The Big Green House

Tune in next week

That medium-sized news I mentioned a while back? It all happens Monday.

Can you stand the suspense?

‘Cuz I can’t.

Beat it

I’m not the only one who thinks Kelefa Sanneh doesn’t always think his pieces all the way through: KC, from 45s and Under, explains why the rehabilitation of Michael Jackson’s career won’t be happening. I was thinking of writing something similar, actually. Since he’s already handled it (and in a much better fashion than I would have done), I can go back to work on The Review That Refused To Die.

Cuban sandwich crisis

Just ducking in to say hi. I think maybe I’ve finally cracked the back of a review I’ve been working on and I don’t want to lose the flow, y’know.

Weekend update, Reader's Digest version: “Police Beat” was a good idea that went on too long & could have used a little more plot (rumor has it that there was some, at one time, but it got cut), and we forgot to get the Cuban sandwiches. I know! What the hell is wrong with us?

Anyhoo, that’s it for now. Oh, except that the mysterious news I mentioned Friday might possibly take longer to arrive than was first anticipated. Just expect some sort of announcement relatively soon (before the end of the year, anyway) and go about your life as you normally would otherwise.

That is all.

It's Friday - I'm in love

OK now, this thing here is useful. Knowing which artists are "protected" by RIAA could save your life someday. Well, mine, anyway. And it comes to you via Wally Bangs.

Me, I haven’t actually got anything at the moment. I will tell you, however, that there is a good chance that I’ll have some big… well, medium-sized news next week. I’m excited about it, and I think you will be, too. Yes, you.

In the meantime, have a good weekend. Saturday we’re going to see “Police Beat”, which was co-written by a former roommate of Science Girl’s. There’s been some talk of Cuban sandwiches at some point over the weekend, the very idea of which is making me salivate as I type this. Mostly, though, I think we’re gonna be working around the house. That may not sound like much fun, but compared to all the hubbub last weekend it’ll be great.

These are the breaks

And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: the lecture playlist!

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised / Gil Scott-Heron

Good Times / Chic

Rapper’s Delight / The Sugarhill Gang

The Breaks / Kurtis Blow

Planet Rock / Afrika Bambaataa & Soul Sonic Force

It’s Tricky / Run-DMC

Fight the Power / Public Enemy

Straight Outta Compton / N.W.A.

Nuthin’ But a G Thang – Snoop Dogg

Red Beans and Rice – Spearhead

Who’s To Blame – Ozomatli

Galang / M.I.A.

Memorial Day – The Perceptionists

As it turns out, this was actually my final lecture for this class. I was kinda hoping to tie up some loose ends next week, but at the same time I’m pretty relieved to be done. It was a lot of work: doing the research, writing the notes, searching for and downloading music (I’m out-of-pocket somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty to forty bucks), burning the discs… I hope the class got something out of it.

I don’t want to leave you with the impression that it was all drudgery, ‘cause it wasn’t. The class was less responsive than I’d hoped for, overall, but I think a couple of the kids were into it. And, y’know, I’ll gladly talk about music all day long if there’s somebody to listen. One student came up to me after class today and asked for my contact info – he’s going to see if his Capoeira club wants me to come lecture. (!?) If they pay even a nominal sum, I’ll do it. That’s how much of a whore I am.

Ya don't stop

I’m supposed to lecture tomorrow on hip-hop. Since I’ve embarked on a mission to cover American music, I’d be remiss if I didn’t. Still, I probably don’t have to point out the fact that I’m not the best choice to inform anyone about hip-hop, much less a room full of kids, many (if not most) of whom already listen to it exclusively. I’m sure they could tell me a thing or twelve.

Over the years I’ve gone from outright… well, not contempt, but certainly strong dislike for the genre, to benign neglect, to a sort of grudging respect. Most of what I’ve heard (MTV/mainstream stuff, generally, and what I hear booming from the cars of young men) I still can’t fucking stand, due to the bling bling/dick-waving factor. I find that shit really depressing, on a lot of different levels. But I’ve heard a few things lately that were OK; Dana sent me some Jurassic 5 last year that I rather enjoy, and I’ve heard a few things on the radio by The Perceptionists and M.I.A. that worked for me. I doubt I’m ever gonna be much of a fan – as a middle-aged white guy, I’m not exactly the target demographic – but I don’t always leap for the off button when it comes on the radio now, so I guess that’s progress.

Mistakes were made

Well. It would appear that Mr. Sanneh actually did review The Woods. It got buried on page six of the Arts section, but I don’t suppose he had much control over that. (I’d link to it, but apparently it didn’t make it online.)

*clears throat*

If you think this means I’m gonna be reviewing Ciara, think again.

Señor Hairball's Colonic Health Adventures

Well, that was a busy weekend. Not one I’d care to repeat, either, for the most part. Let me get you up to speed here:

Martin, our cat, is 17 years old. He’s a very robust kitty, not skinny and dried up as many older cats become. Nope – he runs around the yard and chases imaginary mice and that sort of thing. The only real signs of aging are a slight stiffness in his walk sometimes and his chronic, um, constipation. He does get a little backed up from time to time. I’ll spare you the details, but I will mention that we feed him Senior Hairball Control cat food, which has resulted in one of his nicknames being Señor Hairball.

So Thursday evening, Science Girl noticed that he hadn’t been eating or drinking all day, and that he’d been a bit on the lethargic side. Very unusual for Martin. Friday morning was more of the same  - he usually greets us at the kitchen door when we come down for breakfast, but Friday he didn’t even get out of his house. Right, off to the vet with him.

The vet quickly determined that Señor was indeed quite constipated and somewhat dehydrated. They kept him for a few hours while they rehydrated him and administered a kitty enema. Success! He was sent home, and all was supposedly well.

Except that he still wouldn’t eat or drink.

OK. Well, off to the kitty emergency room, first thing Saturday morning. If you’ve ever spent any time at all in an ER (and I really hope you haven’t, unless you work in one), you’ll know that unless you’re actively bleeding at a furious pace or otherwise obviously in dire straits, you’re gonna be waiting for awhile before you see a doctor. This is as it should be, of course; otherwise it wouldn’t really be the emergency room, would it? The same waiting period holds true in pet hospitals. I had to leave SG and martin at the hospital so I could go home and walk Lucy (and, y’know, get a shower and brush my teeth; I wasn’t kidding when I said first thing Saturday morning).

Now, we had made some fairly loose plans to meet up with Joolie, since she’s here in town for a bit, but unfortunately that sorta had to go by the wayside. Such is life. She was very understanding. We instead made plans to meet Sunday, at Eric’s art opening. Cool.

In the meantime, the kitty emergency room had done all sorts of tests and X-rays. Blood tests were negative (yay!), but the X-ray showed that when our regular vet had given Martin his enema, he had also introduced a large amount of air into Señor’s colon. This gave our cat the feeling that he was full so he refused to eat or drink, thereby dehydrating himself again. They kept him overnight, rehydrating him again, giving him a medication to move his colon and get the air out. (I feel really bad for the vet tech who had that duty – kitty farts are the deadliest form of gas known to humanity.)

All of that worked. He started eating again Saturday night – Sunday morning. They told us we could pick him up Sunday, sometime between 4 and 6. Alrighty. I got on the phone to Joolie to make arrangements for the evening. As it turns out, the opening was between… yup, 4 and 6. We both kinda giggled at that.

Long story only moderately shorter: Martin is back home and back to his old self again, Science Girl is wrapping up her quarter at school, and I had lunch with Joolie and Eric before coming in to work today. They’re both very cool people, and I still owe them the promised drinks.

All the cool kids are doing it

No one asked, but this one is making the rounds. (Also, I’ve got nothing else ready to go.) So, without further ado, I give you

TEN THINGS EVERYBODY ELSE SEEMS TO LIKE THAT I DON’T

In no particular order:

• Mayonnaise – perhaps the nastiest sauce the French ever convinced the rest of the world to eat. True, it is a part of my admittedly kick-ass chicken salad recipe, but only because the other ingredients mask its inherent gag-inducing qualities. Otherwise, the only time I touch this stuff is to pass it to Science Girl.
• Lucinda Williams – yes, yes, she’s a great songwriter, but that voice! Ay yi yi. It’s like red-hot, rusty knitting needles being shoved very, very slowly into my ears.
• Professional massage – actually leaves me more anxious and stiff than when I get on the table. I don’t get on the table anymore.
• Tropical fruit - too much like rotting flesh.
• Crowds – I recently had someone tell me that his most favorite travel memory was finding himself in Shinjuku during rush hour. I would either be curled up in a fetal ball and bleeding from the ears or lashing out at random with the pointiest object I could find and screaming incoherently. It doesn’t bug me so much at a show or, say, a ballgame, but otherwise I take the Sartrean line: hell is other people.
• Cell phones – I recently used one for the first time, and am actually considering getting one for professional reasons. Oh, and they’re great for emergencies. But seriously, I don’t need to get in touch with anyone that badly, and I neither need nor want to be that easily accessible myself.
• Basketball – perhaps the dullest sport ever invented, outside of golf. It’s close.
• Perfume/cologne – why would anyone want to smell like that? Seriously. There are a very few scents that are subtle and actually pleasant, but generally they’re an assault on the noses of innocent passers-by. Sort of a drive-by stenching, if you will. And hippies, please take note – patchouli oil is NOT a substitute for bathing.
• Dale Chihuly – glasswork in general, really, but Chihuly in particular. His stuff is everywhere here in Seattle, and for the life of me I cannot see the appeal of it.

• The Farrelly brothers, the guys who do South Park, damn near anyone involved with Saturday Night Live during the past 20 years … Where I'm from, comedy is supposed to be funny, see.

I could go on, but I think I've reached my RDA of bile for the day.

Put a twenty dollar gold piece on my watch chain so the boys'll know that I died standing fat

Here ‘tis, babies. Feast your orbs upon today’s lecture playlist:

My Favorite Things / John Coltrane

Maple Leaf Rag / artist unknown

St. James Infirmry / Louis Armstrong

Lester Leaps In / Count Basie and the Kansas City Seven

Sing Sing Sing / Benny Goodman

God Bless The Child / Billie Holiday

Flying Home / Ella Fitzgerald

Yardbird Suite / Charlie Parker

Freddie Freeloader / Miles Davis

Giant Steps / John Coltrane

Goodbye Pork Pie Hat / Charles Mingus

Oye Me Guanganco / Tito Puente

Boplicity / Miles Davis

Ghosts, Second Variation / Albert Ayler

Birdland / Weather Report

Overall, I’d say it went pretty well. The class seemed a little more engaged this time out;  only saw one kid in the back nodding out.

I got a little bogged down trying to highlight the interplay of the brass, the reeds, and Goodman’s clarinet on “Sing, Sing, Sing”, and how Goodman lays out during his solo (because he knows the brass are coming in) and then picks up again, but I think I finally got the idea across. The problem was more in my description than in their comprehension. Most of them are ESL students, it’s true, but I certainly was doing my fair share of floundering, too.

I was kind of amused at one point. I was talking about how some people consider Free Jazz to be the end, the death knell, of jazz. I said something to the effect of, “After you throw out melody and most of the other rules of music, where do you have to go from there?” From the far left side of the room came a tiny voice: “Nowhere”.

Exactly.