Do you remember the first time you heard "Rocky Mountain High" on the radio? I do.
Bob Slentz-Kesler (aka Bob S-K)
The life of a writer is not for the would-be author. It's not for those who are looking for a glamorous lifestyle, or for those who consider being on the A-List a good thing. It's not for those who are attracted to the romantic image of the tortured genius in his garret, drinking absinthe. For every book one may get asked to sign there is a year of nights of sitting alone, hammering ones head against the monitor. For every compliment one may receive, there is a month of sitting, staring blankly at the computer...
I seldom write about composition because it's such a personal thing to me and because, when I try to put my feelings and thoughts into words, they melt away. This is probably only natural because music itself is intangible; the transcribing of music is always left wanting when the composer is faced with interpreting what he or she hears within...
Am I the only person who's mildly bugged about having to say "captcha" instead of "capture" when referring to those little jumbled letters we have to type before we can do just about anything online?
What a great day yesterday was. Actually, it began on Saturday night when Nettl and I settled back to watch the 1948 version of Oliver Twist, with Alec Guinness in the role of Fagin. I was a bit offended by the false nose they gave him, but his performance was brilliant...
Alison Jackson creates films, photographic images, and sculptures about our fixation with fame and celebrity culture. These Mimeses use look-a-likes of celebrities and public figures to create a photographic or filmic image, which challenges the observers' perception of reality by creating a false reality. Only on second or third glance does the viewer question the truth of what they are seeing. Jackson describes her work as an exploration of what we see and what we imagine, the interplay of our voyeuristic needs and our urge to believe, challenging the photographs' claim to tell the truth.
I've met a lot of really fine people here in Blogsville. I've even met a few in person. But sometimes I like to think about the others whom I haven't met, and if we ever shall. Here are those I hope to meet one day. If you're not listed here it's not because I don't want to meet you, it's just that I nowadays have to know someone online for a long time before I trust that a face-to-face meeting will be a mutually happy thing. I know that most of these meetings won't happen, but that doesn't mean that I can't want them to.
There are some things in this world that I just don't get. Sure, dark matter and undulating membranes are up there on my list, but they don't make me wag my head in utter disbelief. What I'm talking about is mainly people stuff. We're a fascinating species, full of paradoxes and possibilities, and I believe that even we don't get us. Here are a few of the things I don't understand. Some of them have to do with human nature itself and some have to do with the situations we create. Feel free to comment on mine, or name a few of your own. But please, no Steven Wrightisms. Those have been hackneyed to death and have more to do with semantics than anything else...
Why does everything go at once? Not only is it freezing downstairs, but the ice maker has quit working. I know that sounds paradoxical, but that's because it is. When it's 16º outside and 66º inside, why would anyone want ice?...
There is little that gives me more pleasure than drinking a glass of red wine late at night while I'm writing. Second in line would be doing what we did on Saturday night. Jacey came over and we sat in the living room drinking red wine and listening to folk music of the mid-sixties with soft, cuddly blankets thrown across our laps while we talked and candles glowed.
Want to check out Mérida? It will be featured on HGTV's House Hunters International tonight at 10:00 pm CST.
This is purportedly the largest Coca-Cola logo in the world, created near Arica, Chile, out of something like 70,000 coke bottles to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the company.
Last night I made a steak fajita dinner for the first time. It was a big hit and a definite "Make that again!". Later, as I sat adding up how much it cost to make such a successful dinner, I was stunned at how cheap it was. The following are approximates:
Because three just weren't enough...
This is a subject I shy away from here on my blog mostly because, if I've learned anything through my long life, it's that people don't want to hear about it. From strangers to my own mother, the subject of child abuse—especially child sexual abuse—is one they'd rather me shut up about because no one wants me to blow their tidy image of what childhood was like for me and how it still affects me half a century later.
AKA_Monty has honored me by making me the subject of this week's Word Picture Sunday. I'm flattered and honored. Thank you!
For the past two or three weeks Nettl and I have been tossing around an idea to go to Mérida, Mexico for a year. Because housing is dirt cheap and the currency rate is about 10 cents to the peso, we could invest a little money here, then live in the Yucatan to allow it to grow. In a year's time our move to Vienna would be a lot easier. Besides that, it would give us a year to lay back and heal after all of the traumae and crises we've been through over the past decade.
Imagine the feel of cool, hand-painted pasta tiles beneath your feet and of year-round average temperatures of 87º.
We don't cook around here on the weekends; dinner is each family member's responsibility in what we call "fending", as in fending for oneself. Sometimes Nettl and I will order something in, but usually we'll just eat when we're hungry, throwing some frozen crap into the microwave.
If I could be anywhere today, I would be sitting in a cafe in Vienna, doesn't matter which one, drinking copious glasses of beer with my friends.
I'm tempted to supplement my income by hacking out a bodice ripper under a nom de plume. Seriously, how hard can it be? And cashing in? Don't bother me with that; some of the world's greatest writers have turned out dime store drivel in order to pay the rent.
I don't know about you, but I'm damned glad that the holidays are over. This was a schnozzwangling flapdoodle of a season at our house. Like the most extreme roller coaster at a monster theme park, 2007 began as a hair-raising ride and ended up the same way. I'm green with nausea and my knees are shaking as I step into 2008. All I want to do is sit down in the shade with a snow-cone.
There's a commercial that begins with, "People are smart", but I have to disagree. Overall, I think that people are pretty stupid.
How did these names happen? How do we get Bob out of Robert or Peggy out of Margaret? Here are some others that bother me:
