by the Night Writer
A little Friday video fun for the, maybe, ten people who haven’t seen this already. Here’s the latest version of Romeo and Juliet, updated for the newest generation, albeit through the story as it was done for the last generation:
Produced by collegehumor.com, “their first Broadway muscial since (LOL)Cats.”
by the Night Writer
Last night we mounted an expedition into Nordeast, with Son@Night, the Mall Diva (and the half-baked cupcake, of course) and her friend, Princess Flicker Feather. The girls were wanting to sing some blues at the open jam night at Shaw’s and Son@ and I were along for the ride. Driving up University Ave NE I mused outloud that the last time I’d been in a bar in Nordeast after dark someone had set my car on fire.
“Reaallly?” came the response from the back seat.
Yes, indeedy, and I recounted the story. I was playing darts in a league and The Sun Saloon was one of our stops. I’d won three matches when someone shouted “There’s a car on fire outside!” I thought, “Cool – let’s go look!” Then they described my car and I thought “I can’t look.” Sure enough, someone had poured an accelerant on the hatchback and touched it off. I never did find out who did it, or why. As I told the tale I did the math and realized — with almost as much surprise and consternation as that long-ago night — that it had been 30 years since that incident. While I can refer to my college, or even high school, days without a jolt I am shocked when I hear myself saying, “Thirty years ago…”
We were still talking about the incident as we pulled up in front of Shaw’s and — dunh, dunh, DUNH! — it was the same building as that long-ago pyro. Whoa, deja vu all over again! We even parked at the curb not far from where I had left my erstwhile steed. Back when the place at been the Sun Saloon it was kind of a biker place; it’s much cleaner and more attractive now though it still has a comfortable “dive” feel and few heavy-set guys in leather vests and caps and gray ponytails. I refrained from asking any of them what they might have been doing on an October night in 1980.
The place has been Shaw’s for 10 years now and has a rep for live music, especially the blues. It appears that the open jam is a Monday night fixture with a house band and a lot of regulars getting on stage. A DJ from KFAI acts as emcee and impressario, signing up people who want to get on stage and then mixing and matching performers according to her own sense of how she wants the evening to go. The performers all appeared to be on a first-name or nickname basis and most of the men appeared to be about my age or older. It was interesting to watch and listen to the by-play between everyone, on and off stage. For some time now I’ve been more aware of not just the notion, but the reality, of community and I like to hang back and watch groups that are new to me but familiar with each other interact, whether it’s a group of old men on a centuries-old piazza in Tuscany, a MOB party…or a group of blues musicians and fans. The bunch last night was mostly a blue-jeans and tee-shirt or flannel shirt crowd with a few flashier touches. You had extroverts (mostly harmonica players) and introverts (mostly drummers) and the musicians were all very good and the vocalists were all very enthusiastic.
Most groups have their own initiations, some subtle and some not, but these generally require you to prove yourself in some way. The Mall Diva and Princess FF were the newbies here, unknown and much younger than everyone else. As such, even though they were among the first names on the sign-up sheet, they had to do some time listening attentively and applauding appropriately as others were called to the stage and mixed and remixed. It was good experience, though, as their young lives and musical background haven’t included a lot of blues music (I know, I’m a horrible parent) so they had a great chance to absorb some of the musical jargon, so to speak, of different rhythms and riffs, as well as getting a chance to observe jam etiquette for leaving room for everyone to take the lead.
Well into the evening an entire band showed up. These were much younger guys, with their jeans very snug and their “I don’t care” hair just a little too carefully done and a bit more attitude than the rest of the people in the bar. The lead singer and lead guitarist looked like younger versions of a slumming Keith Richards and Ron Wood and the emcee worked them onto the stage bit by bit but fairly quickly. The singer then became more like Mick Jagger with his vocal style and his prancing and posing but everyone on stage and in the audience was enjoying themselves as there was quite a bit of skill on display. After a couple of songs the emcee decided it was time for the Princess to make her debut, singing with the young guys. PFF wanted to do her version of Stevie Ray Vaughn’s “Leave My Girl (Man) Alone.” She and the band conferred briefly on the tune and then the guitars started to wail into the introduction. I believe I detected a bit of boredom on their faces and the bare minimum of graciousness as this young woman, looking like a lily in a bed of ragweed, leaned into the microphone. Perhaps they expected she would be nervous, that her voice would be tight and that she’d rush through the lyrics.
And then she opened her mouth. “You better leave, you better leave, my man alooone…” and their eyes and faces opened as if they’d been tased. Within six bars, “Mick” was bowing and doing little salaams next to PFF as she belted out the tune with power and timbre that hadn’t been heard yet that evening. Like a seasoned pro, PFF left them wanting more, floating off the stage to enthusiastic applause after just one song, followed by the guitar player who asked her for her card so they could get in touch with her. A little later in the evening the Mall Diva received her summons and did a soulful version of Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine” followed by “He Called Me Baby” (most recently covered by Candi Staton) … appropriately enough since, as the emcee pointed out, she was singing for two! MD was also well received by the band and the audience but since it had gone past midnight it was time to head for our pumpkin.
Fortunately, this time it wasn’t on fire and the only thing smokin’ was the Diva and PFF!
Ohhh, Slyyyyy….
HT: Marty!
by the Night Writer
I saw the following poem on The Writer’s Almanac the other day and thought it was pretty good.
Naming My Daughter
(In the Uruba tribe of Africa, children are
named not only at birth but throughout their
lives by their characteristics and the events
that befall them.)
The one who took hold in the cold night
The one who kicked loudly
The one who slid down quickly in the ice storm
She who came while the doctor was eating dessert
New one held up by heels in the glare
The river between two brothers
Second pot on the stove
Princess of a hundred dolls
Hair like water falling beneath moonlight
Strides into the day
She who runs away with motorcycle club president
Daughter kicked with a boot
Daughter blizzard in the sky
Daughter night-pocket
She who sells sports club memberships
One who loves over and over
She who wants child but lost one.
She who wants marriage but has none
She who never gives up
Diana (Goddess of the Chase)
Doris (for the carrot-top grandmother
she never knew)
Fargnoli (for the father
who drank and left and died)
Peter Pan, Iron Pumper
Tumbleweed who goes months without calling
Daughter who is a pillar of light
Daughter mirror, Daughter stands alone
Daughter boomerang who always comes back
Daughter who flies forward into the day
where I will be nameless.
“Naming My Daughter” by Patricia Fargnoli, from Necessary Light. © Utah State University Press.
Of course it got me to thinking about how my own daughters might have been named if I were Uruban. Actually, some of these have stuck…
Unexpected Blessing
Miracle-holder, Doctor-confounder
The One Who Shouldn’t Be Here,
Sweet-cheeked Eskimo
Jelly Baby
Bane of Yams
Little Potato
Waltzer with Bears
Namer of Things in the Road
Barefoot bleeder
Arm That Wouldn’t Stay Broken
Room Designer, Cloud By Day
Blue-haired Missionary
The Littlest Bassist
Imelda of the 40 shoes
Bunny Whisperer
Mall Diva
Singer of Songs, Maker of Beauty
Courtship Buddy
Aisle Walker
Mrs. Worley
Mommy.
Late Arriver, Early Walker
Flaming Promise, Morning Giggler
She Who Breaks Boards With Her Feet
Devourer of All Things Chocolate
Ninja Cow Nemesis, Doomsteak Provider
Slayer of Paper Targets
Writer Without Appendix, World Traveler,
Girl On a Mission, Opportoonist
Fire By Night
Peach Louise
Tiger Lilly
Story Teller
One With the Laptop
Smite Queen of the Dual-Daggers
NaNoWriMo Winner
Author, Author.
Try it with your own kids! In fact, I hereby proclaim a Meme! I tag Mr. D, Mitch, KingDavid, Gino, Bubba and anyone else who wants to play. Leave your poem in a comment here or on your blog with a link!
You might have read the story about the Socialist Alarm Clock. A friend who wishes to remain anonymous sent his libertarian version and asked me to post it (cross-posted at Division of Labour and The Beacon):
“This morning I was awoken by my alarm clock built by the ingenuity of millions of individuals all working for their own gain, but whose efforts were coordinated by the prices for labor and materials and finished goods provided by the free market. I then took a shower in the clean water provided by the shower head, pipes, and sanitation facilities whose construction also involved the efforts of thousands of people acting in their independent interest. After that, I turned on the TV to The Weather Channel, whose owners include one of the largest multi-national corporations and private equity companies, to see the week’s forecast presented in a clear, informative (and even entertaining) manner. I watched this while eating breakfast of General Mills’ inspected food and taking drugs whose strong brand name gives me confidence in its safety.
At the time which millions of people coordinate their activities to take advantage of each other’s knowledge and skills, I leave for work. I get into my Japanese-designed, Mexican-supplied, Michigan-assembled automobile and set out to work on the roads built by construction contracting companies and named after corrupt politicians, possibly stopping to purchase additional fuel that was shipped from the Middle East by an oil company at a per gallon cost many times lower than the price of having a letter delivered across the street by the government monopoly that loses millions of dollars each year. To make the purchase there is no need to leave the pump; I am able to slide a piece of plastic into a small slot and get credit extended to me by a bank who has never met me in person. On the way out the door, I put out the Fed-Ex envelope containing the documents I need to arrive across the country tomorrow morning and drop the kids off at the public school which is attended by only the best students, thanks to the high home prices in the area.
After work, I drive my Japanese-Latino-Midwestern car back home, to a house which has not burned down in my absence because of materials developed in the research and development departments of hundreds of corporations and which has not been plundered of all is valuables thanks to the lock on the door and a sign advertising the security company whose services I employ. My piece of mind was not interrupted by the thought of these events anyway, as I have both fire and homeowners insurance through privately held insurance company.
I then log on to the internet to watch and listen to artists who don’t appeal to a broad enough audience to make it onto one of the few channels that a government monopoly allows to be broadcast. I then log onto the democraticunderground.com to post about how DEREGULATING the medical industry is BAD because low-cost, quality health care can never be provided by greedy, self-interested people.”
by the Night Writer
The whole family is in the kitchen…
Tiger Lilly: Hey, I’m taller than you.
Mall Diva: Yeah, well I’m barefoot. And I’m pregnant.
Night Writer: And you’re in the kitchen!
Reverend Mother: I don’t know that I like the sound of that.
TL: ?????
NW: Some used to say the best way to deal with women was to keep them barefoot and pregnant. And in the kitchen.
TL: !!!!!
….
MD: The knives are in the kitchen….
by the Night Writer
Dudes…are you discouraged because those adult-sized condoms are too big? Well, you don’t have to let it affect your self-esteem any longer! Unfortunately, you have to live in Switzerland, though, where a company is now offering kiddie condoms:
At first glance, the Ceylor Hotshot condom might appear similar to others in the market.
But this smaller-sized condom, thus far marketed only in Switzerland, is designed to deal with the specific problem of teenage pregnancy and the spread of disease among boys as young as 14.
Nysse Norballe, a spokeswoman for Swiss condom manufacturer Lamprecht AG, said the company was approached by the AIDS awareness organization AIDS-Hilfe Switzerland with the idea to produce and market a condom for a younger age group.
The organization “had carried out many studies which found that a lot of young people — i.e. teenagers — had trouble finding a suitably sized condom,” she said. “They needed a smaller-sized condom and asked us if we could manufacture it.”
…
Norballe disagreed with the idea that the new condoms would increase rates of teen sex.“We are not advocating that young people have sex,” Norballe said. “But you cannot prevent young people from having sex. Whether our condom is on the market or not, young people will have sex. At least our condom will create some awareness about protecting oneself.”
So, you can’t stop kids from having sex. Yet we’ve arbitrarily established that kids younger than 16 aren’t mature enough to drive a car. Given the death tolls among young drivers due to lack of experience and judgment, some states are even floating the idea of raising the driving age to 18. Somehow or another, though, we manage to keep the vast majority of under-16 kids from driving even though just about every family has at least one car sitting around. If, however, there’s an outbreak of 13 and 14-year-olds driving and dying are we going to give in and say, “how are you going to stop them?” and begin offering driver’s ed to middle-schoolers? Come to think of it, they’re already building Smart Cars just their size.
By the same token, we probably can’t keep them from drinking and driving, either, so maybe we should have classes on how to hold their liquor? For that matter, I’m tired of all the teenage gang-bangers shooting innocent by-standers while they try to kill each other. Why don’t we start teaching fire-arms safety and proper target acquisition and aiming techniques in schools to save lives? Do it for the children! I can definitely see making some of these young bravos stay after class to write 500 times on the chalkboard, “I will not hold my semi-automatic sideways when shooting. I will not hold my semi-automatic sideways when shooting. I will not…”
As a society we understand that young people don’t have the maturity and decision-making skills to drive, drink (and even vote) and have laws to restrict this; yet in the area of sex we act as if we’re helpless.
by the Night Writer
Mitch made a reference to “this year’s model”, which reminded me of Elvis Costello’s “I Don’t Want to Go to Chelsea”, which reminded me of how little I expect of a British-style health system.
Capital punishment, she’s this year model –
They call her Natasha when she looks like Elsie
I don’t want to go to Chelsea
Oh no it does not move me
Even though I’ve seen the movie
I don’t want to check your pulse
I don’t want nobody else
I don’t want to go to Chelsea
Everybody’s got new orders
Be a nice girl and kiss the warders
Now the teacher is away
All the kids begin to play
Men come screaming, dressed in white coats
Shake you very gently by the throat
One’s named Gus, one’s named Alfie
I don’t want to go to Chelsea
Oh no it does not move me
Even though I’ve seen the movie
I don’t want to check your pulse
I don’t want nobody else
I don’t want to go to Chelsea
by the Minfidel
I read the news today, oh boy…and remembered the 1980’s. Or was it the 2020s? For some reason, this song kept running through my head.
While we’re at it, here’s another great, haunting song from Mike and the Mechanics.