snappy huckster with the State Fair Official Microphone hooked around his ear and the ultimate barker’s rap. His name is Vince. His product: ShamWow. They’re towels — Made in Germany — which allegedly hold twenty times their weight in liquid. Ten year warranty.
“Not available in Stores.” His quote exactly. It appears on the screen.
The Film Babe and I bit. Went for the double deal. Four — count ’em — four ShamWows. Plus four Mini ShamWows
Only $19.99. Plus S & H. That would shipping and handling. Another ten bucks or so. But, hey, these things are indispensable for the house, the car, the boat, the garage.
So I go online and order. Knowing full well that every www. shuckster in the cybergalaxy is going to have my email address by the next morning. Spam ensues. Actually not too bad.
The lesson in all this: ShamWows are available in stores. And you don’t have to pay S & H. The day after I ordered them I saw a bunch on a shelf at Walgreens.
So, I guess what I’m saying is this: You can’t believe everything you see on TV.
I just think it’s a really good idea to try to remember the emotions of our youth. Doing so allows us to act toward youngsters in ways that honor them and ourselves.
My teenage niece, who lives in an all Big Blue family, has fallen for the Cardinals. My sweetie, the Film Babe, takes her to the U of L games while I get the privilege of sitting at press row.
The Film Babe is out of town. I was going to pass those seats to the Notre Dame game along to some friends as a pay back for favors done. My niece kept calling to see if she was going to get to go to the game. Even had a friend she hoped to bring along.
I started going to U of L games when I was 7 years old. In those early years, the tickets belonged to my dad’s company. He never knew until game day if he’d get them, and, if he did, whether there would be one for me. I would always be nervous on game day, praying I’d get to go. It was a stunning disappointment when I wasn’t able to. So I felt my niece’s pain.
I gave her the ticket. Her friend got the other one. I drove them into the game.