Well, that was a good weekend.
Yesterday was Christine's housewarming shindig at her gorgeous new pad, so I got to hang out on her deck during the sunset and chat with some fun people.
And today was the Great Lakes Regional Chili Cookoff in Plymouth, where friends Mike and Chris offered up their "Red Carpet chili" among dozens of other chili contestants. They were going for the popular-vote prize, and I hope they made it!
Tonight we watched some silly stuff I got from Netflix on a whim: a "Lost in Space" episode I remember from when I was about nine and decided I had to see again (it was surprisingly good!), and a couple of "Happy Days" episodes, because it's been years since I've seen one.
Now it's time for "David and Lisa" on TCM, which is pretty gut-wrenching, so it'll offset all that TV fluff! Then it's time to climb into bed with a book for a while. I'm glad I don't have a big stack of papers to grade. Poor Scott.
So -- a good weekend. And I even managed to do a giant laundromat run, too.
Very pleasing.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Nick Lowe!
Well, he was amazing: just Nick and an acoustic guitar, creating a perfect web of perfect pop and leading us all blindly and happily into it. The amazing thing about his songs is that they could have been written in any decade, from the Fifties to today: they seem unattached to any time or style or place. They just - float!
I loved the fact that he said, at the Ark: "This is the folk section of the concert, where I tell heartwarming stories about, oh, I don't know, my grandfather's hat."
I loved the fact that he played "Cruel to Be Kind" with gentlemanly enthusiasm, giving a deep bow at the end of the song, as though to say, yep, there it is: my hit.
And I loved his new songs. I'm definitely buying the new album.
A memorable Tuesday if ever there was one.
Here's the funny part.
When I was a freshman in college in 1988, I remember meeting "old" Ann Arborites who would wax nostalgic about concerts they'd seen: "Dude, I saw so-and-so twenty years ago." That would mean 1968, fer Chrissakes, and I would gaze back at them with wide-eyed freshman respect for their admirable ancientness. The point is, I saw Nick Lowe that year, and sailed back to the dorm on a cloud afterwards. And I was telling a coworker about that concert today, in 2007.
And I saw that look on his face. Unmistakable.
Come to Great-Aunt Maeve, little children, that she may reminisce about concerts from olden times!
Never mind. I've seen the Basher twice, in my teens and in my thirties, and all I can say is that his music ages like a fine vintage. Cheers!
I loved the fact that he said, at the Ark: "This is the folk section of the concert, where I tell heartwarming stories about, oh, I don't know, my grandfather's hat."
I loved the fact that he played "Cruel to Be Kind" with gentlemanly enthusiasm, giving a deep bow at the end of the song, as though to say, yep, there it is: my hit.
And I loved his new songs. I'm definitely buying the new album.
A memorable Tuesday if ever there was one.
Here's the funny part.
When I was a freshman in college in 1988, I remember meeting "old" Ann Arborites who would wax nostalgic about concerts they'd seen: "Dude, I saw so-and-so twenty years ago." That would mean 1968, fer Chrissakes, and I would gaze back at them with wide-eyed freshman respect for their admirable ancientness. The point is, I saw Nick Lowe that year, and sailed back to the dorm on a cloud afterwards. And I was telling a coworker about that concert today, in 2007.
And I saw that look on his face. Unmistakable.
Come to Great-Aunt Maeve, little children, that she may reminisce about concerts from olden times!
Never mind. I've seen the Basher twice, in my teens and in my thirties, and all I can say is that his music ages like a fine vintage. Cheers!
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
"Switchboard Susan, won't you give me a line?"
Sometimes the Fates smile bountifully upon me. I can't believe my luck.
At the very last second, a coworker who had tickets to tonight's sold-out Nick Lowe show at the Ark couldn't go.
Guess who's going!
Me! Me!
At the very last second, a coworker who had tickets to tonight's sold-out Nick Lowe show at the Ark couldn't go.Guess who's going!
Me! Me!
Scary article from Conde Nast Traveler...
Creepy enough to blog.
Information deemed ‘suspicious’ can be catalogued, stored up to 15 years
By Stephan Wilkinson
Updated: 1:35 p.m. ET Sept. 24, 2007
I have a simple black T-shirt bearing the legend, in red, white and blue, "01.20.09 BUSH'S LAST DAY."
Note to self: Don't ever pack it on an airline or cruise trip, or on a drive through any border crossing where the Fedskis are liable to inspect my bags.
The Washington Post has just reported that the Department of Homeland Security is collecting information on travelers carrying anything, accent on anything, that might be deemed suspicious, to a far greater degree than was previously thought. This information will be stored for up to 15 years (which should be long enough to get the camps up and running) in order to identify the malcontents, terrorists, wrong-thinkers and various security threats among us.
Apparently there's something called the Automated Targeting System , which digests terabytes of data to pinpoint risky travelers trying to enter the country. Now when they swipe your passport through the reader, they're not just looking for your rap sheet but for evidence of ... well, who knows? San Francisco civil liberties activist John Gilmore recently discovered that the government was storing for a decade and a half the information that he once carried aboard a flight — a book titled “Drugs and Rights” and small flashlights bearing a stylized marijuana-leaf symbol.
What not to carry, ever: a biography of Lenin. The Quran. That copy of Juggs that you picked up at the airport newsstand. A Rasta hat. Anything that says Cuba. A Graydon Carter editorial. Your entire collection of Barbra Streisand photos. A Pete Seeger CD. The Whole Earth Catalog. Your favorite Che T-shirt.
Why do I think it's gonna get worse before it gets better?
Information deemed ‘suspicious’ can be catalogued, stored up to 15 years
By Stephan Wilkinson
Updated: 1:35 p.m. ET Sept. 24, 2007
I have a simple black T-shirt bearing the legend, in red, white and blue, "01.20.09 BUSH'S LAST DAY."
Note to self: Don't ever pack it on an airline or cruise trip, or on a drive through any border crossing where the Fedskis are liable to inspect my bags.
The Washington Post has just reported that the Department of Homeland Security is collecting information on travelers carrying anything, accent on anything, that might be deemed suspicious, to a far greater degree than was previously thought. This information will be stored for up to 15 years (which should be long enough to get the camps up and running) in order to identify the malcontents, terrorists, wrong-thinkers and various security threats among us.
Apparently there's something called the Automated Targeting System , which digests terabytes of data to pinpoint risky travelers trying to enter the country. Now when they swipe your passport through the reader, they're not just looking for your rap sheet but for evidence of ... well, who knows? San Francisco civil liberties activist John Gilmore recently discovered that the government was storing for a decade and a half the information that he once carried aboard a flight — a book titled “Drugs and Rights” and small flashlights bearing a stylized marijuana-leaf symbol.
What not to carry, ever: a biography of Lenin. The Quran. That copy of Juggs that you picked up at the airport newsstand. A Rasta hat. Anything that says Cuba. A Graydon Carter editorial. Your entire collection of Barbra Streisand photos. A Pete Seeger CD. The Whole Earth Catalog. Your favorite Che T-shirt.
Why do I think it's gonna get worse before it gets better?
Monday, September 24, 2007
Let the work week begin!
The tiny DJ in my Shuffle accompanied my walk from the bus stop to my workplace with the following eclectic collection of tunes:
Henry Purcell (The Purcell Quartet) -- Fantasia upon a ground, for 3 violins & continuo
Dolly Parton and Tommy James -- Crimson and Clover
Pete Townshend -- Let My Love Open the Door
Philip Glass (Uakti) -- Paru River
Kristy MacColl -- A New England
Once again, coming up the hill behind work to the jangly shimmer of Kristy MacColl! I feel ready for the work week.
(Thank God none of the very few people who read this blog are likely to excommunicate me for having a Philip Glass piece on my iPod. Shhhh... the purists among my classical colleagues need never know...!)
Henry Purcell (The Purcell Quartet) -- Fantasia upon a ground, for 3 violins & continuo
Dolly Parton and Tommy James -- Crimson and Clover
Pete Townshend -- Let My Love Open the Door
Philip Glass (Uakti) -- Paru River
Kristy MacColl -- A New England
Once again, coming up the hill behind work to the jangly shimmer of Kristy MacColl! I feel ready for the work week.
(Thank God none of the very few people who read this blog are likely to excommunicate me for having a Philip Glass piece on my iPod. Shhhh... the purists among my classical colleagues need never know...!)
Sunday, September 23, 2007
A poem from District Court Judge Dr. Seuss
A judge in New Hampshire recently received a hard-boiled egg in a manila file from an angry prison inmate, as part of a lawsuit filed by the inmate protesting his prison-fare diet. The judge responded as follows:
"I do not like eggs in the file.
I do not like them any style.
I will not take them fried or boiled.
I will not take them poached or broiled.
I will not take them soft or scrambled
Despite an argument well-rambled.
No fan I am
Of the egg at hand.
Destroy that egg! Today! Today!
Today, I say! Without delay!"
Ha!
:-)
I was amused.
"I do not like eggs in the file.
I do not like them any style.
I will not take them fried or boiled.
I will not take them poached or broiled.
I will not take them soft or scrambled
Despite an argument well-rambled.
No fan I am
Of the egg at hand.
Destroy that egg! Today! Today!
Today, I say! Without delay!"
Ha!
:-)
I was amused.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Never mind the ice cream, it's all about the chocolate
My mother knows how to make the best of a situation. That second-to-last sentence makes me prouder than ever to be her daughter! :-)
From today's e-mail message:
I don't think I have told you about the ice cream truck, have I? We are both intrigued by it because the ice cream wagon seems like something out of long-ago days. I'm still surprised that it works here, where one can find a 711 within a few blocks of anywhere and nip in for an ice cream at any hour of the day or night. But our ice cream wagon is active; it drives along our street toward the harbor clanging its bell, then turns and drives back, clanging its bell. It then parks just on the other side of the school, (which is practically next door to us) and waits for customers to show up. I had gone to it once, out of curiosity, even bought some ice cream. A few days ago, we received an ad saying that the ice cream wagon would have a new product, the Swiss luxury ice cream Mövenpick, and they had a caramel flavor. Dad likes caramel ice cream, and it's not easy to find, so last night when I heard the bell clanging, I rushed out. Because my dumb house slippers fall off at the slightest provocation, I took them off in order to negotiate the stairs faster, then ran in my stocking feet along the wet sidewalk to the ice cream wagon. There I bought the caramel ice cream for Dad and vanilla with dark chocolate bits for me. Today I tried my luxury Swiss ice cream. What a disappointment! The ice cream itself had an almost sour taste. In the end, I dumped the whole thing out in a sieve, ran water over it to melt the ice cream, and ate the dark chocolate bits. How's that for pragmatism?
From today's e-mail message:
I don't think I have told you about the ice cream truck, have I? We are both intrigued by it because the ice cream wagon seems like something out of long-ago days. I'm still surprised that it works here, where one can find a 711 within a few blocks of anywhere and nip in for an ice cream at any hour of the day or night. But our ice cream wagon is active; it drives along our street toward the harbor clanging its bell, then turns and drives back, clanging its bell. It then parks just on the other side of the school, (which is practically next door to us) and waits for customers to show up. I had gone to it once, out of curiosity, even bought some ice cream. A few days ago, we received an ad saying that the ice cream wagon would have a new product, the Swiss luxury ice cream Mövenpick, and they had a caramel flavor. Dad likes caramel ice cream, and it's not easy to find, so last night when I heard the bell clanging, I rushed out. Because my dumb house slippers fall off at the slightest provocation, I took them off in order to negotiate the stairs faster, then ran in my stocking feet along the wet sidewalk to the ice cream wagon. There I bought the caramel ice cream for Dad and vanilla with dark chocolate bits for me. Today I tried my luxury Swiss ice cream. What a disappointment! The ice cream itself had an almost sour taste. In the end, I dumped the whole thing out in a sieve, ran water over it to melt the ice cream, and ate the dark chocolate bits. How's that for pragmatism?
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