It looks like Rob’s cancer was successfully removed, with no further repercussions save periodic CAT scans. Thank God.
Now that would be a show
Tony reminds me that last night was the induction of the first New Wave class into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Meaning the Clash, the Police, and Elvis Costello. Damn. Oh, yeah, and AC/DC.
Anyway, Elvis Costello and me you know about. Except, like anything else, there’s always more to the story. I had never heard of Elvis Costello until “Veronica.” Sad, I know. But I absorbed Spike through my pores, even “Deep Dark Truthful Mirror.” Then Mighty Like a Rose came along and I slowly got disenchanted. Then The Juliet Letters and I fell back in love. Then Brutal Youth and… well, you get the picture.
The Police? Entirely different story. Synchronicity was one of the first rock albums I ever heard, thanks to a babysitter and my parents’ old turntable. That, and the fact that if you left your house and rode in the car of someone who listened to rock instead of classical, you couldn’t escape “Every Breath You Take,” “King of Pain,” or “Wrapped Around Your Finger.” I learned the lyrics, I learned to sing like Sting. I went on to dig into the Police’s back catalog with Rob, learning about the oddities and the brilliance on Outlandos D’Amore and Zenyatta Mondatta. It was a musical formative event that wouldn’t be equalled until I discovered Nirvana, then Parliament, taking me away from the arch writing of Sting into anarchy and funk.
But I never really left. How could I? Singing like Sting was the first public (non-choral) singing I did. Scenario: talent show at the summer Governor’s School for Science, after my junior year of high school. Sting’s “Sister Moon” from …Nothing Like the Sun. I pull together a guitarist and saxophonist for a jazz trio, but they can’t make it to the rehearsal. An empty auditorium except for the counselor in charge of the talent show…and two attractive girls, talking to each other, who hadn’t been giving me the time of day, and whom I had written off totally. So I put the tape on quietly, grab the mic, and start singing. Nervous because I don’t know how to sing with a mic, until I look up during the second verse and see two attractive mouths hanging open staring at me listening.
After that it was all downhill. The violin had already gone; the piano went soon after. If I could have that effect with an instrument I had with me all the time, why bother with anything else?
Thanks, Sting, for immeasurably improving my social life.
And thanks, Rob, for enriching my back catalog.
Now playing
Currently playing song: “In A World Gone Mad…” by Beastie Boys on www.BeastieBoys.com. Yeah, you read that right. Free Beasties download. New antiwar song. A few choice rhymes:
Mirrors, smoke screens, and lies
It’s not the politicians but their actions I despise…As you build more bombs, as you get more gold
As your midlife crisis war unfolds
All you wanna do is take control
Put the Axis of Evil bullshit on holdCitizens rule number 2080
Politicians are shady…Well I’ll be sleepin’ on the speeches till I start to snore
Cause I won’t carry coal for an oil war…Now don’t get us wrong cause we love America
But that’s no reason to get hysterica
They’re layin’ on the syrup thick
We ain’t waffles we ain’t havin’ it
Improv
Lisa doesn’t come back from Boulder until about 9 tonight, so I was taking dinner solo. So I improvised. Sauteed onions in butter and olive oil; added broccoli florets, lima beans, and a pinch of salt. Added a splash more olive oil and two cups of arborio. Started stirring in the obligatory chicken broth a half cup at a time. About ten minutes in, added cubed chicken thigh meat, and at the same time started browning larger thigh chunks in a separate pan. Five minutes later: about 3/4 cup white Bordeaux. More broth. Lemon zest. Then, off the heat, stir in a touch more butter and grated Parmigiano Reggiano, and top with the browned chicken breasts.
What is it about cooking that makes me feel so competent? I guess it’s the eating.
Lundy update: Hail to the Chief
The Cavalier Daily reports that Daisy Lundy’s opponent in the race for University of Virginia Student Council President has withdrawn, conceding the election to her. The Daily Progress notes that the FBI investigation into the attack on Lundy continues. So no closure in this ugly chapter of the University’s history, nor is there likely to be for some time until all people of all races feel that the University and its community is a safe and fair place for them.
Joe Gross on Godspeed
If ever there was someone who should be paid to write about music, it’s Joe Gross. Thank God the Austin American-Statesman had the good sense to employ him. This week he writes about everyone’s favorite leftist band that no one knows, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, and finds them “calcified” but still full of promise:
…At the center of all this despair there remains unexploded faith, however overwrought and pretentious. As the sleeve puts it, “hope still, a little resistance always maybe stubborn tiny lights vs. clustering darkness foreverok?” Their ambitions are vast, their music even more so and, to paraphrase Bruce Cockburn, Godspeed seem determined to drone into the darkness till it bleeds daylight.
—Of course, all this reminds me of two things:
- I need to write about some more music.
- I need to go listen to “Lift Yr Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven” again.
Esta: “I got in”
Big huge congrats to Esta are due:
…no sweat on the admissions. You’re in as of yesterday afternoon. A letter goes in the mail today.
My sister, the seminarian. I’m so proud (sniff).
It’s worth noting, now that we can’t jinx the admission, that she’s continuing in a long tradition of ministry on my mom’s side that goes at least as far back as Benedictus Brackbill, who was born in 1665. No pressure, kid. 🙂
The blogosphere keeps growing
New high water mark at Weblogs.com today. The rate of growth of the blogosphere diameter is now up to more than three blogs a day. Data and updated graphics here.
Always glad…
…that not all hiatuses are permanent. Moxie posted a set of Homeland Security pictograms a few days after going on hiatus:
If radiation is at your door—do not open the door unless you know the radiation personally.
Cheers to Moxie for letting us know she’s still alive and funny, and hope she comes back soon feeling better than ever.
Gashlycrumb Tinies online
Finally someone put Edward Gorey’s Gashlycrumb Tinies online. Good stuff. It’s easy to see why it wasn’t put online before, though—Gorey’s fine pen art washes into a moiré pattern in the scanner.
Back
No big, painful spills to report. Just a good couple of days on the slopes of Whistler. And some really good food and wine at the Bearfoot Bistro.
The trip up was a little tricky though. It was “wintry mix” when we left Seattle, meaning mostly rain with some hard bits, but by the time we got up past Vancouver and up the “Sea and Sky” Highway, it was real snow. It took an extra hour to get up to the village, and then about forty minutes to find the hotel. And then collapse.
Today we’re recapitulating that in reverse. It took much less time to get down the mountain, which left more time for the “collapse” part.
Skiing is feeling more natural. I did notice a tendency to quote Ryan from Bobbins, though: “I’m a love ninja… on skis! Fwssssh!”
Updated to fix the link, which now actually points to a love ninja on skis reference. Damned copy and paste.
Blogoutage
Lisa and I are heading back to Whistler this weekend, and I’m in meetings all day, so don’t expect to hear anything from me until sometime Sunday night. Be good, y’all.
Sammich day part 3: where do sammiches come from?
It appears that there’s some contention over where in Philadelphia the first sub sandwich (aka “hoagie”) was invented. Hogwash. It must have been invented in the North End of Boston. Or, erm, New York.
Where are the Seattle sammiches?
So what brought that on? I was driving back from the UPS depot after picking up a package (grumble grumble signature required grumble) and coming through the oxymoron that is downtown Redmond, when suddenly I realized I wanted a sammich. Not a sandwich, which could have been adequately provided by the cafeteria at work, but a sammich. Something with soul.
Only there aren’t any in the greater Seattle area, particularly Eastside, that I’m familiar with. Quizno’s? Schlotzky’s? Please. Chain sandwiches can never be sammiches, and besides both make me reach for the Alka-Seltzer. Burritos are fine, but they aren’t sammiches. And don’t even get me started on the orthographic abomination that is the “wrapp.”
Surely there must be better alternatives out here. I hope.
Sammiches I have loved
In no particular order, great sammiches of all time:
- Turkey-breast pastrami with gouda and special sauce on fresh-baked whole wheat from Take It Away (Charlottesville, VA)
- Grilled cheese (cheddar and havarti) on thick “Texas toast” style white bread from the late Corner Grill (Charlottesville, VA)
- Toss up: either fresh roast beef with horseradish and cheddar or freshly roasted turkey breast with lettuce and tomato, both on sourdough bread (a deli in Rosslyn, VA)
- The chicken parm sandwich at Oreste’s: breaded chicken breast, cheese, sauce, a little hot pepper relish (Rosslyn and Fairfax, VA)
- Dino Special: capicola, fresh mozzarella, lettuce, tomato, oil, and balsamic vinegar on a soft sub roll (Dino’s, Boston)
- Italian sub: salami, capicola, provolone, lettuce, tomato, onion, hot peppers on a hard sub roll (Monica’s Pizza, Boston)
- Lamb gyro with hot sauce from the Moishe’s Chicken truck at MIT (Cambridge, MA)