No new shows have been ordered, but at least those of us who liked the few episodes that were broadcast will be able to watch one complete season.
On April 11, VH1 will rebroadcast the first three episodes. And starting on April 18, the remaining five will be shown on a weekly basis. This news makes this monkey very happy.
Let's go to Canada's Hinesberg Journal for the wire story!
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Chuck Klosterman on the new Guns N' Roses
"If you purchased a kitten on the day that Use Your Illusion I & II arrived in stores, it’s probably dead by now."
His review in Spin magazine is here. Read EVERY word.
His review in Spin magazine is here. Read EVERY word.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
It's Just That Easy
Last night at work, I was chatting up a 50-something mom while helping her to her hotel room. Her daughter was parking the car and we got on the topic of how much her daughter loves her iPod and how she takes it everywhere she goes. I mentioned how my wife and I are saving so that we can find room in the budget for an iPod as well.
Flippantly, but kindly, the mom replies, "Well, they are everywhere. Just go down to Best Buy and buy one."
I imagine a blog from another time where someone says, "And then she said, 'Let them eat cake.' I mean, can you imagine?"
I guess things in her financial world are a bit different than things in ours. Must be nice. At least she made me smile.
Flippantly, but kindly, the mom replies, "Well, they are everywhere. Just go down to Best Buy and buy one."
I imagine a blog from another time where someone says, "And then she said, 'Let them eat cake.' I mean, can you imagine?"
I guess things in her financial world are a bit different than things in ours. Must be nice. At least she made me smile.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Roller Derby Comes To My Neck Of The Woods
With names like Malice-n-Wonderland, Queen Dread and Sin Dixxxie, a few women are trying to bring roller derby to Nashville.
As about a dozen Nashville Rollergirls weaved in-and-out of other skaters at the Skate Center in Smyrna just for some Sunday afternoon fun, they were wearing T-shirts with "Hell on Wheels" emblazoned on them.
(click here for the rest of the article)
I read this in the Tennessean yesterday and while I don't know much about the sport of roller derby, I do think that the participants must have a blast playing. More than the joy of competition, it seems from the article that one of the pleasures the ladies get from it is from the community aspect of it. I imagine stay at home moms and bored girlfriends looking for a way to let loose, have some fun, and make some friends in the process.
My wife played on an all girls football team when she was in high school, and if she had the time (and the knees) for it, I think she'd love being a part of something like this. Of course, a part of me just has fun wondering what we'd decide on for her evil and scary pseudonym. Speaking of pseudonyms, I think fellow blogger and friend, Bad Bad Ivy, already uses one which would work nicely in the world of tough roller girls like the ones aforementioned.
And aside from being a fun thing to do, I bet one upside to my wife playing tough would be of huge benefit in the parental area. After watching his mommy lay out an opponent in fierce competition, I'd hazard to guess that our little two year old would be much more hesitant about testing the limits around the house. In fact, I think a typical conversation would go something like this:
Mommy: OK, it's time for bed. I need for you to put your toys away, please.
Two year old: NO!
Mommy: Hey. Look at me. Remember what Mommy did to Malice-n-Wonderland last week? She didn't behave either. Now, are you going to put away your toys like a good boy?
Two year old (wisely reconsidering): Yes, Mommy. I love you.
As about a dozen Nashville Rollergirls weaved in-and-out of other skaters at the Skate Center in Smyrna just for some Sunday afternoon fun, they were wearing T-shirts with "Hell on Wheels" emblazoned on them.
(click here for the rest of the article)
I read this in the Tennessean yesterday and while I don't know much about the sport of roller derby, I do think that the participants must have a blast playing. More than the joy of competition, it seems from the article that one of the pleasures the ladies get from it is from the community aspect of it. I imagine stay at home moms and bored girlfriends looking for a way to let loose, have some fun, and make some friends in the process.
My wife played on an all girls football team when she was in high school, and if she had the time (and the knees) for it, I think she'd love being a part of something like this. Of course, a part of me just has fun wondering what we'd decide on for her evil and scary pseudonym. Speaking of pseudonyms, I think fellow blogger and friend, Bad Bad Ivy, already uses one which would work nicely in the world of tough roller girls like the ones aforementioned.
And aside from being a fun thing to do, I bet one upside to my wife playing tough would be of huge benefit in the parental area. After watching his mommy lay out an opponent in fierce competition, I'd hazard to guess that our little two year old would be much more hesitant about testing the limits around the house. In fact, I think a typical conversation would go something like this:
Mommy: OK, it's time for bed. I need for you to put your toys away, please.
Two year old: NO!
Mommy: Hey. Look at me. Remember what Mommy did to Malice-n-Wonderland last week? She didn't behave either. Now, are you going to put away your toys like a good boy?
Two year old (wisely reconsidering): Yes, Mommy. I love you.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
A Man Among Men, My Son
Quite simply stated, I am very proud of him. He's helpful and kind, he's thoughtful and carries with him a sharp wit and a command of wordplay I wish I had.Over the course these last couple of days, he has managed to volunteer at the Nashville Rescue Mission, help family members move boxes in preparation for a move, diagnose the problem with a non-starting lawn mower so that he can mow the lawn as soon as possible, and help around the house with his very young brother and sister.
This is not the teenager the books warn about. He is a young man who is going to do just fine in the world. I'm proud of him and I'm proud to know him. And I know I'd never look this cool in a black cowboy hat.
Calvin Trillin, My New Favorite Author Right This Minute
I opened up my March 27, 2006 issue of The New Yorker and found a wonderful piece by Calvin Trillin about his late wife, Alice. It's a wonderful read and I only hope that one day I can write something as beautiful and loving about my wife, Paige.
And so my next literary obsession begins now. My public library has much of his body of work and tomorrow I will start with the "Travels With Alice." Mr. Trillin looks to be my new Adam Gopnik, writing with such love and reverence about a spouse or a child as he watches that person relate with the world. He is a New Yorker and so lives where my spirit lives. He watches, observes, and writes it all down as if he's giving a gift to people like me, letting me feel like I am seeing his city and his people as I sit next to him in Greenwich Village.
I invite and welcome readers to leave a comment below. And I'd like to know which writer moves you like no other. Who seems to speak to your own rhythm? Who is your Calvin Trillin?
And so my next literary obsession begins now. My public library has much of his body of work and tomorrow I will start with the "Travels With Alice." Mr. Trillin looks to be my new Adam Gopnik, writing with such love and reverence about a spouse or a child as he watches that person relate with the world. He is a New Yorker and so lives where my spirit lives. He watches, observes, and writes it all down as if he's giving a gift to people like me, letting me feel like I am seeing his city and his people as I sit next to him in Greenwich Village.
I invite and welcome readers to leave a comment below. And I'd like to know which writer moves you like no other. Who seems to speak to your own rhythm? Who is your Calvin Trillin?
Words Of Wisdom
from Yuni.com
"'Often you must turn your stylus to erase, if you hope to write anything worth a second reading.' - Horace (65-8BC) [Quintus Horacius Flaccus] Latin Poet, Satirist "
"'Often you must turn your stylus to erase, if you hope to write anything worth a second reading.' - Horace (65-8BC) [Quintus Horacius Flaccus] Latin Poet, Satirist "
Friday, March 24, 2006
I Mourn Tonight
I am a bellman at a hotel. My friend is the concierge. Tonight, he called me with some sad news.
There is a dispatcher for a local cab company who we always enjoyed talking to. We would call her to request cabs for our guests, but somehow managed to get to know her better than these calls usually allow. Corey and I never met her but our phone conversations were always very fun. In chatting with her on the telephone, Corey learned a bit about her. Of course, she had a tough job. Getting cabs to the right spots, answering calls from people who were drunk or who didn't know where they were but demanding cabs to find them and take them wherever.
In her spare time, she liked to play pool or to escape to the casinos within reach of day trips from our city of Nashville. She had a playful spirit and was always kind to us, for we were always kind to her. It occurs to me now that I don't even know her name. But she knew mine and she knew Corey's.
Corey left me a voicemail message tonight. He called the cab company for a guest and remarked to the man who answered the phone that he hadn't heard her answer in a week or so. The man informed my friend that she was killed in a car accident and that her funeral had been held yesterday. I listened to the message and felt loss. Life is fleeting, indeed. I know so little about her and yet her value to me was measurable.
Of course, I spent the evening thinking of the people I know so well. And I thought the unthinkable. I thought of lives stopped short with no warning; no visits to doctors, no tests run and loose ends wrapped up. Just a phone call made to loved ones. And I don't say that to be grim. I type this and I just think of how much I want to hug the people in my life. They are my everything. I wonder about the people in that cab dispatcher's life. Who mourns her? Who was she really? I got the sense on the phone that she was lonely, but she played pool with friends I'm sure. She traveled to casinos not by herself I imagine. I'm sure someone wishes they had hugged her recently. She meant something to me and she meant something to Corey. And we'd never seen her face and I can't remember her name.
My heart goes out to those she left behind. My heart knows that she was a person of value and that she mattered to people. I'll write more later. But for now, I've got people to embrace.
There is a dispatcher for a local cab company who we always enjoyed talking to. We would call her to request cabs for our guests, but somehow managed to get to know her better than these calls usually allow. Corey and I never met her but our phone conversations were always very fun. In chatting with her on the telephone, Corey learned a bit about her. Of course, she had a tough job. Getting cabs to the right spots, answering calls from people who were drunk or who didn't know where they were but demanding cabs to find them and take them wherever.
In her spare time, she liked to play pool or to escape to the casinos within reach of day trips from our city of Nashville. She had a playful spirit and was always kind to us, for we were always kind to her. It occurs to me now that I don't even know her name. But she knew mine and she knew Corey's.
Corey left me a voicemail message tonight. He called the cab company for a guest and remarked to the man who answered the phone that he hadn't heard her answer in a week or so. The man informed my friend that she was killed in a car accident and that her funeral had been held yesterday. I listened to the message and felt loss. Life is fleeting, indeed. I know so little about her and yet her value to me was measurable.
Of course, I spent the evening thinking of the people I know so well. And I thought the unthinkable. I thought of lives stopped short with no warning; no visits to doctors, no tests run and loose ends wrapped up. Just a phone call made to loved ones. And I don't say that to be grim. I type this and I just think of how much I want to hug the people in my life. They are my everything. I wonder about the people in that cab dispatcher's life. Who mourns her? Who was she really? I got the sense on the phone that she was lonely, but she played pool with friends I'm sure. She traveled to casinos not by herself I imagine. I'm sure someone wishes they had hugged her recently. She meant something to me and she meant something to Corey. And we'd never seen her face and I can't remember her name.
My heart goes out to those she left behind. My heart knows that she was a person of value and that she mattered to people. I'll write more later. But for now, I've got people to embrace.
Bukowskical?
I don't think I can embrace a musical about Charles Bukowski. There is one playing in L.A. and it is called "Bukowskical!" and its first song has a line that goes, "there's a little Bukowski in all of you too." I see a lot of people each day and I feel pretty certain that some of them have no Bukowski in them at all. I met Pat Boone once. I saw no Bukowski in him. I also met Richard Simmons a few years back. No Bukowski there either.
That said, I guess I'd like to hear this musical afterall. It might be fun. But what Bukowski fans really need to do is pick up Bukowski: Born Into This. It's due out on DVD on March 27. It's a documentary about his life and it uses a lot of archived footage along with readings by the likes of Bono, Tom Waits, and Sean Penn.
I think about Bukowski and I think back to one cold winter afternoon in my city of Nashville. It was 1990 and I was walking around downtown thinking about my place in this world. I ventured into a small bookstore which is no longer around and wandered the aisles seeing if anything would catch my eye. And one brown spine did. It was called Women and it was written by some guy named Charles Bukowski. I picked it up because I liked the title. I thumbed through it a bit and minutes later I had bought my first book by Bukowski. Within the next year or so, I had bought about twenty of his books.
I've gone through many phases over the years. My taste in literature has expanded, and it has gone this way and that. But I always come back to Buk. I am somehow shaped by him. I try to write and I know that I am somehow influenced by him. That first person narrative, that truth, that honest reflection of the heart and its needs. I live the suburban life, but the musical might be right. There is a little Bukowski in me. And who knows? Maybe Pat Boone does, too.
That said, I guess I'd like to hear this musical afterall. It might be fun. But what Bukowski fans really need to do is pick up Bukowski: Born Into This. It's due out on DVD on March 27. It's a documentary about his life and it uses a lot of archived footage along with readings by the likes of Bono, Tom Waits, and Sean Penn.
I think about Bukowski and I think back to one cold winter afternoon in my city of Nashville. It was 1990 and I was walking around downtown thinking about my place in this world. I ventured into a small bookstore which is no longer around and wandered the aisles seeing if anything would catch my eye. And one brown spine did. It was called Women and it was written by some guy named Charles Bukowski. I picked it up because I liked the title. I thumbed through it a bit and minutes later I had bought my first book by Bukowski. Within the next year or so, I had bought about twenty of his books.
I've gone through many phases over the years. My taste in literature has expanded, and it has gone this way and that. But I always come back to Buk. I am somehow shaped by him. I try to write and I know that I am somehow influenced by him. That first person narrative, that truth, that honest reflection of the heart and its needs. I live the suburban life, but the musical might be right. There is a little Bukowski in me. And who knows? Maybe Pat Boone does, too.
Among My Top Five Nashville Bloggers
Chez Bez likes:
Sam Davidson's blog: He's a great writer and a friend I'm always happy to see. I read his stuff and think things like, "Now, that's how to write." He writes about Darfur and he writes about Christianity and he writes about kindness and our duties in this world. He writes and I think about social consciousness. And I see him in person and I think of friendship and community.
Today, I read his post about how he sat next to a celebrity at someone else's speaking engagement and I left that page thinking highly of that celebrity. And then at Nashville Is Talking, I saw people beating up that same celebrity for allegedly just being there to raise his profile. I wasn't there, but from reading Sam's account, I think that celebrity might have been there for reasons that had nothing to do with profile, celebrity, or anything else like that. I believe he was there for the same reason that Sam was there: to hear someone talk about something important and to be a bit more enlightened for having listened.
Let's just focus on God and love and let all of that other stuff take care of itself. Let's love and let's help and let's embrace one another.
Sam Davidson's blog: He's a great writer and a friend I'm always happy to see. I read his stuff and think things like, "Now, that's how to write." He writes about Darfur and he writes about Christianity and he writes about kindness and our duties in this world. He writes and I think about social consciousness. And I see him in person and I think of friendship and community.
Today, I read his post about how he sat next to a celebrity at someone else's speaking engagement and I left that page thinking highly of that celebrity. And then at Nashville Is Talking, I saw people beating up that same celebrity for allegedly just being there to raise his profile. I wasn't there, but from reading Sam's account, I think that celebrity might have been there for reasons that had nothing to do with profile, celebrity, or anything else like that. I believe he was there for the same reason that Sam was there: to hear someone talk about something important and to be a bit more enlightened for having listened.
Let's just focus on God and love and let all of that other stuff take care of itself. Let's love and let's help and let's embrace one another.
My Old Link, Maybe Your New Link
PublicRadioFan.com keeps me in tune with some of the coolest radio programs out there.
My secret fantasy? I host a radio show that is on NPR or I am one day interviewed by Terry Gross on Fresh Air.
You know my secret fantasy why? Because I was given a bottle of wine tonight and I forgot how to keep a secret.
My secret fantasy? I host a radio show that is on NPR or I am one day interviewed by Terry Gross on Fresh Air.
You know my secret fantasy why? Because I was given a bottle of wine tonight and I forgot how to keep a secret.
Bowled Over
pitcherlady always writes and shares the most human of posts. Her latest is about the man who lived underneath Melrose Lanes in the boiler room.
I consider pitcherlady to be one of Nashville's finest.
Read her words.
See her photography.
Strive daily to be a better person.
I consider pitcherlady to be one of Nashville's finest.
Read her words.
See her photography.
Strive daily to be a better person.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Bryter Layter, Better Layter Than Never
I am 36 years old and consider myself a very passionate fan of music. Having worked in a record store for a time in the 90s, my ears were made larger by the wealth of new sounds I was always hearing. I longer needed to rely on radio to know what was out there, thanks to the record company reps who were always feeding me promotional CDs and cassettes of each week's Next Big Thing. That helped me gain a more eclectic taste in music and a more well-rounded appetite for the diverse and beautiful sounds of so many different genres.
I now work at a hotel, but thanks to the internet and places like Grimey's and Phonoluxe, I know how to dig deep and rely on the recommendations of others to find new music to add to the soundtrack of my life. I know the old stuff and I welcome the new stuff. But every once in a while, I stumble across something old that I have never heard before. And from time to time, it knocks me out so much that I am slightly embarrassed that I have only recently found it.
That is the case with Bryter Layter by Nick Drake. Of course, I am familiar with Nick Drake, but by name only. Somehow, I had never heard his songs until just the other night. Wow. I am in love with a new collection of songs once again. Except these songs are new only to me. The album was released in 1970. How did I miss this? It's my new favorite. I feel the need to buy a bicycle and an iPod and listen to this as I bike around the prettiest parts of Nashville. But I think I'll need to grow my hair longer to get the fullest possible experience. This music speaks to my inner hippie. And it sounds great.
I now work at a hotel, but thanks to the internet and places like Grimey's and Phonoluxe, I know how to dig deep and rely on the recommendations of others to find new music to add to the soundtrack of my life. I know the old stuff and I welcome the new stuff. But every once in a while, I stumble across something old that I have never heard before. And from time to time, it knocks me out so much that I am slightly embarrassed that I have only recently found it.
That is the case with Bryter Layter by Nick Drake. Of course, I am familiar with Nick Drake, but by name only. Somehow, I had never heard his songs until just the other night. Wow. I am in love with a new collection of songs once again. Except these songs are new only to me. The album was released in 1970. How did I miss this? It's my new favorite. I feel the need to buy a bicycle and an iPod and listen to this as I bike around the prettiest parts of Nashville. But I think I'll need to grow my hair longer to get the fullest possible experience. This music speaks to my inner hippie. And it sounds great.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Adnan Khashoggi Is Everywhere
Geoff Baker is a songwriter. One of his songs is about Adnan Khashoggi, the famed arms dealer between US firms and the Saudi government who was implicated in the Iran Contra scandal. Certainly, it seems that violence and war feed his rich lifestyle famously.
Adnan Khashoggi reportedly once dated Heather Mills, now Paul McCartney's wife. She is a woman who started an important charity named Adopt-A-Minefield, which has raised over $13.5 million to date to help over 400,000 people who have lost limbs to uncleared minefields. So from a war profiteer to the man who co-wrote "All You Need Is Love." From what I know of Heather Mills, I can't imagine that she had more than a few dates with Adnan. It seems that she is full of compassion, and I doubt Adnan has much room in his heart for such foolishness.
Incidentally, Paul McCartney's former manager happened to share the name of the man who wrote "The Ballad Of Adnan Khashoggi. Interesting coincidental degree of separation there.
Upon reading more on Heather Mills-McCartney, it appears that she covered the wedding of Prince Charles and Carmilla Parker Bowles. Adnan Khashoggi's nephew was Dodi Al-Fayed, the fiance of the late Princess Diana, who perished along with her in that fateful car accident in a Paris tunnel in August, 1997.
Below are the lyrics to "The Ballad of Adnan Khashoggi" by Geoff Baker.
The Ballad of Adnan Khashoggi
(New Jersey, June 2003)
Adnan Khashoggi
He’s our Adnan, our Adnan Khashoggi
When there’s danger all round
He’s nowhere to be found
Safe and sound is our Adnan Khashoggi
Adnan Khashoggi
Since Iran-Contra where’s Adnan Khashoggi?
He was long since forgotten
Till along came Bin Laden
Who brought in our Adnan Khashoggi
Adnan gets it wholesale
But makes a killing unloading at retail
You can buy things today
To kill children at play
If your pay goes to Adnan Khashoggi
Adnan Khashoggi
He’s our Adnan, our Adnan Khashoggi
With impossible dreams
And unstoppable schemes
He’s a genius our Adnan Khashoggi
Adnan and his money
If it wasn’t so sad it’d be funny
When he’s with Richard Perle
Oh they giggle like girls
At the world and write fan mail for Rummy
Adnan and the White House
Everywhere his name's covered with white-out
He was tight with the first Bush
But right now the worse Bush
Is pushing for Adnan to hide out
Adnan Khashoggi
He’s our Adnan, our Adnan Khashoggi
When there’s danger all round
He’s nowhere to be found
Safe and sound is our Adnan Khashoggi
Adnan Khashoggi reportedly once dated Heather Mills, now Paul McCartney's wife. She is a woman who started an important charity named Adopt-A-Minefield, which has raised over $13.5 million to date to help over 400,000 people who have lost limbs to uncleared minefields. So from a war profiteer to the man who co-wrote "All You Need Is Love." From what I know of Heather Mills, I can't imagine that she had more than a few dates with Adnan. It seems that she is full of compassion, and I doubt Adnan has much room in his heart for such foolishness.
Incidentally, Paul McCartney's former manager happened to share the name of the man who wrote "The Ballad Of Adnan Khashoggi. Interesting coincidental degree of separation there.
Upon reading more on Heather Mills-McCartney, it appears that she covered the wedding of Prince Charles and Carmilla Parker Bowles. Adnan Khashoggi's nephew was Dodi Al-Fayed, the fiance of the late Princess Diana, who perished along with her in that fateful car accident in a Paris tunnel in August, 1997.
Below are the lyrics to "The Ballad of Adnan Khashoggi" by Geoff Baker.
The Ballad of Adnan Khashoggi
(New Jersey, June 2003)
Adnan Khashoggi
He’s our Adnan, our Adnan Khashoggi
When there’s danger all round
He’s nowhere to be found
Safe and sound is our Adnan Khashoggi
Adnan Khashoggi
Since Iran-Contra where’s Adnan Khashoggi?
He was long since forgotten
Till along came Bin Laden
Who brought in our Adnan Khashoggi
Adnan gets it wholesale
But makes a killing unloading at retail
You can buy things today
To kill children at play
If your pay goes to Adnan Khashoggi
Adnan Khashoggi
He’s our Adnan, our Adnan Khashoggi
With impossible dreams
And unstoppable schemes
He’s a genius our Adnan Khashoggi
Adnan and his money
If it wasn’t so sad it’d be funny
When he’s with Richard Perle
Oh they giggle like girls
At the world and write fan mail for Rummy
Adnan and the White House
Everywhere his name's covered with white-out
He was tight with the first Bush
But right now the worse Bush
Is pushing for Adnan to hide out
Adnan Khashoggi
He’s our Adnan, our Adnan Khashoggi
When there’s danger all round
He’s nowhere to be found
Safe and sound is our Adnan Khashoggi
Geoff Baker's Lyrics Continue To Resonate
"Karma"
(Berlin, January 2002)
I spent November trying to make my heart hard
Trying to cover up the tracks you left in my backyard
December felt like trying to slip an onion back into skin
And I hate myself for walking out
The way I hated you for walking in
I’ve been pushing through a lifetime of bad karma
For what I did when I was out in California
I may not know my bad from good but I know thick ends up thin
And I hate myself for walking out
The way I hated you for walking in
I spent November trying to make my heart hard
My hands are tired of the feel of wood and steel and my guitar
They want the touch of softer things, your skin, your hair, your skin
And they hate me now for walking out
The way I hated you for walking in
And now I’ve got nothing left, and there’s nothing I got to be
And if I see you everywhere, it’s cause you’re nowhere to be seen
We flew our love so high it came to pieces in the wind
And I hate myself for walking out
(Berlin, January 2002)
I spent November trying to make my heart hard
Trying to cover up the tracks you left in my backyard
December felt like trying to slip an onion back into skin
And I hate myself for walking out
The way I hated you for walking in
I’ve been pushing through a lifetime of bad karma
For what I did when I was out in California
I may not know my bad from good but I know thick ends up thin
And I hate myself for walking out
The way I hated you for walking in
I spent November trying to make my heart hard
My hands are tired of the feel of wood and steel and my guitar
They want the touch of softer things, your skin, your hair, your skin
And they hate me now for walking out
The way I hated you for walking in
And now I’ve got nothing left, and there’s nothing I got to be
And if I see you everywhere, it’s cause you’re nowhere to be seen
We flew our love so high it came to pieces in the wind
And I hate myself for walking out
Saturday, March 18, 2006
There's So Much I Want To Do
...if only I knew what it was.
Tonight, before these beers, I worked.
At work, I was among tattoo artists, horror movie actors,
and so many others who had found their niche. Beautiful thing,
that niche. Buk found his. Waits is living his. Mine is...
...around here somewhere. It's not behind a time clock, and I
don't think it's within this Powerball ticket. But...
...listening to Thelonious Monk do his thing with Charlie Rouse, I
know I'll find mine. It's behind that door marked FEAR. I'll open
it anyday now. I can hear friends and family cheering me on.
There's a lot of love in that sound.
Tonight, before these beers, I worked.
At work, I was among tattoo artists, horror movie actors,
and so many others who had found their niche. Beautiful thing,
that niche. Buk found his. Waits is living his. Mine is...
...around here somewhere. It's not behind a time clock, and I
don't think it's within this Powerball ticket. But...
...listening to Thelonious Monk do his thing with Charlie Rouse, I
know I'll find mine. It's behind that door marked FEAR. I'll open
it anyday now. I can hear friends and family cheering me on.
There's a lot of love in that sound.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
What's The Worth Of Your Home?
I love the internet more and more each day.
Zillow.com has the info on your home and the homes of everyone else. You want the info? You've got the info.
And here's the story in the New York Observer.
Zillow.com has the info on your home and the homes of everyone else. You want the info? You've got the info.
And here's the story in the New York Observer.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
There Goes Somebody's Miracle
Listening to Liz Phair singing "Somebody's Miracle", I think of all of the people who don't know their value to this world. They beat themselves up over supposed flaws and foibles. But in truth, they mean the world to others and no misstep will ever change that.
We are all somebody's miracle. That's nice to know.
We are all somebody's miracle. That's nice to know.
Chez Bez, The Early Years
chez (shā) prep.
At the home of; at or by.
[French, from Old French, from Latin casa, cottage, hut.]
One night in 1994, I drove a young friend home from the mall where we both worked. I worked at Waves Music and she worked at Lady Foot Locker with the girl I was dating at the time. We drove away from the parking garage and she proceeded to do the navigating for me. We talked music, high school, little life stuff, and it was all interspersed with "make a left here" and "make a right there."
With each passing turn, I smiled to myself as I recalled how I used to live in the same area back in the 70s as a very small child. I remember the little house on Stokesmont in Nashville, Tennessee where my dad and stepmom lived. I would visit on weekends. I could see the memories, pure and clean. Little me jumping into the big piles of leaves in autumn. This little guy sitting in his treehouse, pretending it was a cigar shop. My dad would be the potential customer walking by and I would give him my best sales pitch. Our dog, Poco, who I would be in charge of feeding when I was there.
Lo and behold, as I was driving my friend home and thinking of the things I did in that little house, her directions took me not only to that street, but to that same house. Wow. She invited me in and I entered, gazing about and seeing the interior of one of the first places I had ever lived, a good twenty years later. It was a bit like one of those vaguely recalled dreams where you are in a place you know except that almost everything about it is different from how you know it to really be. The walls were the same, but of course the pictures on them were different. Someone's parent was sitting on the couch with a book, but not either of my parents.
How cool was that? Not knowing she lived there, but inching our way to that same driveway the whole time. Thinking of this tonight, I'll have to ask my oldest son what his early memories of early homes are. What little seemingly unimportant details stay with him. These little marks of life. And I wonder what little things my two very little ones are going to hold onto. Things worth considering as I go about my role as parent.
Here's that house on Stokesmont. It appears that someone along the way has cut down a tree. We used to use that tree for second base for wiffle ball games. Oh well. Home base remains intact. It's just someone else growing up there now.
At the home of; at or by.
[French, from Old French, from Latin casa, cottage, hut.]
One night in 1994, I drove a young friend home from the mall where we both worked. I worked at Waves Music and she worked at Lady Foot Locker with the girl I was dating at the time. We drove away from the parking garage and she proceeded to do the navigating for me. We talked music, high school, little life stuff, and it was all interspersed with "make a left here" and "make a right there."
With each passing turn, I smiled to myself as I recalled how I used to live in the same area back in the 70s as a very small child. I remember the little house on Stokesmont in Nashville, Tennessee where my dad and stepmom lived. I would visit on weekends. I could see the memories, pure and clean. Little me jumping into the big piles of leaves in autumn. This little guy sitting in his treehouse, pretending it was a cigar shop. My dad would be the potential customer walking by and I would give him my best sales pitch. Our dog, Poco, who I would be in charge of feeding when I was there.
Lo and behold, as I was driving my friend home and thinking of the things I did in that little house, her directions took me not only to that street, but to that same house. Wow. She invited me in and I entered, gazing about and seeing the interior of one of the first places I had ever lived, a good twenty years later. It was a bit like one of those vaguely recalled dreams where you are in a place you know except that almost everything about it is different from how you know it to really be. The walls were the same, but of course the pictures on them were different. Someone's parent was sitting on the couch with a book, but not either of my parents.
How cool was that? Not knowing she lived there, but inching our way to that same driveway the whole time. Thinking of this tonight, I'll have to ask my oldest son what his early memories of early homes are. What little seemingly unimportant details stay with him. These little marks of life. And I wonder what little things my two very little ones are going to hold onto. Things worth considering as I go about my role as parent.
Here's that house on Stokesmont. It appears that someone along the way has cut down a tree. We used to use that tree for second base for wiffle ball games. Oh well. Home base remains intact. It's just someone else growing up there now.
There's Got To Be Some HBO Around Here Somewhere
I've looked all over the house and can't find any. Not under the couch. Not in the kitchen junk drawer. I can't find it anywhere. And if you don't know why I am looking for some HBO around here, just fuggedaboutit.
For some reason, I skipped The Sopranos last season and didn't really mind. I guess I was still a bit mad at David Chase for taking so long between episodes. But I forgive him now. The show is in its final two seasons and I want to watch every minute. I care about Paulie and Sylvio. Tony and Carmela. And nasty old Uncle Junior. And the train wreck that is Janice. I have missed them all and I want to watch and analyze each remaining episode.
Anyone want to tape it for me? Anyone?
For some reason, I skipped The Sopranos last season and didn't really mind. I guess I was still a bit mad at David Chase for taking so long between episodes. But I forgive him now. The show is in its final two seasons and I want to watch every minute. I care about Paulie and Sylvio. Tony and Carmela. And nasty old Uncle Junior. And the train wreck that is Janice. I have missed them all and I want to watch and analyze each remaining episode.
Anyone want to tape it for me? Anyone?
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Iran: Police Attack Women's Day Celebration
Reuters (New York, March 9, 2006)
Iranian police and plainclothes agents yesterday charged a peaceful assembly of women's rights activists in Tehran and beat hundreds of women and men who had gathered to commemorate International Women's Day, Human Rights Watch said today. (...more here.)
Iranian police and plainclothes agents yesterday charged a peaceful assembly of women's rights activists in Tehran and beat hundreds of women and men who had gathered to commemorate International Women's Day, Human Rights Watch said today. (...more here.)
Chez Bez Reads The News
"I regret using that crappy title," says Paul Haggis.
"Where the bloody hell are you?", says Tourism Australia. This slogan was deemed too offensive
in some markets because of one word. Which word do you think it was?
Mexican President Vicente Fox jokingly referred to women as "washing machines with two legs." Inflatable sex dolls to the rescue in an ad campaign against workplace harassment.
I see you when you're drinking. I know when you are drunk.
Add: OK, why can't I get a little space between lines up here? Methinks it would be an easier read with a little cooperation from Blogger. What's the deal?
Friday, March 10, 2006
Who The Hell Is Geoff Baker?
This morning, upon opening Rhapsody I found Geoff Baker recommended to me based on recent music choices. His latest is a short EP and I gave it a click (didn't we used to give records a spin?) and I now have a favorite new artist.
It's under the Goth genre, but I disagree with that categorization. I would think it to be closer to Alt/Folk. A sampling of song titles:
It's under the Goth genre, but I disagree with that categorization. I would think it to be closer to Alt/Folk. A sampling of song titles:
- The Ballad of Adnan Khashoggi
- American Flags on Foreign Cars
- Nobody Suffers But Us
- Shepherd
- What Our Children Is Learning
He's political, he's compassionate, and he's clever as hell. Look him up and call him the new Billy Bragg. Or the new Bob Dylan. He's the new whatever you need. He's Geoff Baker and he just made my morning.
Listen up and love it.
Texana Grill, Welcome Back!
Perusing the job listings in the back of All The Rage today, I saw that Texana Grill was hiring. I'm not interested in working there, but I sure am interested in eating there. It was such a staple for my dining pleasures back in the mid-90s. When it closed back in '97, I couldn't fathom why. It seemed to always be packed. Texana Grill was a favorite for so many Nashvillians, but one day it just closed up and left us wondering why.
In 1995, Deborah and I would go there each and every Sunday. We had our favorite server (Stephanie), and we always had a great time eating there. That relationship didn't last, I moved on, married, and don't miss it at all. But I missed Texana Grill. My wife and I did go there a couple of times before it closed. (Depending on who you talk to, it was our first date.) It was at Texana Grill that I first kissed my wife's aunt on the lips (I swear I didn't see that one coming), and was thusly welcomed into a family who puts having a crazy good time above most other endeavors.
I'm not an outdoorsy guy, but I kind of felt like one when I would play horseshoes just outside the front door while waiting on a table. My wife and I played horseshoes on our first visit there together. I'll have to ask her tomorrow if I won or if I let her win. And appropriately enough, it was at Texana Grill where I drank my first Shiner Bock beer. When it reopens, that'll be my first order.
To Texana Grill, I can't wait for you to open again. The steaks are great and the staff is fun and friendly. Let me know when you are ready, and I'll mark my calendar. And just so you know, I like mine medium-well.
In 1995, Deborah and I would go there each and every Sunday. We had our favorite server (Stephanie), and we always had a great time eating there. That relationship didn't last, I moved on, married, and don't miss it at all. But I missed Texana Grill. My wife and I did go there a couple of times before it closed. (Depending on who you talk to, it was our first date.) It was at Texana Grill that I first kissed my wife's aunt on the lips (I swear I didn't see that one coming), and was thusly welcomed into a family who puts having a crazy good time above most other endeavors.
I'm not an outdoorsy guy, but I kind of felt like one when I would play horseshoes just outside the front door while waiting on a table. My wife and I played horseshoes on our first visit there together. I'll have to ask her tomorrow if I won or if I let her win. And appropriately enough, it was at Texana Grill where I drank my first Shiner Bock beer. When it reopens, that'll be my first order.
To Texana Grill, I can't wait for you to open again. The steaks are great and the staff is fun and friendly. Let me know when you are ready, and I'll mark my calendar. And just so you know, I like mine medium-well.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
It Ain't Always Fun, But Sometimes It Works Out
At 10:40, twenty minutes before the end of my shift tonight, I got a call from the hotel operator asking me if I could drive to the local private airport to pick up some guests. I really didn't want to do it and referred the call to my supervisor who had seen me put up with a lot of unfair treatment already this day. Knowing that I didn't want to do it, he told the person on the other end that we weren't staffed to answer that request tonight and that the hotel would pay the cab fare for the guest to come over via taxi.
I thanked him for looking out for me as I went about my closing shift duties. And then it hit me. For all I knew, this could have been the CEO of some company. A CEO who thinks nothing of tipping drivers $20 or $50 for doing such deeds as this. I was tired but maybe I should have taken my chances and gone out there after all. It would have been a gamble, but my life could use some gambling these days.
Come 11:00, I am walking out the door to my car and I see a cab pull up. I slow my walk to see who gets out of the cab. Surely, this is the one that holds the passengers I might have had. And the passengers step out and I thank the heavens that I chose correctly. No way I missed out on big money, for these were pilots. Ha ha! Keep your two dollars. I'm going home.
I thanked him for looking out for me as I went about my closing shift duties. And then it hit me. For all I knew, this could have been the CEO of some company. A CEO who thinks nothing of tipping drivers $20 or $50 for doing such deeds as this. I was tired but maybe I should have taken my chances and gone out there after all. It would have been a gamble, but my life could use some gambling these days.
Come 11:00, I am walking out the door to my car and I see a cab pull up. I slow my walk to see who gets out of the cab. Surely, this is the one that holds the passengers I might have had. And the passengers step out and I thank the heavens that I chose correctly. No way I missed out on big money, for these were pilots. Ha ha! Keep your two dollars. I'm going home.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Monday, March 06, 2006
What Color Are Your Books?
My delight tonight was huge. After watching awards shows all day long (Independent Spirit Awards, Academy Awards), I scrolled through the TV listings a bit and found a nice little surprise.
About three or more years ago, Comedy Central ran a little British comedy called Black Books. It was a quirky show about a cranky, alcoholic of a bookshop owner who loathed people, especially customers. In steps Manny, who soon becomes Bernard's employee. A good bit sunnier, but with his own anxiety disorders and 'fabulous hair', and the two make for a hilarious, if not totally wrong for each other, pair. A neighboring shop owner named Fran is the third character in this wonderful comedy.
It ran for a short while and then was gone. From time to time over these years, I have looked for it to no avail. Never finding it on DVD or VHS to purchase, I finally gave up on it a few months ago. But tonight I found that BBC America runs it pretty often. And just for me, I'm sure.
So, thanks to BBC America for giving me Black Books again. And to my wife, I'll leave with this one quote from her favorite episode: "Ow! I sat on meself!"
Sunday, March 05, 2006
She's Just Trying To Matter
"Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen." - Ralph Waldo Emerson
Congrats to Reese Witherspoon for her Academy Award. And congrats to her for such a kind and wonderful acceptance speech.
She paid tribute to June Carter who would always answer, "How are you doing?" with "I'm just trying to matter." And then Reese said it herself.
Aren't we all just trying to matter? We seek to be these people so hard that sometimes we don't even notice that we have already achieved what's important. Reese has mattered from the day she was born. And so have I. And so has my mom. We are all the most important person in the world to so many people and yet we still walk around wondering who we are and what we are here for.
If we could all just shed this self-doubt and get busy loving and helping, we'd all be better for it. My friend, pitcherlady, wrote today about someone else who mattered. I'd never met him and still I shed the quietest of tears reading about him. I'm lucky to have known about his life.
Congrats to Reese Witherspoon for her Academy Award. And congrats to her for such a kind and wonderful acceptance speech.
She paid tribute to June Carter who would always answer, "How are you doing?" with "I'm just trying to matter." And then Reese said it herself.
Aren't we all just trying to matter? We seek to be these people so hard that sometimes we don't even notice that we have already achieved what's important. Reese has mattered from the day she was born. And so have I. And so has my mom. We are all the most important person in the world to so many people and yet we still walk around wondering who we are and what we are here for.
If we could all just shed this self-doubt and get busy loving and helping, we'd all be better for it. My friend, pitcherlady, wrote today about someone else who mattered. I'd never met him and still I shed the quietest of tears reading about him. I'm lucky to have known about his life.
All I Said Was That Dress Is To Die For.
A normal night at my normal job. I've seen a million faces...and I've rocked them all. And I've seen a lot of newlyweds cross our lobby's threshold. I throw out the necessary pleasantries, the Congratulations!, the That's A Beautiful Dress, the You Guys Look Phenomenal. But here's the secret; I don't always mean it. That's not always obvious because I am a professional. The truth is that I very quickly go back to the fantasy where I am in a Charles Bukowski novel where I am kicking the ass of Eddie the bartender just because I don't like the look of his face.
Last night, however, I was stopped in my tracks. A young newlywed couple entered my line of vision and I was simply stunned by the awesome beauty of, get this, a wedding dress. I told them what I tell all newlyweds, except this time I meant it. The guy was handsome enough, the bride was typically pretty, but the dress owned my brain for the rest of the evening. They checked in and proceeded to the elevator, accompanied by her parents who took pictures of the happy couple at the elevator doors.
As mom and dad came back by on their way back to the parking lot, I heard myself ask a question I never thought I'd ask.
"Excuse me, ma'am?"
"Yes?" she replied as she and her husband stopped and came over to my belldesk.
"I have a question. Her wedding dress is absolutely beautiful. Who's the designer?"
I'm standing next to F., my friend and coworker. A Marine, young and tough. And I'm letting him hear me ask about a beautiful wedding dress. And I'm not embarrassed at all.
Mom says, "I don't know, but she got it at David's Bridal. It is nice, huh?"
"Well, it's that black trim. I've never seen that before but it works brilliantly!"
"I agree," she answers. "As soon as she saw it, she knew it was 'the one.'"
"Thanks, and congrats to everyone. Have a nice night," I say. She replies in kind and leaves the hotel with Dad.
Since then, I told F. how much I like it. I described it to a few other workmates, and I told my wife about it today. She might have been getting a bit worried about this cowboy of hers until I found a picture of it online and showed it to her. She was a touch mesmerized by it, too.
My masculinity in check, this just proves that I have nice taste. I know beauty when I see it. And I simply must tell everyone I know when I see it.
(Here's the link to the dress on the David's Bridal website. The default color is apple, but select the black color link below the picture to see what I saw. You may agree with me.)
Last night, however, I was stopped in my tracks. A young newlywed couple entered my line of vision and I was simply stunned by the awesome beauty of, get this, a wedding dress. I told them what I tell all newlyweds, except this time I meant it. The guy was handsome enough, the bride was typically pretty, but the dress owned my brain for the rest of the evening. They checked in and proceeded to the elevator, accompanied by her parents who took pictures of the happy couple at the elevator doors.
As mom and dad came back by on their way back to the parking lot, I heard myself ask a question I never thought I'd ask.
"Excuse me, ma'am?"
"Yes?" she replied as she and her husband stopped and came over to my belldesk.
"I have a question. Her wedding dress is absolutely beautiful. Who's the designer?"
I'm standing next to F., my friend and coworker. A Marine, young and tough. And I'm letting him hear me ask about a beautiful wedding dress. And I'm not embarrassed at all.
Mom says, "I don't know, but she got it at David's Bridal. It is nice, huh?"
"Well, it's that black trim. I've never seen that before but it works brilliantly!"
"I agree," she answers. "As soon as she saw it, she knew it was 'the one.'"
"Thanks, and congrats to everyone. Have a nice night," I say. She replies in kind and leaves the hotel with Dad.
Since then, I told F. how much I like it. I described it to a few other workmates, and I told my wife about it today. She might have been getting a bit worried about this cowboy of hers until I found a picture of it online and showed it to her. She was a touch mesmerized by it, too.
My masculinity in check, this just proves that I have nice taste. I know beauty when I see it. And I simply must tell everyone I know when I see it.
(Here's the link to the dress on the David's Bridal website. The default color is apple, but select the black color link below the picture to see what I saw. You may agree with me.)
Friday, March 03, 2006
This Blog And Its Identity Crisis
Aside from the occasional dead actor, it seems that not much compells me to write lately. I feel that just linking to news stories I like makes me a lazy blogger and writing full on essays are temporarily beyond my reach. Posting pictures of my young ones is always nice, but with my work sked, I haven't seen them much lately. Let alone have them pose for pictures.
If I was home in the evening hours more, I'd likely be writing about how great My Name Is Earl is. I catch about five minutes of it in the workplace cafeteria from time to time and love everything about it. If I was writing about music, I'd say how much I love the new Liz Phair album. It was actually released in October of 2005, but that's still new to me. It's called Somebody's Miracle (NPR interview here) and it pretty much continues with the same sound that she used on 2003's self titled disc. For now, the song that grabs me most tightly is "Got My Own Thing." With lyrics like these, I love her.
Oooh boy
I'd love to help
Give you enough rope to hang yourself
And watch the silly things you do
Oooh boy
I'd love to help
Give you enough rope to hang yourself and
I hope you're swinging this way too
Boy I do
The lyrics are fun but the melody simply owns me. Ooh, I just saw that Liz has her own podcast. Can't blog now, gotta listen to Liz. You can, too. Here.
If I was home in the evening hours more, I'd likely be writing about how great My Name Is Earl is. I catch about five minutes of it in the workplace cafeteria from time to time and love everything about it. If I was writing about music, I'd say how much I love the new Liz Phair album. It was actually released in October of 2005, but that's still new to me. It's called Somebody's Miracle (NPR interview here) and it pretty much continues with the same sound that she used on 2003's self titled disc. For now, the song that grabs me most tightly is "Got My Own Thing." With lyrics like these, I love her.
Oooh boy
I'd love to help
Give you enough rope to hang yourself
And watch the silly things you do
Oooh boy
I'd love to help
Give you enough rope to hang yourself and
I hope you're swinging this way too
Boy I do
The lyrics are fun but the melody simply owns me. Ooh, I just saw that Liz has her own podcast. Can't blog now, gotta listen to Liz. You can, too. Here.
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