Saturday Story Time: Donut Rooms in Vienna

During my first visit to Vienna in 1994, Paul and I were taken out to a heuriger by my new friends Evelyn and Gunther. (I wrote about that night here.) During the course of the evening, Guthner said to us that if we left early enough, we could visit the Donut Room. Keep in mind that he spoke as little English as we did German.

"The Donut Room?" I asked mimicking as much Viennese pronunciation as I could. He nodded enthusiastically and Paul and I looked at each other, confused. "Donut Room?" we said to each other wonderingly.

This being my second week in Vienna, I'd already learned about the great love the Viennese have for pastries, so I thought maybe this was simply a bakery or cafe with an English name, a late night place to go for coffee and a munchie after so much wine. I'd seen a number of establishments with English names that week, so I shrugged and said that would be nice. It was clear that we were confused, so either he or Evelyn (I can't remember which) opened the pocketsize travel book I'd brought with me, flipped through the pages and returned the book to me opened to a page about the Donauturm (DOH-now-tourm). The Danube Tower! I explained what a donut was and we all had a good laugh.

We never made it to the Donut Room -- the gemütlichkeit at the heuriger was just too hard to leave -- but this is a story that will live forever in my memory. Unlike a lot of people, I'm not afraid of making language faux pas because they make travel stories so much more fun to tell.

During the same evening, after we'd eaten a vast dinner of every conceivable Bavarian dish, I being a stupid American, asked the waitress if they had doggy bags. She had no idea what I was saying as she spoke no English whatsoever, so I tried my hand at my nearly non-existent German:

"Um... Hundchen.... Tasche?"

She looked at me as if she were going to burst out laughing and said something to the others at the table. Gunther said,

"She wants to know why you want a bag made out of a puppy." We all laughed and I continued.

"Sie essen...... sehr woll.... take heim..."
"Oh!" she chirpped brightly. "Teeeen voil!"

I never took it with me -- it's just not done -- instead, I took with me the memories of a wonderful night spent with affable and entertaining people, homey music, great food and abundant laughter, discovering first-hand that language doesn't matter when people share a spirit of tolerance and humor.

My New Favorite Waste of Time

The Donau-Fritzi LiveCam (Donau = Danube). When I've settled into Vienna, I'll set a time to go there and wave at you.

My Piddly Thursday 3

1. Every week I think about joining in on the famous Thursday 13 meme, but 13 is just such a huge number for me to confront in the morning.
   
   
2. Get mad. Get really effin' mad: 10 Things your hospital won't tell you.
   (Hat tip to The Boomer Chronicles)
   
   
3. Morning goldmine: Emma has posted 50 of the best free web tools.

That is all I have energy for today.

The Line Forms Behind Me

So is everyone ready to form a paddle line and force Hung through it? If his attitudes toward Coloradans ("What do they eat? Baked beans, baked beans and more baked beans!?") and cooking wild game weren't enough to make me want to smack him, his lying to the judges about how much he enjoyed cooking the elk certainly was. I wanted him to get booted so badly! But he's going on to the finale, along with Casey and Chicken Head Dale.

What? Dale??

When he got his first win at the 11th hour, I think he was as shocked as everyone else was. I like Dale -- he's a sweet guy -- but I think Casey will win. God help us all if Hung wins. Except that it would really toast Marcel's ass (his buddy from last season).

What about that quickfire round? Tell me, what's so freaking difficult about frying fresh trout in a cast iron skillet? Sometimes I think chefs are so wrapped up in the art of food preparation that they can't cook for beans. I speak from experience. My brother is a chef -- a head chef to be exact -- who's been in the business for over 40 years. But put him in the kitchen to make something simple and things start getting out of hand. And he uses every pan and bowl in the house, too.

I'm almost glad that this season of Top Chef will be over by this time next week. Except that I'll miss Anthony Bourdain's weekly commentary about the show. By the way, where is his entry for this week, anyway?

P.S. Is there a reason I don't know about why they kept calling the fresh water trout they prepared right there on a riverbank in the Colorado Rockies "sea food"?

Creative Conundrums

Seems I'm faced with a few conundrums today. Oh, none of them are as earthshaking as the issues surrounding the cubed egg, and I'm not sure they even warrant a blog entry, but writing about them is easier than figuring them out. You see, my THS levels have started adjusting and my brain feels like a 33-rpm record set to play at 16-rpm. Those of you who were born before 1985 have no idea what that metaphor is referring to, but trust me. It means that something that already moves slowly is moving even slower.

The problem with creative conundrums, generally speaking, is that they're circular arguments with oneself: "If I do this, then that has to be done first, but I can't do that until I do those things over there. But those things can't be done until I do this." And I'm back where I started... or didn't start, because I haven't started that, and I can't until that gets done... But there I go again.

I really need to do a few things around the house today:

• Laundry
• Trashes
• Bathrooms 1 & 2
• Kitchen
• Dusting
• Sweeping and mopping
• Putting music away (last week the aquarium cracked, draining nearly three gallons of water on our sheet music, scores, and a bunch of CDs that I was stupid enough to store beneath a 5-gallon aquarium. Since then, it's been lying all over the living room floor with a box fan blowing the pages around)

I can't get to the laundry yet because Micah, who's an insomniac like his mom, is still asleep. I can do the other things though, but I'd rather write about them than actually do them, you see.

My other conundrum concerns music. Micah got my new sound card installed last night and the quality is just too good. I'm feeling inspired to work on some of my own, but listening to CDs is giving me so much inspiration that I just can't get to work on my stuff yet. And I've already had my regulation two cups of coffee. If I have any more, to help boost my energy level so that I can get busy with all this stuff, then I'll be spending this rush of creativity in the loo.

I'm driving myself crazy, but I recognize this. It's part of my creative process. I've always had to "get things done" before setting into a musical project. How many times have I sat down to compose, only to jump up and clean a bathroom, do some dishes, or water the plants? Those things done at last, I have to glue my ass at the piano/computer/guitar for a full hour (which isn't easy when I'm like this) and then I'm home free: I'll stay there for days at a stretch, the work pouring out of me like a flood. It's just getting to that point that's so difficult.

I read once that this is the "avoidance of confronting the self" phase of inspiration. I might agree with that, but I can't think about it right now. I have laundry to do.

Exactly What I Wanted

My birthday yesterday was perfect. I slept until 9:30, spent the day doing whatever I wanted (which was mostly nothing), and then my son Joel took us all out to dinner to Bad Brad's. I got a Mystery Science Theater "Deep 13" tee and a button of Torgo saying, "The master will not be pleased." For those of you who aren't into MST, there's no way to explain this to you, but for me, this was a great gift! I also got a dvd of Immortal Beloved starring Gary Oldman, a film that Nettl and I have had on our wish list for a long time, simply because Oldman's performance is so wonderful. The music's not bad either!

My sons, Joel and Micah, went in together on a Sound Blaster Audigy 2 Platinum Ex sound card. It looks a little intimidating to me, but from what I've read, my music is going to sound great after Micah gets it installed. I haven't been working on my compositions because the sound cards that came in my last two computers didn't have the orchestral voices I need. I can't wait to get at it. When we were at Ville's on Friday night, she gave me a new "Dad" shirt. As some of you know, I collect Hawaiian and wild-print shirts. I even have a glow-in-the-dark Spam shirt that Ville got me last year.

But I also received a number of non-material gifts today, gifts that are really what birthdays are all about for me. I got a hug from one son, an "I love you" from another, an "I love you, Wolfi" from Heather, two phone calls from Big Brother Ernie, and a beautiful tribute that Nettl spent a great deal of time and love on. I also received numerous good wishes from family and friends, and from you, too. Could I be any happier? No way!

A sincere and heartfelt thank you to everyone who made my birthday so special. I am the most fortunate of people!

My Big Brother Ernie

When I met Ernie & the Emperors at the Dolphin Club in Solvang in 1965 I was only 14, but I'd already written a lot of songs and played a pretty damned good guitar. I may have looked like a little kid, but there was a whole lotta music inside of me.

The Dolphin Club (1610 Oak Street) was a members only place that had a pool, dressing rooms and a dance hall that included a snack bar. In 1965 the owners figured out they could make a little money by holding dances for the teens of Solvang, with live bands from all over the tri-counties. Within the year it became a venue that a lot of bands vied for. There was nothing else for us to do in Solvang in those days. The closest entertainment of any sort was an hour's drive away and a lot of parents didn't like the idea of their kids driving the San Marcos Pass at night.

I took to Ernie & the Emperors as quickly as I had the Beatles only a year and a half earlier. They were on Reprise Records, which was also the home of the Kinks. Their single, "Meet Me At The Corner" sold very well in California and because the local record store sold out of it, I assumed the Emperors were as famous as any other band at that time. I played that 45 record out, both A and B sides. It now sells online for $30. Not only was their sound fresh, they were really, really talented and put on a great show; they were true showmen. And they wore dog collars, too. Very cool. I think I remember buying them matching dog collars that Christmas.

I don't remember actually going up to the stage and striking a conversation between sets. In fact, I don't really remember that night at all any more, but I must have introduced myself, because I had their address. I know this because I wrote a letter to them. Yeah, a real fan letter, which I mailed in a black envelope so that it would be easily spotted in the piles of fan mail I assumed they received. I was not only surprised when Ernie wrote back... personally... in his own hand, I was ecstatic. I took the letter to school with me the next day and proudly waved it about, which resulted in the envelope getting ripped as the girls tried to grab it from my hand.

14 year-olds...

The Emperors returned in November and I and my friends were there. I brought my camera. My foster sister, Ginger, even went to the club that night, something she usually didn't do. I took pictures of them on stage and one of Ernie and Randy with my friends. Why didn't I get one of me with them!? This is one of those pictures. Sorry it's so faded. Sorry too for the big blond hair in front. That's Ginger. The dark head above hers is my brother, who's dancing with a girl named Jean. Notice he's paying a lot of attention to Jean. He was a drummer in another band and had to check the Emperors out for himself after he heard me prattle on about them for so long.

I went to quite a few of their shows, when I could bum a ride out of town with someone. One time my friend Cathie and I imposed ourselves on them by showing up at their house in Santa Barbara. They were all very nice to us, but looking back, I'm sure they knew that we were just saucer-eyed fans.

On the night of my last day of school (junior year), my brother and I went with them to a Lovin' Spoonful concert at Earl Warren Showgrounds and I brought my yearbook with me for them to autograph. They did, then suddenly, that clown prince of Rock, Zal Yanovsky, just grabbed it in his effusive way and signed it without my even asking him. And in huge writing that entirely covered the page I'd marked, "Reserved for Ernie". I was pissed. I think I've told you before that I wasn't like most girls in the Sixties. I never wanted to marry a Beatle, I wanted to be a Beatle -- and I certainly wasn't a groupie type -- so my backstage experience was very different from that of other girls who thought they were in love with one of a band's members. And Zally stealing Ernie's page just didn't impress me. It's funny now, of course.

In my Saturday post I wrote about when the Emperors and I met Jimi Hendrix, so I won't go into all that again. We saw each other off and on through the decade of the Seventies, finally gelling once again in 1979 when, as "Faith", they secured a weekly gig for several months at a club not far my house in Ventura County. I was there nearly every week, and sometimes they'd bring me up on stage to sing backups. To this day I can't hear "Get Together" ("...Come on people now, smile on your brother. Everybody get together, try to love one another right now...") without singing my harmonic line. That's me with the rubber chicken. What's up with those overalls? What was I thinking???

In the 41 years (!!!) that we've known each other, Ernie and his brothers Cory and Brian, have always remained true to Rock and Roll. They've rolled with the punches. They've learned, assimilated, adapted and kept on keeping on, and always in the spirit that their fans, audiences and friends are all part of their family. I think that's what has made them go the distance, why people still enjoy not only their shows, but also their off-stage company, as much as we did all those years ago. And people in the business love them and love working with them. If I were a different kind of person I could drop some names that would make your head spin.

I can't remember the last time I saw or spoke with them. I think it was in 1989 or something when I stopped by their house during a weekend stay in Santa Barbara. Over this past weekend I was thrilled to find them on MySpace. With the help of their lead singer, Karen, I was able to get word to the guys and on Sunday afternoon I was pleasantly surprised when the phone rang and it was Big Brother Ernie calling me. We talked for about half and hour and then he was off to a recording session.

I offered to build a website for them and Karen and I are working on getting the stuff together for it. I'm very excited and honored to be working with the Brian Faith Band in this way, and I'll be sure to post a link for you when the site is completed.

I'm as happy as a puppy with two peters tonight. Between the wonderful evening I spent with Ville on Friday, Nettl's Kaiserschmarrn, and being back in communication with my "big brothers", my heart is about as full as it can get.

Have a wonderful Monday everyone!

Kaiserschmarrn!

Because my birthday falls on a Monday (tomorrow) this year, Nettl woke me up with breakfast this morning. Kaiserschmarrn! (pronounced "KY-zer-shmahrn"). Translated as, "The king's mish-mash" or "The Emperor's Mess", this is considered comfort food in my ancestral home.

It consists of pancakes, usually with raisins, that are shredded after preparation and served with a various fruit compotes, including plum, strawberry and apple among others. It is usually sprinkled with powdered sugar. Normally the pancake is caramelized and made with more than the usual number of eggs, and often including raisins, chopped almonds, apple jam or small pieces of apple. The pancake is split into pieces while frying, sprinkled with powdered sugar, and is served hot with [a fruit] sauce. Curiously, and as it is a quite filling meal, in addition to dessert it can also be eaten for lunch at touristic places like mountainside restaurants and taverns in the Austrian alps.

The translation of Kaiserschmarren has generated some etymological debate. While “Kaiser” is literally translatable as Emperor, the same cannot be said for “Schmarren”. “Schmarren” has been translated as a trifle, a nonsense or fluff, or even as a mild expletive. However, “Schmarren” in Austrian German is more accurately a concept and hence no single correct translation is possible. It is generally agreed that the dish was first prepared for the Austrian Emperor Francis Joseph I (1830–1916). The genesis of its name is not agreed, there are several stories which all rank about Emperor Francis Joseph I. One story, likely apocryphal, involves the Emperor and his wife, Elisabeth of Bavaria, of the House of Wittelsbach. Obsessed with maintaining a minimal waistline, the Empress Elisabeth directed the royal chef to prepare only light desserts for her imperial palate, much to the consternation and annoyance of her notoriously austere husband. Upon being presented with the chef’s confection, she found it too rich and refused to eat it. The exasperated Francis Joseph quipped, “Now let me see what Schmarr'n our chef has cooked up.” It met with his approval apparently as he finished his and his wife’s serving. Thereafter, the dessert was called Kaiserschmarren across the Empire.
Source...

Here's the recipe. Try it. You'll like it!

• 1/2 cup milk
• 5 eggs
• 4 tbsp. sugar
• 4 oz. flour
• Salt
• Raisins
• 1/4 cup rum
• Butter
• Powdered sugar
• Fruit preserves
  

1. Mix the milk, eggs, sugar and flour thoroughly with a whisk, salt slightly, add the raisins and rum.
2. Beat the egg whites until stiff and fold into the mixture.
3. Heat the butter in a pan, pour in the dough and fry until one side is golden brown, then turn.
4. After about 1 minute, break up the pancake with 2 forks and finish frying, turning the pieces several times.
5. Sprinkle powdered sugar on top and serve immediately with plum preserves.

Since my bout of depression last week I've been taking stock of things. You know, I've known wealthy people who weren't happy. I've known famous people who weren't happy. I've known highly successful people who weren't happy. But I've never met one person who was in love and loved in return who was unhappy. Hello! Anyone at home? Thank you Nettl. Having you in my life is the greatest gift of all.

Saturday Story Time: The Night I Met Jimi Hendrix

February 10th, 1968. Robertson Gym, U.C. Santa Barbara.

My friend Debi (not Ville -- she was only 8 months old at the time) lived in Goleta, just a mile from the UCSB student village, Isla Vista. Despite the block-after-block layout of mid-century apartment buildings, the hippies hanging out at Peoples Park, the political activism, and the strip of coffeehouses, mod boutiques and head shops had earned I.V. the unofficial title of "Haight-Ashbury south". It was a place that was cool enough that Edie Sedgwick spent the end of her young life there. Today it is best known for the riots of 1970 during which the Bank of America was burned to the ground. But before that happened, Isla Vista was a great place to hang out, promenade in your hippie finery, enjoy live folk music in one of the several coffeehouses, and crash a party. I often spent weekends at Debi's house, and we'd spend most of our time at I.V.

Debi was a model with the La Belle Agency and through her I sometimes modeled petite fashions for affluent mothers who lunched in El Paseo in Santa Barbara. We also modeled together for students at the Brooks Institute of Photography, but while I was gamine-like and fit in with the Mod look of Swinging London, she was the quintessential California Girl: blond, tan and sexy. And she knew how to use it.

On this particular weekend we'd gotten tickets to the Jimi Hendrix concert in the UCSB gym. Debi was on a strict schedule of phenobarbital. I just Googled it and learned that she must have had epilepsy, but she never spoke of it back then. I remember that her mother came into the bedroom every night and woke her up to give her a pill, which I thought was kind of weird. That week she'd foolishly saved a couple of them up for the concert and, as soon as we were dropped off at the gym, we hit a water fountain. I'd never taken anything like that before and it knocked me into a hypnotic stupor that made everything around me move slowly. At that point in my life I'd only smoked a little pot; this was entirely different.

In those days no one sat in chairs at concerts. Everyone just sat on the floor, stood near the stage, or danced. Being a musician, I was the standing sort, and we found a great spot to the right of the stage, directly in front of one of the speaker stacks. We were close enough to bassist Noel Redding that we could see the smudges on his boots.

The concert was fantastic and, despite the drug, I have a vivid memory of Jimi's performance. Just as The Experience launched into their encore, a guy came up to us and told us to come with him. Being on drugs for the first time, I immediately became paranoid, afraid that "they'd" figured out we were high (yeah, right... two kids in a gym full of Hendrix fans...), and were going to give us to the police. Funny, now that I'm older. We looked at each other, scared, and followed him. Mostly, I was pissed because I was missing Jimi's performance of "Foxey Lady".

The guy led us into a large back room in which a long table was set up as a buffet. I didn't understand what was going on, but in a few moments the doors opened again and my friends, Ernie & the Emperors walked in. They were the most popular band in the tri-counties area and were well-respected by the Lovin' Spoonful, Strawberry Alarm Clock, and most of the really great bands of the Sixties. I first met them at the Dolphin Club in Solvang, a facility that held teen dances with live bands on Saturday nights. Because I was a musician and my brother was a drummer in another band (and sometimes sat in with them), the Orosco brothers and I became friends. We'd also met up backstage at a Lovin' Spoonful concert at Earl Warren Showgrounds, so seeing them enter the room wasn't too surprising for me. We spoke a little bit and I noticed that drummer Mitch Mitchell had drawn Debi away and was chatting her up. What was happening began to dawn on me: Mitchell had seen her in the audience and told one of the roadies to bring us backstage.

There was a stir at the door and in walked Jimi. He was a small man--probably no taller than 5' 4" and slight of build. Actually, all three of them were short, but Jimi possessed enormous presence.

He looked around the room, said a word or two to a couple of people, then walked right over to the buffet table where I was standing (had he been interested in meeting me, I wonder). He was quiet--almost shy--and began talking to me. He asked me if I was a "Santa Barbara bunny" and I replied that I couldn't even swim, much less surf. I remember that he laughed.

I told him I was a singer/songwriter and he was immediately interested, asking me questions about my style, my influences and my goals. After a while he asked me if my girlfriend and I would like to go and party with him and the band and, like the naive 16 year-old that I was, I explained that my friend's dad was picking us up at ten. Jimi was very sweet and very respectful as he steered the conversation back to music.

Ernie met Jimi as well and had a friendly talk in the dressing room that led from the room I was in. Ernie clearly recalls Jimi's down-to-earth and magically humble qualities as the Rock legend leaned against his dressing room mirror conversing with him.

When I learned of his death at the age of 27, I was sad for a long time. Despite his wild reputation, Jimi Hendrix was a gentleman in the purest sense of the word who will always own a warm corner of my heart.

Zenning Out

I've been hit by the sudden urge to clean out. To get rid of shit by giving it to someone else. By that I mean pictures mostly, but now that the weather is cooling down I want to get into the attic in the garage and start throwing. I want to put everything out and call my friends and say, "Come and take what you want." I don't even want to garage sale this stuff; I want to give it away. Pass it on.

Last night I started scanning all the pictures my friends and I took from 1985 to 87. I then uploaded them to a Photobucket account that I created just for these pictures and also saved them to a cd. That way, I can give the actual photos to Ville and our friends can go to Photobucket and download whatever ones they can't live without. All I know is that I want them off my hands. I have photos that I took with my first camera in 1958, for godsake. After I'm done with this pile of 1000 or so pictures, I'm going to go through the same process with our family pictures. Those I'll divide between my sons and I'll keep the cds. I might even burn copies to keep in a safety deposit box for safe keeping.

Today I'll be plodding on through some more; in fact, that's my plan for the entire weekend. In a weird way I'm looking forward to it. I want to start traveling light.

Things I Need to Remember

When I get down like I am today, I constantly harp at myself with different favorite phrases like, "Buck up, little Buckaroo!", "Life's messy. Put on an apron", "Life's tough. Buy a fucking helmet" and "If the tide's too strong, turn belly up and float until you get downstream where it's calmer." You know what I'm talking about.

But there are more constructive, hopeful things that I need to remember:

• This too shall pass.
• The inheritance will come at the appropriate time, no sooner, no later.
• When it does, I will pay off the student loans and debts, and exhale.
• We've never been out on the street yet.
  
• Karma works.
  
• Vienna waits for me.

Linky Love (because being down isn't my style)

I learned many years ago that the best antidote to depression is to get one's mind off oneself and do something for someone else. Well, a bottle of champagne doesn't hurt, but that's hard when one is ill. Or broke.

Here are a few new links that I'd like to share with you. Pay these good people a visit. Broaden your horizons.

• Unofficial Micah:
  With his Unmanifest blog becoming more and more dedicated to his musical and crafts projects, Micah missed blogging, so he created this blog as an outlet for his other offerings to Blogsville. It's new, but judging by what he has already, this is going to a great morning read.
  
  
• Emma Alvarez:
  Senorita Alvarez of Madrid found my blog via Blog Catalog and quickly honored me with the Rockin' Blogger award. Actually, the honor is all mine, because her blog is truly beautiful. Besides being a gifted artist, she is a sensitive writer and gentle soul. Her blog has become, for me, a calm haven in an otherwise turbulent internet experience.
  
  
• Hymn:
  This gentleman's blog has nothing to do with church, religion, or singing, but it is full of pithy, humorous commentary. I found it through Chasing Vincenzo, which is a great reference.
  
  
• Nicole in London:
  And the States and France and... Nicole travels a lot for both pleasure and business. I love blogs like hers because I can vicariously ride on her luggage trolley. Funny, realistic and sometimes peevish, her writing is always honest and she's not afraid to talk about her life, even when it's a little messy.

Naming My Roller Coaster: "The Ball-Buster"

My phone rings, waking me from a deep sleep, the first I've gotten in over a week. It's my doctor's nurse-assistant telling me that my THS levels are too high again and she wants to change my Levoxyl dosage. Before she can even finish her words I break in, begging, "Please, don't mess with my meds. The only thing I have going right now is that I feel good for a change."

I tell her that every time I get to feeling well they go and mess with my meds and I go to hell again for two weeks. After patiently hearing me out, she asks me to wait a second. Then I hear my doctor's voice. We talk for five minutes or so. She explains that I'm a walking heart attack again and that I have to get my levels down. I tell her about the hell I went through after I saw her last month. I also tell her that I can't keep coming in for blood work when I'm feeling well, that I can't afford $171 a pop, that that's a week of groceries and that if I have choose between feeling well and feeding my family, my family will win out. She's amazed that it's so expensive.

I know she's between a rock and a hard place. It's the blood work that tells her what condition my condition is in, but it's the condition's constant fluctuation that keeps me coming back for the blood work. What's she to do? I'm ashamed to admit that I actually succumbed to tears.

We finally compromise. I am to start taking only half a Levoxyl a day, but I know what this means. It means that sometime over the weekend I'll leave the comfortable plateau I've gotten used to and will begin a downhill slide into hell. It means that my birthday will be no fun and that I'll feel like crap at the Okie Blogger Round-Up--if we can even afford to go, that is.

I just want off of this roller coaster. Two years is too long.

In a more uplifting vein (har har) I started going through my photos last night. Like most people born before the 1990s, I have thousands of pictures. This morning I decided to start scanning every La Boheme picture that I have (from 1985 to present time) and create an online gallery for them so that my friends can go in and download the ones they want. This is going to be a long process, but it's something that will keep me calm while I work to get my heart out of the danger zone. It's also something that won't take too much effort; when I'm in the midst of a Storm, even breathing is exhausting.

I wish I could go away somewhere. Spend the next two weeks on a beach where my body could do its thing while I evaporate into the atmosphere.

Favorite Songs of a Different Kind

Back in the day when I was a professional folk singer (yes, that's me in 1969), there were certain songs that I just loved to perform. Because I was a singer-songwriter, most of the songs were those that I'd penned myself, but I also covered songs by other artists. I thought I'd share with you the top 10 songs that I enjoyed singing. In fact, I still enjoy singing most of them.

1. Laleña (Donovan) ~ This song afforded me as a vocalist the opportunity to play with orchestral sounds using only my voice, because Donovan's recorded version had a wind quartet on it. I sang this song on stage for over 20 years and people still requested it.
   
   
2. I Shall Be Released (Bob Dylan) ~ This one just felt good on the voice and tested how well I'd warmed up my throat! Deni sang this one with me at a Love-In at Griffith Park in L.A., an act that caused the break up between my then manager and me. That was also the first time in my life that I'd ever used the "F" word. I told him to "F*** off!"
   
   
3. But We Smiled and Acted So Shyly (myself) ~ I wrote this when I was 16, performed it throughout my career and eventually recorded it. I still love it, even if it's a constantly repeating stream of dominant, sub-dominant and tonic.
   
   
4. Long Black Veil (traditional) ~ This is one that I sang whenever I sat in with other musicians because it can be performed in any musical style. I've done it in the styles of Folk, Country, Bluegrass and Celtic.
   
   
5. Dr. Long John Blues (Tommy George) ~ I didn't add this to my repertoire until the early 80s. One encounter with Bette Midler's version and I was hooked.
   
   
6. You Leave Me Speechless (myself) ~ Juice Newton's people froze this one for a time, but she never got around to recording it. I'm not even sure she heard it. The late Kin Vassy (of First Edition fame) said when he heard it, "This is one I'd put in the tape deck of my Jeep while driving through the country. Turn it up and sing along at the top of my lungs."
   
   
7. I'll Be Your Baby Tonight (Bob Dylan) ~ I still play this when we're sitting on the patio with friends and the mood strikes me. "That big fat moon, she gonna shine like a spoon, but we're gonna let it, you won't regret it..."
   
   
8. Carey (Joni Mitchell) ~ Back in 1969 when I was singing for my supper in Haight-Ashbury, people used to stop and tell me that I sounded like Joni Mitchell. At that time I'd never heard her -- all I knew was that she'd written Judy Collins' hit, "Both Sides Now". I made tracks to check her out and I was astounded... and dismayed. I had to invent my voice all over again! I learned "Carey" because it really shows off a singer's ability to perform vocal acrobatics. No one does it like Joni though.
   
   
9. You Got The Love (myself) ~ Since Joni already wrote Carey, I wrote this song, inspired by her unique guitar work and octave-plus vocal leaps. No way I can sing it now, but with enough practice I think I could.
   
   
10. It Ain't Me Babe (Bob Dylan) ~ My arrangement of this great song always got me a standing ovation, so I learned to leave it for the end of my last set. People just love a folksinger with an edge.

The Patient is Out

I have an appointment with Dr. English this morning at 11:00. During said appointment I will have to tell her that I can no longer come in for my monthly lab work and tests. I will have to tell her that, incurable disease or not, I do not have insurance and I cannot afford to come see her unless I'm feeling like a 95 year-old slug holding a gun to its head while crawling through quick sand. I will have to tell her that I now have to think of my newly established 85% wellness as the new 100%, that the fooked up health care crises in this country has forced me to lower the bar on how good feeling good actually is. I will have to tell her that I can scarcely afford my two prescriptions every month. I will have to tell her that my life expectancy is sliding ever lower because I cannot get the health care I need simply because I cannot afford to fill the pockets of greedy insurance CEOs. I will have to tell her that I know this has nothing to do with her and that I really enjoy seeing her, but she's an expensive date.

She will probably write "No Charge" on the form, just like she has done in the past from time-to-time. And I'll come home and hope that I can keep the Thyroid Storms at bay.

Expensive Oversights

Have you paid attention to the new Celebrity Cruises commercial? It sends a WTF kind of message to those who know the meaning behind its soundtrack song, "Fame", which was written by David Bowie and John Lennon, two artists who had a tough time grappling with the downside of rock and roll celebrity.

Let's face it. Most of the people who are going on cruises these days are the early Boomers, not the polyester set that used to typify the cruise line tourist of the 80s and 90s. In this light, using a rock song makes sense, but Fame? One wonders about the Mad Men and Women who put this spot together. They obviously didn't know the lyrics, so I suspect they're a group of spit-shined corporate 30-something neo-yuppies who didn't look beyond the title of this great song.

Fame makes a man take things over,
Fame lets him loose, hard to swallow,
Fame puts you there where things are hollow,
Fame.

Fame, it's not your brain, it's just the flame,
That burns your change to keep you insane,
Fame.

Fame: what you like is in the limo,
Fame: what you get is no tomorrow,
Fame: what you need you have to borrow,
Fame.

Fame: "Nein! It's mine!" is just his line
To bind your time, it drives you to crime,
Fame.

Could it be the best, could it be?
Really be, really, babe?
Could it be, my babe, could it, babe?
Could it, babe? could it, babe?

Is it any wonder I reject you first?
Fame, fame, fame, fame.
Is it any wonder you are too cool to fool?
Fame.

Fame, bully for you, chilly for me,
Got to get a rain check on pain,
Fame.

Fame, what's your name?
Feeling so gay, feeling gay.

This lack of attention and research ranks up there, in my estimation, with when in the 80s the Esplanade Mall in Oxnard California erected their new, hip marquee on the 101 freeway... a giant pink triangle.

These people make HOW MUCH?

Saturday Story Time: *Unheilbarer Weingeliebter

*Incurable Wino

I think each Saturday I shall play the old salt and regale you with a yarn from my past. I've always described myself as a collector of colorful characters and human oddities, but in truth I'm a magnet. These people have always been drawn to me, but perhaps mine is a simple case of like attracts like. Today, I want to tell you about something that happened during my first visit to Vienna in 1994. This will of course have something to do with copious amounts of wine, which should come as no surprise to you who are regular readers.

I'd wanted to go to Austria's capitol for about ten years when I finally achieved the ways and means to do so. I left on St. Patrick's Day and stayed for nearly a month. The only other foreign country I'd visited was England, and I spoke no German whatsoever, so I anticipated a culture shock; I didn't expect the familiarity I discovered instead.

My father's Austrian heritage had everything to do with that. There were so many things that reminded me of him and my grandparents, from the food I ate to the Austrian Gemütlicheit I encountered. The people were very familiar to me and the Viennese paradox of simultaneous affability and grumpiness was what I'd grown up with. Hell, it's one of my personality bumps as well.

On my second night in the city I found a restaurant in the Postgasse called Thomaskeller. Located underground in an old Benedictine wine cellar, the barrel-vaulted ceiling was hung with regional banners and there were long trestle tables and benches upon which were placed swatches of sheepskin for the comfort of your hinderparts. The walls were decorated with the heads of game, paintings of old Vienna, and torchlights. In one area near the door a young man sat playing music on a hammer dulcimer. All-in-all quite Austrian.

I ordered my meal from a waitress who spoke as little English and I did German and I enjoyed a marvelous traditional meal. As I finished up my dessert the waitress came to me and asked if I'd like to join her, the owner of the restaurant, and the other employees at their table. Never one to turn down the hospitality of congenial people, I accepted her invitation with gratitude. Being alone in Vienna is fine in the day time, but at night it can be downright lonely.

We ended up spending the rest of the evening eating and drinking, laughing and talking. The more we drank, the less the language barrier mattered. It was a wonderful evening that didn't end until nearly dawn. Before I left, Evelyn (the waitress) asked if I'd be interested in going to a couple of Heurigen with her and her boyfriend, Gunther, on the following Saturday night. I explained that a friend of mine (Paul) was arriving in Vienna, and she told me he was invited too. No one had warned me about Viennese wine -- that one of their glasses is as powerful as about three of ours -- and I bowled back to my hotel singing and whistling, not knowing exactly where I was, but making my way through the streets as if I'd lived there my entire life.

The night we spent together at the Heuriger a few days later is one of my fondest memories. I felt reunited with my culture and I realized that I was raised in a very Austrian manner and that an opera soprano friend of mine in Denver, who'd studied voice in Vienna, was right when she once observed, "You're so Viennese. You're going to feel right at home."

I read a lot about Americans' problems with the Viennese's reserve and adherence to rules, but what they don't understand is that when the Viennese are at work they work, and when they are at play they play. And they play as hard as they work (so that's where I get that...). No American party animal can hold a candle to a Viennese on a night off! Unfortunately, Thomaskeller is no longer with us and I did not stay in contact with Evelyn and Gunther. I wish I'd gotten Sylvia's address as well.

Sylvia was a woman we all met at the Heuriger. She was about the age I am now and a lover of great literature and literary figures. She was a George Sand type herself, probably imagining herself to be a muse and patron to young geniuses. She spoke passable English and smoked a lot of cigarettes. It would be easy to imagine her at a cafe table with Picasso. It was Sylvia who taught me to mix my red wine with water so that I wouldn't wake up dead the next morning like I had after my night at the Thomaskeller. She was especially taken with Paul and they spent much of the evening discussing Goethe and Balzac.

On another evening I was invited to a Heuriger with a small group of people, but that's for another Saturday.

To the Students Two Doors Down

Yeah, I'm the one. I'm the old fart who called the police at 1:45 in the morning. I'm the one who was patient with your front yard wooting and yelling on Wednesday from midnight to 3:30. I'm the one who heard the drunk girls screaming like yours was a Girls Gone Wild party. I'm the one who heard that f***ing motorbike zoom past our bedroom windows a dozen times, the girl on the back squealing every time it passed your house. I'm the one who heard your friend with Button Mushroom Syndrome pounding on the pickup truck hood with his fist while the rest of you oohed and aahed at his masculinity. I'm the one who was patient because I thought that, being the first month of school, this was your first party. But last night I was the one who quickly figured out that you think this is a student housing neighborhood and that you will have your drunken, obnoxious friends and their drunken, obnoxious hoochie-mama girlfriends over every night if someone doesn't lay down the law.

So I did. I'm the one who called the police. And I'm the one who will call the police every night that you use your front yard as a party playground, until you get it.

Friday's Feast

Appetizer
When was the last time you visited a hospital?
That would be the night my mother died on December 5th, 2004. She was rushed to the ER when she was hit by a thrombosis. It was a complete shock and completely unexpected. I can't even drive past the hospital without thinking about that night and feeling somber.

Soup
On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being highest, how ambitious are you?
Five years ago I would have placed myself at about 11, but since Hashimoto's Thyroiditis slammed me, I'm down to about 6. Pisses me off.

Salad
Make a sentence using the letters of a body part. (Example: (mouth) My Other Ukulele Tings Healthily.)
Butt: Being Ultimately Toilet Trained.

Main Course
If you were to start a club, what would the subject matter be and what would you name it?
I've always been fascinated with the Algonquin Round Table, but finding that many brilliant and colorful characters isn't easy. The subject would be life, writing and the arts and I'd name it after whatever restaurant, bar or cafe in which we "set up house".

Origin...

The World Without Us

Life is not sentimental. It doggedly stays its course, regardless of what happens to those who delve into it. Life does not remember, it does not record.

Do you ever wonder what will happen to the earth when the time of the humans is over? Alan Weisman has written The World Without Us, a book I read about at The Boomer Chronicles. On the book's site is an interactive timeline showing just how quickly evidence of our civilization would disappear.

Check it out!

Peeping Painter

There I lay fast asleep, when I suddenly hear a man talking on a cell phone. In my bedroom. Keep in mind that our bedroom is on the second floor of a detached house in a secluded cul-de-sac, and that, because of the privacy we enjoy, we sleep with the blinds open. When I was awake enough to realize the guy was outside the bay window, I didn't quite know what to do.

Should I get out of bed and traipse right by him on my way to the bathroom, or should I just pretend I don't see him and crawl out on Nettl's side of the bed, which is closest to the bathroom? I opted for neither. I sneaked out of Nettl's side and went to the downstairs bathroom. It's a good thing I don't sleep el buffo. I don't know what I would have done. Hide under the covers, I guess. By the time I'd made the coffee, the guy was gone from my window. I promptly pulled the blinds closed. When he broke for lunch I went out to the front yard.

View from the front door.

He's storming the battlements!

Stairway to the Insomniac window.

Later, as I sat here working at my desk, the guy appeared again. While some of you out might actually enjoy waking up to a buff, good looking guy standing in your bedroom window, I wasn't too thrilled. His shirt had red paint all over it that made him look like an ax murderer!

I've Been Nominated Again!

Last year I was forced to watch as everyone around me accepted the coveted Rubber Ducky award. Not that they didn't deserve to win, they did, and I'd voted for most of them myself. But sitting there next to Monty, Brian and the other winning bloggers, I vowed that this year I'd join the winners' circle and come home with an award to put on the bookcase beside my desk. Last year, all I came home with was a hangover.

Not that I'm complaining! I had a great time getting stupid with my fellow Okie Bloggers. But this will most likely be my last year as one and I'd really like to win before I become a Vienna Blogger.

Now that I've said all that, I'm proud and honored to announce that this blog has been nominated in two (count 'em), two categories:

• Best Blog Layout
• Best Culture Blog

Thanks to everyone who nominated me! Now, go vote!

It's Only a Movie...

There are days that really try my soul. The kind of day that feels like a dramatic comedy. I never know whether life is going to kiss me or kill me because so often, it does both simultaneously. I know I'm not unique in this; everybody has their off days.

The anniversary of "9-11" hit me hard this year and I'm not sure why. It was also the day that my stalker chose to strike another blow. Twice. Knowing her like I do, I know she chose this day quite carefully. She's the type of who can smell vulnerability clean across the Atlantic. I put out that fire then started in on the numerous chores I had to take care of. I didn't really sit down to relax until 9:30 pm.

All-in-all it wasn't a bad day, just demanding. Tomorrow I hope to get back to my writing. A day away from it makes me antsy.

RW is My Hero

Today, my buddy RW posted an entry that says it all for me. I couldn't possibly say it any better. But then, he's articulate in a way that makes me wish I could study with him.

"Welcome to the face of modern America as we present it to the world; Mechanical dicks, inflated tits, chemical courage, angry music, reduced attention spans, worship for the lowest common denominator, and virtually no sense of proportion or history when trying to decide the importance of one event to the other. And why not - in a society where the lies come from the top down, the values come from the bottom up, musicians from the coasts kill one another and rich little talentless tattooed runts have a pissing contest in public and this is big news - why should we expect better?"
Read more...

Please leave your comments on his blog. He deserves all the credit.

Things I Don't Get

There are a few things I just don't get. Some I can look up on the web, but some just don't seem to have answers. Not any that are easier to comprehend than string theory or Finnegan's Wake, anyway. Here are some that come to mind:

1. Why is it that every time I put a cup of coffee, hot tea or hot chocolate in any microwave, regardless of where I place it on the revolving glass plate, and I open the door to remove it, the cup is always in the back of the oven? Micah explained it to me once, but I still don't get it.
   
2. If the universe is expanding, where is it expanding to? Conversely, if it eventually contracts, what will fill the space it once inhabited? Also, if the universe began with the "Big Bang", where was the explosion? I know that it was a ball of dense gases smaller than an atom, but what was that inhabiting? And where did that come from? Where the hell are we anyway? Come to think of it, there couldn't have been a "Big Bang", could there, because there were no ears to receive and translate the sound waves?
   
3. Why do some drivers think that they have to come nearly to a complete stop when turning right (or into a driveway or parking lot)? Just turn the frickin' wheel and go!
   
4. And while we're talking about drivers, why do some swing out in the opposite direction they're turning before they actually make the turn?
   
5. Why do mosquitoes only bite my feet?
   
6. Botox. Why on earth do people inject a deadly substance into their faces?
   
7. Why does cold coffee taste like crap, but if you add a couple of ice cubes, it's delicious?
   
8. Why do people start smoking? (N.B. This not an invitation to a debate about smoking. I'm not judging anyone, I'm just curious about why someone starts. I tried when I was younger, but I just couldn't get into the dedication that it took to get addicted. Besides, it tasted like crap, and made me choke.)
   
9. Why does toilet paper come only on rolls? What if it came in decorative boxes, like Kleenex?
   
10. Why do clocks go clockwise? Why weren't they designed to go counter-clockwise? And, logically speaking, should they go CCW in the southern hemisphere?
    
11. When you burn a votive candle and the wax evaporates into the air, does it coat the inside of our lungs and/or nasal cavities?
    
12. Why do prescription drugs come in amber-colored bottles? OTC drugs don't.
    
13. How the hell do cameras work? Why, when the shutter is opened, does the image burn itself on the film? How does it do that?

Xenophile Media Snags a 2nd Emmy!

Xenophile Media’s production of the Fallen Alternate Reality Game for Disney, broadcast on ABC Family won a Primetime Emmy for Outstanding Creative Achievement in Interactive Television Programming last night at the 59th Annual Creative Arts Emmy Awards in Los Angeles. This was ABC Family’s first Emmy Award. Xenophile President Patrick Crowe was there to accept the award with Marci Meron and Vickie Collier of ABC Family and producer Matt Wolf of Double Twenty Productions.

Some of you may remember that I was cast in a significant role in the game, that of the retired carny Tarot reader, Madame Steph. My part of it was shot on location in Florida in July of 2006. Of course, at the time I couldn't reveal to anyone what was going on due to a non-disclosure contract.

Congratulations guys!


More...

Reclining Thoughts

Hoo boy, is a chair like that is beginning to look good to me! I've always resisted the purchasing of any kind of reclining chair, but something happens as we get older--we not only change our minds about what were at one time important matters, we add the disclaimer, "I don't care what I believed back then. I want one, damn it!"

Look at that sexy thing. Places for the remotes, book, pens, and a cold drink. Padded arms, back, and legs, and WHAMMO! a table for my laptop! Awesome! I'll never get one, you know, but I can look.

SUNDAY TOPICS:

• I sat up last night watching the Pope's Mass at Stephansdom (it began at 4 am our time), mostly because it was aired live from Vienna and because the music was a Mass by F. J. Haydn.
  
• We slept with Radio Stephansdom on and I actually dreamed in German. I did that during both of my stays in Vienna, and Nettl told me that during the last one I spoke in German in my sleep. My German is basically nothing but nouns--I have a large vocabulary--but I'm not very good at stringing them together with verbs and adjectives. I know just enough conversational German to get myself in trouble. But we're determined to learn Viennese, not Hoch Deutsch.
  
• There are things I should be doing--cleaning the Beta's tank, doing my laundry, getting something to eat--but here I sit.
  
• My wireless mouse went kaput this morning. Now I'm having to use the touch pad. I'm too lazy even for that.
  
• Today I am an armchair traveler. It's the Travel Channel that has my attention. I woke up in Vienna, I am presently in Italy, and I will be taken to Sweden in a few minutes. Looked at this way, I've been pretty busy today. Maybe I'm not so lazy after all...
  
• Okay, I really have to go get something to eat. My stomach feels as if it's turning inside-out.

Tie Dye in Mariazell

Nettl and I often have the Catholic channel (EWTN) on during the weekend because we enjoy the musical programs they have. Where else on telly can you watch a Bach cantata or a Mozart Mass? Last week they aired a concert of Haydn's The Seasons. Bravo no longer airs operas and concerts like they did when they first appeared (does anyone remember those days?) and A&E? Forget their early dedication to the arts, they've gone entirely into entertainment, and even that's iffy.

Anyway, this morning we flipped across the Pope's service in Mariazell, Austria, at the 850 year-old Shrine of Our Lady of Miriazell. Now that I'm learning more about the Viennese dialect, my ear immediately discerned the Pope's distinct German. What helps is that in the day time I listen to Radio Stephansdom, a station that broadcasts live from Vienna. In fact, we're listening to Mozart's Lo sposo deluso as I write this. I'm in heaven!

But back to the Pope. Because I'm not a visually oriented person, Nettl first noticed the Pope's robes and called my attention to them. They were yellow and blue tie dye. His mitre was yellow and blue and the archbishop or cardinal next to him wore the same robe and a pink skullcap. It looked like Easter!

What I want to know is, what's the significance of the tie dye robes? Does anyone know?

This Old Spouse

This is pretty much me today, except that I have the laptop on my lap. I'm too lazy to even put it on the ottoman; that would require me to sit up and lean forward. Yep. Too lazy for that crap today.

Jacey came over last night bearing pickled spiced garlic cloves. Out of respect for Tony B, I tried one. It's not something I'd elect to eat more of, unless it was sliced and on a panini, or a pizza. We drank too much wine and Jacey entertained us with a YouTube search for videos of cats.

So here I sit watching This Old House.

Happy Birthday to Paul! What are your plans for the day/evening? Whatever they are, have a great day!

Poem Wanted

As I lay trying to fall asleep last night, I began imagining one of the student recitals that we will be hosting for Nettl's voice studio in Vienna. I saw and heard it quite clearly, the entrance of arriving guests, the buzz of conversation with frequent outbreaks of laughter, the clinking of glasses... It was very clear.

Later, I imagined accompanying Nettl on one of my compositions and suddenly a new melody sprung to my mind. As usual, it began as a simple tune, but as I lay working with it in my mind, it soon developed harmony and structure. Well, there was no going to sleep with all that going on in my head, so I got up and crept downstairs to the piano, where I wrote out the best of what I'd created. Just the simply melody of the final twelve measures.

I intend to work on it over the weekend, but I need to find a text.

• Key: G-major
• Time Signature: Common time (4/4)
• Tempo: Adagio
• Text: I'd like to find a poem that contains a sense of wistful longing.

Any ideas? Do you have a poem you would like set to music and sung by one of the most beautiful Lyric Mezzo voices out there?

Es ist der Vollkommene Tag...

It's the perfect day to sit in Cafe Diglas with my journal and favorite fountain pen, drinking a Melange and enjoying some rich, chocolaty Viennese confection. After a couple of hours I would gather my things, open my umbrella and make my way back home, where I'd pour a glass of red wine and sit down at the piano to work on my Schumann.

It's gray and threatening rain outside, weather that always makes me homesick for Vienna.

More pictures...

Friday's Feast

Appetizer
Using only one word, how does grocery shopping make you feel?
Grateful.

Soup
What is your favorite part about the autumn season?
I like the cooler temperatures and that the house is quieter (no AC coming on).

Salad
Have you ever had any bad experiences online?
Have I ever! For the past four years I have been stalked by someone and her friends. They made my life a living hell during one of the most difficult times of my life, the stress contributing to my current precarious health. She threatened me and harassed me, and even wrote a letter to director Larry Weinstein about what a "terrible person" and "criminal" I am. She still comes around from time-to-time and leaves a comment, but because I can smell her a mile away, I can delete her comments almost immediately. Her harassment no longer bothers me; it's finally drifted in the realm of the truly pathetic.

Main Course
Name three things that make you happy daily.

• Nettl. Even though she's at work all day, we are keenly attuned to each other.
• Reading the blogs on my blogroll. I start each and every day reading your latest entries while drinking my morning coffee.
• Working on our plan to move to Vienna next year. It's what keeps me going sometimes. I love imagining the musical soirees we plan to hold, sitting in our favorite cafes, and I enjoy decorating our apartment--by window shopping online.

Dessert
What one household cleansing or organizing item would you not want to be without?
Mr. Clean Magic Sponges. They literally clean everything with amazing ease. I will never again clean a shower or bath tub without one.
Questions provided by Friday’s Feast
via MissMeliss

Screenplay Block

If it seems that I'm blogging more the past two weeks it's only because, well, I am. I have a severe case of screenplay block at present and I learned long ago to simply go with it when it happens. "You can't push the river" as the saying goes. To try to do so results only in more frustration.

This screenplay started as an adaptation of my book, Night Music, but that quickly changed. I've now completely abandoned that idea; although the subject matter is the same, the story itself is very, very different.

The story involves a man and a woman in modern time, and a man and a woman in the 18th century. They are to be played by the same two actors. The modern characters struggle to make sense of their past in order to move toward their future together. Confusing? Not really, if you understand that this is a story about reincarnation. But mainly it's a story about how love transcends time and circumstance and how souls are drawn to each other.

The trouble I'm having has to do with my inexperience with writing screenplays. I'm a micro-manager where writing is concerned, you see, and I find it impossible to simply write the story without getting bogged down with camera angles, background music and all that. Yeah, I'm the composer who also writes in all the bow strokes too, remember?

Sitting here, I hear a hammering on the outside of our house. They're getting ready to repaint it and I'm dreading the intrusion that will undoubtedly bring.

Addio il Grande Pavarotti!

The great tenor, Luciano Pavarotti, has died at his home in Modena, Italy.

One of the reasons I wanted to be a famous composer was so that he would invite me to his home, where he loved to cook meals for his guests. He'd show me his horses, critique my music, give me tip on writing for tenors, we'd consume a couple of bottles of chianti and I'd leave with his recipe for Spaghetti Bolognese.

Pavarotti's talent will be missed. A humane and generous man, we will be the poorer for having lost him. Still, the world is richer for having had him at all.

I worry about the future of opera. Between the loss of Pavarotti and the recent death of Beverly Sills, I'm forced to face the fact that the greats of an older generation are beginning to leave us. Who will take their place? It takes years to know if a singer is going to go the distance or not, and let's face it. Pavarotti was a superstar.

I remember thinking in the 1980s that Kiri Te Kanawa, Kathleen Battle and Frederica von Stade were "Greats". But where are they now? They may be singing recitals, giving their time to the arts or teaching (all worthy dedications to be sure), but are they appearing in operatic roles? If I'm wrong about this, please let me know. A voice like Battle's will not come around for another one-hundred years. Part of the problem is the new "youth-worship" that deems a female singer to be over-the-hill by the age of 30. Pa-tewie! These three sopranos have experienced that which gives fullness to any role: Life.

Will someone be able to take Pavarotti's place on stage? Someday, perhaps, when we're gone. Will someone be able to take Pavarotti's place in the world of music? Never.

Farewell, friend of music, golden-throated giant of a man!

The Vienna Statsoper raises a black flag in tribute to Luciano Pavarotti

• More...
• Official Website

Top Chef: The Good, The Bad & The Sweaty

I knew this would be Howie's week to pack his knives and go. In fact, I was surprised when Tre was asked to leave at the end of the last show, and Howie remained.

Howie. The man I'd expect to see cooking at Rib Crib or Ruby Tuesday's. The man who would keep me away from those places, not because of his culinary skills, but because of the way he poured his sweat into every dish he made. Literally

Anthony Bourdain's weekly blog on each episode of Top Chef is always a great and entertaining read. Tonight he put Howie on the psychiatric couch and I suspect he's spot on with his analysis, but still. I wasn't asking Howie to confront and battle his inner demons, or go within and nurture his hurt inner child, all I was asking was for him to buy a sweat band.

A New Page

For those of you who are into this sort of thing, I created my Vienna Apartment Vision Board last night (see tabs above). Pretty self-explanatory.

I'm looking forward to the first morning when I'll wake up in just such an apartment, turn on my computer and make an entry called, "We Made It Happen!".

Feeling slow today. Perhaps more later.

Where's the Irish Mafia When You Need Them?

Sometimes I wonder where all the asshats in the world come from. Those people who never think beyond their own genitalia to realize that there are other people in the world. No wonder there's war. As long as there are these kind of people, there will be those of us who get pissed off at them one too many times. One only has so much patience you know.

I've complained here before about the Asshat family who live across the street. You know, the people with the Shar-Peis. Like most families today, the dogs are better trained than the kids are.

Today the high school boy came home with his car stereo louder than usual. I mean LOUD. It was so loud that the pictures on our walls were rattling. It was so loud that my heart actually fluttered, and not in a good way. Eventually, Joel, Heather and I ran into each other in the entry, each of us brought out by the noise. We went outside and stared at the guy, who left the stereo on while he proceeded to clean out his car. After a few minutes, he stood up and saw us standing there.

"Could you please turn that down?" I asked, too nicely.
"Sure." And he did.

Not two minutes later it was back up. I called the police to ask if anything could be done. I explained that this happens every day, several times a day, and often late at night. I was told that the next time it happens, call them and they'll send an officer out to ticket the kid. Yeah, right. I call and the police make it out 20 minutes later, after the kid has either left or gone into the house.

I wrote the landlord of that house a letter, but nothing changed. Guess now I'll have to go talk to him personally next time I see him come home (he lives in the house next door to the Asshats).

I don't get it. I like to turn my car stereo up sometimes, but when I pull into the neighborhood I turn it down. And when I have to make the turn-around in the cul-de-sac late at night, I turn my headlights off so that they don't disturb people who may be asleep. That's what a nice person I am. What's so hard about being considerate?

I Never Sat on the Senior Lawn

I've been thinking about this entry for a few days. I explore a lot of weblogs throughout the day. In fact, one of my favorite things to do when my health nails me to my chair is to "follow my nose" through Blogsville. I'll go to one of my favorite blogs and make my way through their blogroll. Sometimes I'll wind up several blogs away exploring neighborhoods I never knew existed. When I find a blog I really like, I put it on my own blogroll. I also like wending my way through Blog Catalog, a kind of guided tour of the blogging universe.

I don't build my blogroll to act as a popularity meter. It's my working atlas through blogs that I read each and every day and as such I keep it tidy. Here is a small list that I hope will explain things:

• Mine is not necessarily a reciprocol blogroll. Sorry.
  
• If I like your blog well enough to check it out every morning, it will be linked.
• If you do not update your blog within a couple of months, it will be deleted.
• If you are on hiatus your blog will be deleted, but I will bookmark your feed so that I'll know when you return. I will then link to you again.
• If I comment on your blog a number of times and you do not respond to my comments, but do respond to the comments of others, you will be deleted. It's kind of like being shunned at a party.
• If your blog isn't exactly my cup of tea, but there is a rapport between us and you've blogrolled me, I will gladly reciprocate.

That's it, I think. I'm not into the popularity thing, I prefer a small collection of blogs that I really enjoy reading over a sidebar full of meaningless links. I see it kind of like this: just because I overhear a conversation at the store, I don't go adding that person to my address book. That requires an introduction, some conversation and the possibility of further sharing. When I find a blog that I like it's like meeting someone I'd like to get to know better. If it happens, groovy. If not, no big deal.

All this having been said, I'd like to introduce you to 4 new (to me) blogs that I think are worth checking out:

Down With Pants: Brian lives in my old town of Ventura. That alone would be good enough, but his observations about life there are spot-on and funny. His blog lessens the miles between Oklahoma and the Land of the Lotus Eaters.

Eavesdrop Writer: What a great idea! Vienne hears snips of conversation around her and retells them in a way that always encourages thought and introspection. Her writing style is sensitive and she never tells the reader what to think.

Merisi's Vienna For Beginners: Merisi doesn't consider herself a photographer, but I beg to differ. Her photos reveal the real Vienna -- not the Vienna of tourism -- the Vienna of everyday life in the most beautiful city in the world.

Miss Meliss - Escribition: Miss Meliss is a working writer who writes about writing. Always informative, always thought-provoking, always on the precipice of being snarky, but never quite flipping into pithy cynicism. Interesting writing challenges, too.

I am currently building a page of the links that do not appear on my Blogroll.

That's all, folks!