ZOMG! Merry Christmas & A Happy New Year! What was on my doorstep today when I got home?

My December 1989 back issue of Spy, the New York Monthly.  What did I turn to first? What I always turned to first; back in the day, back in boo-tiful Austim, when I used to buy Spy at The Record Exchange (of all places) on "The Drag", opposite the Dobie;  the Review of Reviewers column, this time written by Henry "Dutch" Holland.  

Winona young

There will be pictures galore, plus my parents did a cuter than cute video which I must share, & Fran Lebowitz & the Major and the Minor, & & & &, etc, ... 


More later, much more later.


Everyone have a v safe, wonderful New Year.






















Go Sooners!

The Thick of It S01E05 (1 of 2)

The Thick of It S01E04 (2 of 2)

The Pretenders - "Message Of Love" (Fridays 2 of 3)

Oh, my frickin' goodness,

I have so much to write aboot & once agin, so little time.  I have seen slightly more than a few movies recently that I would like to discuss.  And if I were any kind of real writer I would link the "reviews", if you will, Pauline Kael-New Yorker stylee.

I will try my bestest.

First, I have another correction for my blog:  Benedict Cumberbatch & Olivia Poulet are not  married.  They are long-time partners according to commenter Anonymous.  And if any fucking person is taking the time to make a comment on my sorry-ass blog, I am taking their correction as gospel.  So there.  


I fucking nearly cried (has got to be the worst paragraph link in history) when I watched Soderburgh's Spalding Gray "doc" OnDemand (for the second time) last night.  Soderburgh nailed it.  No voice-over, no "history" whathaveyou, just Spalding Gray telling his life story through his monologues & interviews.  Some would say (on Fox News), "What about his suicide?" Well, Soderburgh was smart enough, and disciplined enough, to proclaim through his film, 'That if Spuddy di'n't tell that story or appear in that interview then it does not make my film.'


(SPOILER ALERT! STOP NOW IF YOU ARE UNFAMILIAR W/ GRAY'S ANATOMY!) Of course, Soderburgh makes us cry at the end, w/ the howling dogs and the home movies. But the other, more crucial thing aboot this excellent film, basically aboot death and suicide, is how alive it makes me feel.  


Say what you will aboot Gray's neuroses & hypochondria & desperate pleas for attention & fame, yet Gray told a kind of straight white-man truth that so many of us can identify with.  & do identify with.  & he did it through near the most esoteric, pretentious sort of way; monologues, performed on-stage, part of the off-Broadway, avant-garde (&, gawd, does not this country hate the avant-garde [especially if it originates from New York, like his performances did.])    


I worked w/ a woman who knew Gray.  She proclaimed to me aboot numerous late-night phone calls, what a nuisance he was.  I di'n't believe her then & I do not believe her now.  


Gray was an incredible talent who did something I honestly believe I could do, as well.  He was so fortunate to be in Manhattan, w/ the Wooster Group, just when he discovered what his talent was.  He was a fragile fragile soul; exposed, seduced, and intoxicated with, yet terrified of fame.  


It was my buddy, Chris (I had made him watch Swimming to Cambodia & Monster in a Box) who told me that Gray was missing.  Everyone knew.  I knew.  Even then.  Everyone knew he had taken his own life.  


But Soderburgh shows all the wisdom, hilarity, depth, & heart that made Gray such a great (albeit troubled) soul.  


Gray, from Rhode Island, was really a New Yorker, a Manhattan-ite, living there, working there for a great period of his fame & livelihood.  Well, if the Gray's Manhattan art scene is something to be admired, reached for, the Manhattan art scene of the film, Tiny Furniture, is something I would like to avoid like the plague.  


Do not get me wrong, I liked the film.  But it is so New York, so, "My Dad writes for TV," if you know what I mean.  Some of the pop culture references fall completely flat, they are utilized way way too soon to resound w/ any kind of serious mainstream audience.  (Let us face it, if you are showing your fucking film in Fresno or, say, Tulsa, where this film will play, then it had better play, no matter whatever your college-kid intentions were.)  


I am flipping back & forth.  I loved the Charlotte character.  I loved the party scene where our protagonist is exposed as an attention whore.  I loved how we are expected to love this contemptible, self-hating woman.  I loved the film's depiction of the New York art scene as empty & blind to the new wave of media.  


But, I cannot get over the fact that she cast herself in the starring role, of a film she directed, w/ her real-life Mom and real-life sister playing those roles.  Even Plath's satiric, The Bell Jar, does not make me cringe like this film does.  


The sex scene in the tube? Is it a reference to Fast Times? & why am I not believing it anyway? 


Honestly, this director could grow & become a Todd Solondz-like master, or could fade away in to avant garde video theater & be never heard from again (except for cultish chick-y, gay types in the Village.)

Spalding Gray, made me change my mind what theater was.

OKAY, Fran Lebowitz, the Major & the Minor tomorrow.  

The Thick of It S01E04 (1 of 2)

The Thick of It S01E03 (2 of 2)

The Thick of It S01E03 (1 of 2)

The Austin Lounge Lizards...Brain Damage

You know, I ne'er thought aboot

Superstar! (written by Okie Leon Russell, who just got inducted to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.)

It as a child actor.  But my parents, bloody sick of hearing me sing, Sing a Song (that awful, so boring song made famous by the Carpenters [do not get me wrong, I like the Carpenters]), trained me to sing This Land is Your Land by Woody Guthrie for auditions in Baptist Dallas, TX for jobs that were mostly religious programs, films, cartoons, whathaveyou, ... 


That is right.  Lil' Michael Tankersley (that was my name at the time) was rolling in to Baptist Dallas auditions in the late 70s singing songs by that dirty Okie, commie pinko Woody Guthrie.  


Now that is subversion!


Here is Sing a Song, yuk!  If you were a child actor back in the day you had to know this awful song backwards & forwards.  Of course, now, I see why.  It is v simple but is a good measure for dynamics, projection, & vocal scales.  In fact, now, it almost seems as if that crappy song was written just for children's auditions!


Sorry I have not posted much lately.  Watch the The Thick of It videos, really.  They are not available in the US yet and the show is so terribly brill.  


We invent rock and roll.  The English make it better.  We invent TV.  The English, ... you get where I am going w/ this.

Merry Xmas, all!

(& some of you have kissed Tiny Tim!) 

Woody Guthrie-This Land Is Your Land

The Thick of It S01E02 (2 of 2)

The Thick of It S01E02 (1 of 2)

The Thick of It: the nicknames

The Thick of It S01E01 (2 of 2)

The Thick of It S01E01 (1 of 2)

I really love the new BBC Series, Sherlock,

Starring Benedict Cumberbatch.  (What a name, hunh?)

Olivia Poulet

But I was just a wee bit miffed to see one of my favorite English Roses, Olivia Poulet, have such a tiny role in the second episode.  What a waste, I thought.  Why would she take such a tiny part in this huge new hit series?

But then after doing some research about the program I learned why she did it.

She is MARRIED to the star, Benedict Cumberbatch! She was just helping out, having fun, & got to act w/ her sweetie.  

With an umbrella in my drink.  Sorry, ladies (& gents) they're taken.

That is pretty cool.  


(And the show does still have Zoe Telford in it.)

Here is

My sweetie:

Much to say tonight, yet

Not much time.  First, let us speak of Renee & I's fab date a few days ago.  We went shopping for Xmas presents in downtown Walnut Creek.  I picked oot what I wanted, a couple of books, at Barnes & Noble (but Renee can get 'em cheaper (natch, yet sadly) on Amazon so she has ordered them.  Here are the books:  Edith Head: The fifty-Year, ..., & A Biographical Guide to the Great Jazz and, ....  Hmmm, non-fiction.  Fills moi w/ joy.  Then we went to Tiffany cause Sweetie had her eye on a charm there.  We looked around & in the end she decided she'd rather get something else.  We went next door to Gap & I got her a couple of sweaters she really liked.  Merry Xmas, Sweetie! Cannot wait to get my books.

Next we drove to the City & saw The King's Speech at our fave theater, The Embarcadero.  (Saw the preview for Mike Leigh's latest, Another Year- I am v excited.)  You know, The King's Speech was good but it d'in't knock me oot.  Considering that homey, Colin Firth, plays a King, with an speech impediment he is a lock for another Best Actor nomination.  He might e'en win.  (Will Bridges beat him again with the Coen Bros' True Grit?- And am I the only person on the planet who could not give a fuck about True Grit, or the Coen Bros in general these days; or speaking of Bridges, Tron, for that matter.  Ugh.)  Anyhoo, I liked Geoffrey Rush's performance much better than Firth's.  And Helena Bonham-Carter was as fab as e'er. (It is wonderful & rare that we see her away from her insane husband's projects.)  The director of The King's Speech is Tom Hooper.  I love The Damned United.  That was a great picture.  I thought HBO's John Adams, also dir by Hooper, was a giant snooze.  Hooper had a great attention to period detail & it was great to see a Movie England that was constantly dark & raining; you just do not see that v much.  But he shot it as Talking Heads.  It was one close-up talking after another.  To his credit, Hooper did put those talking heads slightly off-center in every shot. That was refreshing.  One of my fave actors, Timothy Spall, plays Churchill.  Every time he appeared Renee burst in to laughter.  I asked her why later and she made it plain that after an FDR doc we saw some months back, anytime she sees Churchill & that baby face of his (e'en if someone is playing him apparently, too!) she bursts oot in to laughter.  She had no problem w/ Spall's performance.  I did.  I thought it was v stage-y and annoying.  I still love Spall of course, & his son, Rafe.  (Rafe Spall is the handsome fella who spies the hangman game on the chalkboard & ends up hanged, natch.  The trailer was done by Edgar Wright, dir of Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, & Scott Pilgrim.)  Do not get me wrong, I liked The King's Speech; but a great, Oscar-nom worthy picture? Not so much.  & I do wanta say this:  Colin Firth was much better in A Single Man.  Much much better.  I still think A Single Man is his finest moment.  (W/ Fever Pitch a close second.)

Yor hero at SPQR 12/10

Then we went to my fave City restaurant:  SPQR.  SPQR is a spin-off restaurant of A16.  The executive chef at the time, Nate Appleman,  wanted to start his own place with the emphasis being southern Italian food, like A16, but w/ a more comfort food (so huge in big-time restaurants these days) spin.  Then, w/ no warning, right before A16 really went nuts & decided to open shop in Japan, Appleman did this.  You might have seen Appleman on Iron Chef.  I cannot stand that show.  (I like Top Chef mucho, though, & this current 'season' of 'all-stars' is prob their best season e'er.)  I read in the NYT he is starting from the bottom, working his way up in the big big City of all Cities.  The new executive chef at SPQR is Matthew Accarrino.  And he is different from Appleman that he is balls-to-the-wall southern-Italian, european food.  Here comes the black pudding, balls testicles, etc, ... But that is not my type of food, per se (ha ha.)  Still, SPQR is my fave in the City.  It is my fave b/c they play the classic rock Muzak set, b/c SPQR is tiny, b/c for the longest time they did not take reservations, b/c the service is so good, b/c their women servers (like so many chi-chi restaurants in the City) do not look like super-models, b/c Shelly Lindgren (she is my friend on Facebook, yah, ... ) runs the wine program there.  I read aboot A16 in the Wine Spectator, a mag I generally hate, yet she intrigued me b/c she ran an Italian restaurant, A16, w/ only southern Italian wines.  That is right:  no Chianti.  No Pinot Grigio.  No Barolo, e'en.  The first time I went to A16 was on my birthday a few years ago.  Sweetie treated me.  Shelly was our sommelier.  I told her flat out that I was in the industry & I di'n't recognize anything on her list.  She gave us the standard wine industry discount (30%) & produced the most excellent flight of wines for both Renee & I that I have e'er tasted.  (Read Bourdain.  Most flights of wine at restaurants are jokes.  Always avoid.  They are trying to offload wine that does not sell.)  Lindgren runs the best restaurant wine program in the city.  She is tied w/ whoever runs the program at Slanted Door, prob Sweetie's fave restaurant e'er.  At Slanted Door, in northern fucking California, mind you, there are no California wines, at all.  I cannot e'en begin to apologize for the idiots that still write to the SFChron aboot how butt-hurt they are that one of the best restaurants in the City refuses to pour local wine.  It is a no-brainer, really.  Big, blockbuster, high-alcohol (California) wines do not fucking pair well with French-Vietnamese food.  

Sweetie's terrine w/ mushrooms & crisp.

Anyfrickinghoo:  We did Burrata w/ honey & hazlenuts.  Renee got this amazing terrine w/ mushrooms.  It is not on their latest website menu.  Here is a picture, it was badass.  


I played it safe, getting a v large winter green salad (which was amazing) & what they called Fettucini verde.  It was fettucini w/ "baby" lamb, sweet peppers, greens & pecorino.  


It was one of the best meals & greatest dates we e'er had.  


Good fucking night.  I dint get to the Pony Exce$$ tonight but I will v soon.  


Love you all.  


P.S.  He is NOT being a snob. He is RIGHT. I am not kidding.


P.P.S.  I'm in lesbians w/ this song.

mds

Steely Dan Project: Chapter One (Bad Sneakers) Part One

Let us face it, David di'n't start loving fancy restaurants until he learnt what steak frites meant on a menu.

It was aboot the same time of his restaurant "miracle" that his show had become a near hit.

Let's Talk, David Runmoney's franchise, that he had helped to create (just barely) had, at that time, just topped the young to nearly old demographic that the networks love.  The advertisers were still cautious, of course, as the show was v lewd & crass.

David, the star of Let's Talk, played a bartender in a brewpub in Chicago.  The whole show was a riff on Lucy in  Peanuts.  Above the bar there was a sign saying, "The Doctor is In."

The essential charm and difference about the program was that there were only a handful of recurring roles.  There was David, natch (playing Rufus, the bartender); Nathalie, the bar back (tough, lean, wiry, wise-cracking, too "butch" to be the series' "hottie"); Maurice (pronounced Moor-Iss, the Anglicized way) who was the owner & sometimes bartender; Rick, the money guy; Stella, the cocktail waitress (& bit of totty, if you will- & David did) and Patina, the local heart of gold whore who was actually quite clever and could quote Shakespeare and Keats and Byron and Pope at near no notice yet.

What made Let's Talk diff from Cheers, let us say, was there was no Norm or Cliff.  The patrons on Let's Talk always changed.

The thrust then for Let's Talk was that a patron of the bar (the Bull & Gate, as it was called on the show) would express their discontent, dilemma, or distress and after thirty teevee minutes with David & his gang the problem would be solved.

It sounds ludicrous, I know, but it worked.  It worked for eleven fucking years.  It worked because David had fabulous writers and because the bar patrons were oftentimes big stars, either looking for campy/clever cameos or juicy re-introductions to the masses on their way down.  Plus, David was a good writer, though lazy, and good with a zinger;  he helped out on many a script or situation.

To list all of the stars on David's program, Let's Talk, would be crazy; there were so many.  It is like Seinfeld, how many bit players became big-time performers.  But here are just a few:  Dusty Ladbroke, Rupert Friendly, Linda Solace, Chas Runt, Arthur Rendowit, Sunny Bees, Punch Brown, Rex Groat, and the ravishing Celeste Berlin, just to name a few.

Folks at home recognized that the stars they most passionately loved would be likely to return on Let's Talk.  Those stars would re-appear with new problems, new problems meant for their local bartender, Rufus (David) to solve.

The broad public seemed to appreciate Ms Ladbroke & Punch Brown.

But the bloggers, critics, and cultists treasured Chas Runt's fourteen appearances the most.

David signed on to the Let's Talk when he was twenty-six.  He figured at the time that it was like "All About Eve", that all television was was auditions.

At that time, 1999, he figured he would be a movie star in a couple of years.  Rufus would have a new name & a new actor to portray him (or her.)

Anneke v softly touched his elbow from behind as he hailed a cab.

"I'm fine," David said.

"You looked a little funny in there."

"I just needed a smoke."

"Fuck," Anneke said as she ran her hand through her hair, "Have you got one for me? I quit."

David was not drunk.  He most def was not drunk.  At the restaurant, Market, in Brooklyn he had led the unwashed hordes, known as his closest friends, through the minefield known as a wine list.  


What is Paul Theroux says, "... After you have tasted luxury, you are changed, and there is no cure for it"?  


Anneke fussed w/ a button on her dress.  Her teeth shone in the lamplight.  Her bare legs were glossy radiant stems of orchids, "We're getting a taxi, right?"


David raised his hand and said the magic word.


"You are," she said, "Alright? Right?"


And like a Christmas Miracle a taxi did appear.  

Hey, Nick Crosetti!

Baz Luhrmann is doing a remake of yor boy, Fitzgerald's, The Great Gatsby.  Guess who plays Daisy?

Single again.  It did not work oot w/ Shia.

That's right, my girl, Carey Mulligan.  What I read, she was sooo excited upon hearing she landed the role she burst in to tears.  (I am not making fun of Ms Mulligan, she is truly fab to me.)


(Btw, if you want me to stop writing aboot the lovely Ms Mulligan so much you could get in touch w/ your Reps & Senators to make this a better country & tell all the Libertarians (I'm sorry, Republicans) & fucking Teabaggers to walk off the fucking plank!)

Farewell, Cliff Lee.

Thanks for getting us to the World Serious last year.  Thanks for not going to the Damn Yankees.  I hope you have fun against the Giants next year.  As for the Rangers:  This is bad in the v short run but v good in the long run.  We've got a lot of money now and a fairly deep prospect base.  The talk is of Garza, Grienke, & Beltre now but we might bide our time until the All-Star break, see what the club looks like in July and the Royals & Rays would not be asking for what they are asking for now.

Lee strikes out Yanks & Rangers looking.

I expect a v tight, competitive AL West race right now going in to July.  Then we'll see who will make the moves necessary to get their team in to the playoffs.

Can - Mother Sky

Well, Big Jimbo

Finally gets pardoned.  (I guess I should I should tread carefully here cuz some of my friends love Jimbo so) but my love, adoration, and respect for Morrison melted away many many years ago now.  I know I know, I was not there (well, I was but I was an infant) when he re-wrote the rock singer rule book and that may be why he means so little to me now.  I think the first album is still smashing, particularly Whisky Bar, Break On Through, Light My Fire, Crystal Ship but after that it is painfully obv to me that Morrison either started repeating himself and/or half-assing it lyrically for the entire rest of his career.  I think Manzarek & Kreiger were fabulous musicians, too, and that their talents were essentially wasted after the eponymous debut.

Jimbo gets a pass

You know what else is painfully obv to me after reading the NYT movie page last Friday? Manohla Dargis kicks A.O. Scott's ass left, right, & sideways every stinking week.  Maybe Ms Dargis did not want the top movie review job but she certainly deserves it.  Here are two examples each from just a couple of days ago, like I said:  Dargis reviews Vengeance & The Tourist.  Scott reviews The Fighter and And Everything Is Going Fine.  Dargis' reviews are fast, whip-smart, crackling quick reads that actually reflect, particularly Vengeance, the type of film she is reviewing.  Scott's reviews are plodding and dull that give off no light whatsoever of the fun and mystery of movies.  (Dargis did get scooped, though, by our own, SFChronicle reviewer, Mick LaSalle aboot The Tourist being a remake of a 2005 French film [but LaSalle is an absolute nut for French cinema, one of his best features.])

Here is a quote from her review of The Tourist:

"[Mr Depp] likes tunneling into his characters, preferably under a thick smear of makeup and flamboyant threads, which is why he's never made sense in mainstream romance.  There's no place for him to hide with Frank, so he stands around trying to look hapless as Ms Jolie grabs the lead.  There's definitely some amusement in watching her come to his rescue, a role reversal the movie only flirts with.  But oh how much more fun it would have been if Mr Depp had really played the girl, eyeliner and all."

Why can't I write like that? (Hopefully I will someday.)  That paragraph sizzles.  I would use the word flirt in everything if I could.  And flamboyant is great, almost an internal rhyme with tunneling.  Thick smear of makeup?!  And she is right, too, Depp should have played the girl.  That is a film I might think about seeing.  


Here is a quote from Scott's review of And Everything Is Going Fine:  

"What caused this gentle man, with two young sons (one of whom, Forrest, composed music for this film) and a place of honor in the imaginative life of New York and the rest of America, to end his life? There is no simple answer, of course, but someone might have turned an exploration of the question into a funny, illuminating and poignant piece of theater.  Or, failing that, a movie, which is what Mr Soderbergh has done."

Now that is more like the way I tend to write, sadly.  You lose the thread of this paragraph starting with the parenthetical.  And, like me, it has this detached, faux high-style air about it that smugly whispers from a pedestal (or soapbox.)  I understand he is writing about a suicide, tough sledding there, but all of his paragraphs are like this:  cold, detached, and literary, whereas Dargis gets in the sandbox and uses all the tools at her disposal to bring life to the films she reviews.

Here is Ms Dargis' review of Vengeance.  Here is Scott's of The Fighter.  Tell me what you think.

Radio-Coteau Sonoma Pinot Noir

The Radio-Coteau was a present from my Sweetie.  She got it at Paul Marcus.  I am not a big California Pinot guy.  I like a couple of Barnett Anderson Valley ones and some Carneros ones by Kent Rasmussen and Truchard but the Radio-Coteau was sooo lovely.  The fruit was in perfect balance, not overbearing at all.  The oak integrated after one glass and a couple of swirls.  It was not earthy or pine-y like some have described it as and it was not like a Burgundy but it was wonderful.  We had it with sausage raviolis and broccolini fried in pancetta with just the right amount of chili pepper flakes on top.  Wonderful.

Thanks, Sweetie.

Now it is off to the Red Zone to see if I can win the store NFL football pick-'em.  I was sooooo close last week.

Love you all, mwah!

mds

Another one to

Add to my holiday list of movies to see.

Made in Dagenham, The King's Speech, Vengeance, and 127 Hours (& the French film, Anthony Zimmer, that The Tourist remade.

Today (as we hear the beautiful sound of falling rain)

We start w/ discos.  I have been thinking about discos lately.  It started a couple of weeks ago when Renee & I watched Mike Leigh's splendid Happy-Go-Lucky, starring Sally Hawkins.  I have prob shown you folks the trailer already but I do not care:  Here it is again.  (The song used in the trailer is LDN by one of my faves, Lily Allen but this song does not appear in the film.  It would have been a good fit musically but definitely not lyrically for sure.)  Anyhoo, there is a run of scenes early in the film that is some of my favorite movie-making in years.  This run starts w/ a scene of Poppy (Sally Hawkins, our hero) and her single lady friends dancing  to Pulp's Common People in a London disco.  Then it follows them on their walk home, we spend some late-night tipsy-time w/ the women, then finishes the next morning w/ a cuppa (natch!) There are a couple of things to talk aboot here.  First, for me, it is so fucking refreshing to see a scene w/ single women out having a good time w/ no mention of men, no moralizing, no pick-up scene, or ladies whinging aboot boyfriends or lack thereof.  Next, it is fantastic to see these women dancing to Common People, a song that I had forgotten about but should not have.  Common People by Pulp is a disco staple in England to this day, I am sure.  And although v popular here, as well (at the time), is prob now an afterthought, lumped in w/ the Britpop Oasis/Blur wars.  It should not be.  Common People is a majestic class-war anthem that appears to be yet another "spoiled bitch" rock staple e.g. Like A Rolling Stone, practically the entire Stones' oeuvre, etc, ... (The Beatles' Drive My Car or Day Tripper does not qualify as they were obv "joke songs", something the Beatles were exploring at the time e.g. Norwegian Wood, & I'm Down.  I'm Down is a pastiche of American rock and roll music at the time and Norwegian Wood [and Drive My Car] end w/ "punch lines."  McCartney typically winked louder in Drive My Car than Lennon did in Norwegian Wood.)  Common People is the perfect song for these schoolteachers, single ladies, and students to be dancing to.  Jarvis Cocker, the composer, is not "camping" here at all.  This is a sturdy put down to those who feel more entitled than the "rest of us", him included.  Obv this song means more to folks in Britain (& Ireland, I suppose) than it does to us in the US, where class means so little.  In the US all you need is money and like WC Fields in David Copperfield (an American actor in an American version [v good version, too!, showed the world Dickens could be done on film] of a v v v English class-explicit novel) that money is always coming right 'round the next corner.  In the United States of America we are ALL rich and of the highest class, for most of us, it just has not happened YET.  Here is the video (sadly it is a shorter 7" version but should do.)  


******


Discos continue:  My first year of college (1986/7) I used to go to this downtown Austin disco w/ David Barber and this freshman chick from Mexico City.  Maybe Kate went too? I know Allison did not.  Actually, now I think Kate did not, as well.  It was Dave Barber, whatever young chick he was interested in at the time and me and my Kahlua drinking (really? getting prepped for a disco? I know we were eighteen but, ... ) Mexican crush dancing on the weekends in hip Austim, Texas.  I was v proud of my dancing abilities back in the day and when I moved to SF and pretty much got the "word" that the only people who could dance were gay guys and black folk I was pissed and hurt.  Anyhoo, this disco in Austim was fun but pretty lightweight.  There were plenty of times that no one would be dancing at all.  Whene'er those moments happened the DJ would play one of these four songs:  How Soon Is Now? (natch, still played at 80s Nights today, and a monster club track anyhoo), Love Cats, Blue Monday, and Dig It by Skinny Puppy.  Back in the day, like I might have mentioned, I prided myself on my dancing.  I was the white/straight boie who could get down on the dance floor.  And I had set dances that I would perform for both Dig It & How Soon Is Now? (though, now that I think aboot it, it was prob just the same "dance" w/ v minor adjustments.)  


It is funny growing older.  I do not pine for the Citizen Kane youthful days.  I pine for my college years, my marcel (curly) hair (where did that go?, the curls, kids, not the hair!), the drinks/drugs/acting in plays/trying to write like Pynchon/arguing with my friends aboot Madonna (do not worry UT friends, I surrendered to her power years ago)/writing fucking poetry (e'en if most of't was to get laid, not all of it was)/slacking school, hanging oot in the library reading back-issues of Rolling Stone/just the mere thought that while I strolled across campus, walkman blaring REM, I was an actor, script in hand. 


A friend of mine asked me if I would like to start acting again.  I sed, No, that has melted away.  I would like another crack as a singer though.  I want to record again.  Hopefully I will get another crack at it.  

Stephanie Bishop

• When I wake up in the morning and turn on my lovely, majestic Mac Mini (thanks, Mum & Da!) my home page is dailykos.com.  But I am sooooo depressed now with the politics of this nation that I am thinking aboot changing it.  As I sit here now, staring at a photograph of my Mother & I, me four years old, just back from a trip to DisneyWorld, I start to believe that politics is not where it is at.  It is time to dedicate myself to art.  I need to sing again.  I need to write.  I need to dedicate myself to creating & criticizing art.  It will be tough tough sledding but I know there will be more pleasure & depth of feeling in a poem or a play or a Bette Davis gesture or Richard Linklater slow motion sequence than in any satisfaction I get out of bills being passed or court victory.  I am Italian, after all, my peeps come from the barren, godforsaken Abruzzo.  I need to channel my Italian self.  Remember the Third Man:  The Great Welles wrote the speech on the spot. 
• I have been sick for near a week now.  It ended today.  Where I work is so frickin' cold.  My wine department is completely surrounded by coolers and freezers.  And grocery stores are cold typically.  So this morning I slugged my last dram of Nyquil as I had to walk to work in the (v light) rain at six this morning.  I wore a shirt, my badass thick Stax hoodie, and my super-cool Adidas Svenge footie jacket.  Beneath I wore my ultra-rare Bonny Doon Bouteille Call (Booty Call, get it? It is great dessert wine.  It is like Banyuls. I do not know if they make it anymore,) long underwear, and blak jeans (like a rok star should.)  That outfit was great for the rainy walk to & from work today but e'en in the frigid environment that is my workplace I was sweating up a storm.  I had aboot a hundred cases of wine to "throw" today (as we say in the biz), meaning stock on the floor, and w/ every case, as my internal temp rose, I could feel the sikness sweat oot of me.  A couple of times I thought, Cool down, take the jacket off but I did not.  I sweated all of that wretched virus oot today for sure.  
• Some of this stuff has been mentioned before.  Everything is always tied together, after all.  (Note:  these videos are most def NSFW.)  This was my playlist  walking to & from work today:  1. Common People/Pulp (I love the group but I have always, and still do, hate their name, yuk, ... )  2. Burning Inside/Ministry 3. Beers, Steers, and Queers/Revolting Cocks 4. Dig It/Skinny Puppy 5. Minutemen/D's Car Jam 6. Minutemen/Anxious Mo-fo 6. Minutemen/Theatre is the Life of You 7. Minutemen/Viet Nam.  'sfunny, on my way to work this morning I did not get the ipod going until I was on Ygnacio (aboot 3 or 4 minutes in to my walk) and when I landed upon the Food Hole Viet Nam by the Minutemen was playing.  On the walk home I started the same playlist as I left work.  It still ended w/ Viet Nam by the Minutemen.  
• One of the worst things aboot being sik to me these daies:  I cannot taste wine.  It sucks. I tried a glass before bed the other (last) night (of my illness):  It tasted like cough syrup, hot hot hot, no fruit, sad.  
• I got my UK version of Looking For Eric.  Yum-yum-yummy! There are a couple of great things I have to share w/ you that I learned from the fab commentary (by the director Ken Loach and the "hero", "Little" Eric, Steve Evets.)  First, that Loach expressed just the wee bit of unhappiness that one of the actresses in the film was from Leeds instead of Manchester.  The film is set in Manchester, contains much, if not all, the passion, dedication, and lerve that that Mancunians have for Man U.  Apparently, Loach, for his English films, likes to hire only actors from the city they are shooting in.  That is so badass & awesome to me I cannot tell you the ways.  Second, (and I had no idea that Loach, one of my all-time fave directors worked like this) they shot the film in sequence! Not only that, but they gave the actors only "sides" (that means each actor got only their lines) so that it creates an improvisational air on the set.  But, e'en better than that, Steve Evets. playing "little" Eric, had no clue that Cantona was in the picture! Looking For Eric is one of the best films I have seen in years.  Buy it right now on dvd.  Here is the trailer.  It was a smash at Cannes in 2009.  It is dying on the vine in Napa 2010.  Trust the vintage, it is great.  And I would just like to point oot two brill acting performances in this frickin' great film:  Stephanie Bishop as Lily and Gerard Kearns as Ryan.  Bishop is so lovely, her voice pitch perfect, "I loved you to pieces" is still something I say to Renee evry night, and Ms Bishop is so beautiful (and from Manchester, natch) 

Good night & good luck.  

P.S.  Grazie del tuo amore, Bonnie.

I am crying, Uncle!

This is over.  I do not have the patience or will to keep up w/ politics anymore.  This latest capitulation is the final nail in the cross.  That Obama should scold progressives after this debacle is mind-blowing to me. 

I just do not know if I can take this shit anymore. 

Get ready for me to start posting about Carey Mulligan non-stop!

(You know, one of my facebook friends took particular

Relish after the Aggies beat the Sooners earlier this year, commenting on how the Sooners' season was ruined.)

The interception that turned the game

Oops! After the Aggie loss the Sooners crushed somebody at home, thumped Baylor on the road, make Pistol Pete cry in Stillwater, and beat Nebraska again for the Big 12 Title.  Big Game Bob now has seven Big 12 Titles in twelve seasons at OU.  He has lost the Big 12 Title game just once, to his mentor, Bill Snyder, coach of Kansas State.  


Nebraska's defense played a stellar game yesterday.  But they could not throw the ball and they fumbled too many times.  And Nebraska should have absolutely no complaints about the officiating yesterday.  There was no Big 12 "fix" or conspiracy against the 'Huskers for leaving the Big 12.  


Btw, see 'ya Nebraska.  


Sooners get UConn or Stanford on New Year's Day.  


(Correction:  In the Bedlam Delivers post earlier I had stated that Big Game Bob was undefeated in Big 12 Title games.  He was actually 6-1, losing to Kansas State, as noted here.  My apologies.  Big Game Bob is now 7-1 in Big 12 Title games.)

(Steely Dan Project) Prologue

He had not been to his agent's office in years.  David Runmoney lived in L.A.  His agent, Lester, lived in New York.  Still, the office smelled and looked exactly the same as it had the last time David was there.  David's agent liked to smoke cigars and cigarettes in that office all day long, against the protests of a long string of female secretaries.  His agent, Lester, did whatever the fuck he wanted to do.  His agent, Lester, made no apologies for his shabby, sometimes lewd behavior.

Maybe that is why David had stuck with him for so long.  Actors who lived and worked in L.A. (like David) had rocket salad eating, kombucha drinking, raw food despots for agents.  Despots who lived in L.A.  Truly vital little beasts who live to destroy others:  on the links, the tennis courts, and over the phone.

(Prologue interlude):  She has forced me oot on to the porch, smoke rising, mixed between my breath, siring wailing, then stopping just as sudden.  Kitten scratching at a window.  Peace beheld.

David soaked up the Manhattan, messy atmosphere.  He lit up a cigarette, ashed on the carpet, and made a wry smile.  He was going to stick by his crusty-lunged reprobate agent, no matter whatever type of crushing bad news Lester had for him today.

Lester adjusted his ass in his chair, coughed mightily, swore silently, wiped his mouth, squinted across the table at David and very softly iterated a litany of unmitigated bad news, crappy developments, insipid forecasts, and fiduciary shortfalls.  The litany began simply enough, "David," Lester said, "No one on either coast will hire you right now, ..."

*****

"Jeez, " thought David, "Sounds like Tootsie," as he sunk in to his posh hotel bed.  Lester's Litany was now a few hours in the past.  Lester's Litany had stretched across the space of three hours, including lunch at Lester's favorite deli.  David's insides hummed. Now David sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the phone.

The cable news channels hissed mutely while he weighed his options:  Call downstairs for Champagne; send Kat an upbeat, newsy, "I'm in New York," text; get the porn going on the teevee; call his Girl Friday here in New York; and throw back a couple of rails.

David finished his 'chores' in record fashion.

The dewy bucket rested on the window ledge, David's fizzy, sighing tulip flute within an arms' reach.  Kat had responded to his text.  It was a smushy, teeny missive, written in that very silly language that crushed David's soul every time he had to read it.  Cable news had been replaced by Assbusters 40, starring Veronnika, Kandy Korn, and Tawny Port.  David got his Girl Friday on her Brooklyn landline and arranged for their get-together tonight.

There was a table in David's room.  The folks that care, the folks that know everything about us, and nothing, they found David's rolled-up two dollar bill (a superstition of his) and parked it away in their brassiere.  "It means something," they said to their family, "It says, 'We are right here, we are safe.'" and then they counted sheep until their lovely children began to dream.

His Girl Friday was actually named Anneke and she was a friend of David's from the old days, high school and college.  Five minutes back in 1981:  Anneke and David were 'officially' going out.  Yet, they dint actually do it until the mid-80s.

David figured he had slept with Anneke eight or nine times total.  David figured he was going to sleep with her tonight.  It was something that brought him joy, something that blew Assbusters 40 away, something that reminded him of David at twenty-eight; and what he had said to her then, "I am so happy you are here.  I saw you walk away wearing that lipstick.  And I had thought you had put that on for me."

"Oh. my, " she said, "You are good, " and she kissed David.

There was something about the no-nonsense attitude Anneke carried.  Something about the inevitability of it whene'er they saw each other, something about the way Anneke de-mythologized sex for David when he was young and needed the myths of sexuality blasted, destroyed.  Something about how she was the first to acknowledge his (very limited) seductive power and make David realize for the first time that his person/body/self has real impact on others, that his words and expressions and muggings do not exist in a vacuum and that everything about him meant something and affected everyone in his orbit.

David sipped his Champers.  Then he turned the teevee off.  David's mind started cranking.  He thirsted for a cigarette.  He felt the icy chill of mortality race down his spine.

(The two big questions re his mortality were:  1, Will I know before? and 2, If I do know, will I accept or will I fight?)

David sipped his Champers.  He had to get out of here.  There was dinner with Anneke and others in Brooklyn.  That was at nine.  Maybe he would see a movie or do the bookstores.  David was dying for a cigarette.

He grabbed his mobile.  He closed the door behind him.

Me & my buddy, Nick C

Came up w/ this brilliant idea.  I might have mentioned it before.  The idea is:  Do a 'piece', a treatment, screenplay, short story, whate'er, based on a suite of songs by Steely Dan.  The song collection has to be at least an hour long and it cannot exceed the time available on a burned cd.  Here is the beginning of my Steely Dan project:

Bands in Scott Pilgrim Vs The World

Note:  I am not going to get in to who actually wrote, performed, whate'er, i.e. Beck, Broken Social Scene, (Wait, Broken Social Scene? Is not that one of the worst names for a band e'er?) anyhoo, ...

There are four groups in Scott Pilgrim.  My least favorite is the Katayanagi Bros.  They are v lame.

My third fave group in the film is Sex Bob-Omb.  They are the quintessential 'idea' of what 'garage' looks & sounds like to record execs.  But could we please finally put the word serpentine to rest for rock lyrics?

Next, I like Crash and the Boys.  Mainly b/c it is an idea stolen from me & my buddy Nick C.  We used to 'play' whole shows while we worked together wherein our 'group' (Nick C. & I) would (& Crash and the Boys) play super super super short songs, most written on the spot, that were meant to intimidate and humiliate our audience.  Kind of an improv jukebox of derision, if you will.

The Clash at Demonhead

But my fave band in Scott Pilgrim has to be:  The Clash at Demonhead.  I do not know if it is b/c of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs/Gang of Four influenced song or if it is b/c of Brie Larson in that outfit of hers, ...











.........  I'm thinking it is Ms Larson, ....

On the Death Sentence by John Paul Stevens | The New York Review of Books

On the Death Sentence by John Paul Stevens | The New York Review of Books

The Hospital

For a long time now I have been intrigued by a film called The Hospital.  I learned about it through David Thomson's Have You Seen? ... book.  But I never seemed to get around to watching it.

One of my fave things to do these days is spend an hour or so flipping through all the movie choices on OnDemand.  It is fun, even if I do not purchase anything and most of the time I do not.

A couple of nights ago I was scrolling through the Selected Directors page, Arthur Hiller, and there, indeed was The Hospital for 3 bucks.  I bought it.

It is delicious.  Black as tar, grainy, dark, dated, cynical, mean, ludicrous, hardly realistic, terribly theatrical (the best scenes involve long 'party piece' monologues), hilarious, head-scratching, awesome awesome stuff.  Paddy Chayefsky wrote it (his script before Network) and picked up an Oscar for it.  George C. Scott and Diana Rigg star.

George C. Scott is a hotshot doctor at a big Manhattan hospital.  He is separated from his wife, living in a hotel, impotent, and has not seen either of his two his children in years, having kicked out his 24 year-old "Maoist" son.  He is suicidal.

Meanwhile patients are dying in the hospital (natch) due to charts being mixed up, patients' rooms being switched, doctors trying to 'score' in empty rooms, etc, ... Plus the Hospital is enduring a massive protest just outside its' doors.  And doctors are mysteriously dying, as well.

Watching it I could not help but see the massive influence this dark dark satire has had on the great hospital TV shows such as St Elsewhere, ER, and House.  


And check out this cast (The Hospital came out in 1971):  George C. Scott, Diana Rigg, Barnard Hughes, Richard Dysart, Nancy Marchand, Katherine Helmond, and Frances Sternhagen.  Oh, and Chayefsky does the opening voice-over narration.  And Stockard Channing has a bit part.  Oh, and Christopher Guest has a bit part, too.

Cynical, mean, and dark.  Great for the Holidays, hunh? Highly recommended.

Bedlam delivers.

Sooners make Pistol Pete cry again.  

What a fantastic college football game last night in Stillwater.  You gotta feel for the Cowboys.  Let us see, the Cowboys run back a kick for a TD w/ about two minutes left in the game, have one of college football's plays of the year (that amazing tag-team interception), put up forty-one points and still lose the game!  Always the bridesmaid.  This was their best chance in ages and the Sooners rained all over their parade.  


Of course, I did not get to DVR this game because I live on the left coast.  I got the pissing down rain snoozefest, also known as Notre Dame/USC.  Ugh.  Oh well, I'm sure ESPN will replay the game soon.

Meanwhile, in the twelve years Bob Stoops has been at OU, this will be the eighth (and last) time that the Sooners have represented the Big Twelve South in the Big 12 Championship Game.  Big Game Bob has never lost the Big 12 Championship game, either.  But we all know what happened last time the Sooners played at the Cowboys new Enormodome.  


Way to go Sooners.  Sorry OSU fans, Longhorn fans, A&M fans.  

Bedlam: Oklahoma Highlights vs. Oklahoma State - 11/27/10 (HD)

Traffic - Paper Sun

So did you hear the one about

The Minnesota state Rep (R) who was hanging out in front of Planned Parenthood, armed?


Let no one be confused.  This Republican yahoo, who represents part of Bachmann's district for the state, was most definitely not checking on his girlfriend.  This idiot is going through a divorce and anybody who has watched Lifetime Movie Network, American Justice, or City Confidential knows what happens when the D word is mentioned.  Luckily, this time, nothing happened.  And the police and the clinic can keep an eye out for this sad, repressed loser, ahem, I mean public servant.  


Speaking of public servants, at least real public servants:  George Miller (D) shopped at my store yesterday.  He was checking out the Pinot Noir racks.  I asked him if he needed any help and he v politely said, No.  He bought a bottle of Decoy Pinot Noir (and his cart was quite full, he got a turkey, too.)  I wanted to tell him how I saw him in Casino Jack and how much I appreciate his service but I lost my nerve and just let him go.  


When I got home I told Renee, We had a celebrity today! She sed, So did we! But Renee won.  Her celebrity at San Rafael was this this guy.  


But, how appropriate is it that on the day I see George Miller, one of the heroes of Casino Jack, that one of the villains of that film gets convicted by a Texas jury! I know, I know:  here come a million appeals, DeLay will never see jail time, etc, ... but, still.  

Dom Beausejour Chinon

"James is from the Valley, he'd probably like Chablis."

• Well, I have not seen Nowhere Boy yet but I did watch Lennon Naked.  It stunk.  Renee particularly hated it.  My God, Chris Eccleston, was way way way too old for the role to begin with.  And the whole thing was an absolute mess in terms of storytelling, reaching way too far for a eighty-five minute film.  Was it a film about Lennon's strained relationship w/ his da? Was it about Lennon and Brian Epstein? Was it to prove once and for all that Lennon was an absolute shit to Cyn & Julian? (And did not anyone who has ever loved John or the Beatles already know that, anyhoo?) Did not every frickin' person on this planet know that John & Yoko were about as annoying and self-indulgent as possible, as well? What is the point of this picture? Look, Lennon is one of my heroes.  And the Beatles affect my life in so many ways it is impossible to measure.  But I can take a hatchet job.  Hack away.  Lennon was just a man, ultimately; a very flawed human being who rode a crest of fame and adoration and scrutiny unlike anyone I will ever see again in my lifetime.  Considering what happened to the early rock stars, Elvis, and Michael Jackson, I think "being a dick to your first wife and kid" and "telling folks that you think you are Jesus" is not all that bad.  If you want to do a hatchet job, at least make it entertaining and/or thought-provoking.  
• Looking For Eric is in the post.  I watched The Kids Are All Right on demand last night and Renee bought Scott Pilgrim for me last week.  (Thanks, Peanut.)  I have not seen Paul or 127 Hours yet.  This looks like a pretty lackluster year for me and new movies.  I would also like to mention Client 9, though.  That makes four great new films for me in 2010.  
• Renee & I are going to have the mostest splendidest Thanksgiving evah! Check this out:  It is just us two and the kitties.  Renee is making crab cakes for her.  I am having an omelette.  We will drink Champagne and Chablis.  We will watch old movies, junkie teevee and I will read aloud to her the last chapter from Lynn Barber's fantastic memoirs.  I think I would like to do a Gershwin doubleheader of sorts and watch An American in Paris and Manhattan.  
• I bought Me & Orson Welles and I just love it.  I gobble it up like candy.  Renee likes it, as well but also thinks it is kind of sappy, the ending in particular for her is pretty eye-rolling.  I do not care.  I love it.  I have not read the novel that the book is based on but I get the feeling the novel is prob sappy, too.  I think Linklater was true to the book and made a gorgeous, (Dick Pope shot it) optimistic, hopeful coming of age story.  The humanity! Horrors! Quadruple space!  Plus Christian McKay is so good as Welles it is frightening.  

Sorry this post started on such a bad note.  Everyone have a splendid, safe Thanksgiving.  I love you all.

Reigning Sound "Bad Man"

Don't Come Back

Harry Nilsson - Perfect Day (All That Jazz, 1979)

Waiting for my Sweetie,

Just saw the most fantastic doc aboot the brilliant, troubled, lovely, assholeish, most fantab rock singer of all time, Harry Nilsson.  It is called Who Is Harry Nilsson & Why is Everybody Talking 'Bout Him?

I keep thinking about All That Jazz.  It is a Perfect Night.

Joni Mitchell - This Flight Tonight

Harry Nilsson - Coconut (1971)

I saw Up in the Air

A couple of nights ago on HBO.  Someone tell me again, What is supposed to be the big deal?

I did not like the film much at all.  There are gaping holes/flaws throughout the film.  Mostly w/ the script, I believe, but also w/ the direction & acting performances.

Let's talk about some of them:  I did not for one second believe that JK Simmons was now going to 'follow his bliss' and become a chef just b/c George Clooney told him he should.  Nor am I buying Clooney's 'Groom w/ Cold Feet' Pep Talk, & why when the Groom walks back to his Bride is it suddenly shot by a hand-held? I am guessing it is to represent the Groom's unease but as a viewer it is just annoying.  Clooney's recommendation letter? Give me a break! Here is a chance for the 'author/scriptwriter' to tell us what he's learned about Natalie, how she's grown, & it is written through our 'Poet of the Airlines'/Motivational Speaker and that is what we get? And that letter is right after the film completely tossing aside the gift of miles to Clooney's sister for her honeymoon?

There is a remarkable string of scenes in the middle of the film that work, are moving, entertaining, funny, and contain the finest moments of the best acting performances in the film.  That run starts w/ Natalie's text break-up, contains the beautiful 'settling' conversation between Alex & Natalie, and ends w/ them crashing the tech party, running through the Hotel lobby w/ no shoes on.  Good stuff, indeed.

And then Natalie's hostility towards Clooney the next morning is painfully unbelievable, hamfisted and sets us right back down the wrong road again.

Vera Farmiga &Anna Kendrick are by far the best thing in this film.  Their performances shine, Kendrick's in particular b/c she had to do a lot of 'shining' through what appears to be a half-hearted, unfinished script w/ the scriptwriter, himself, Jason Reitman, apparently asleep in the director's chair.

It is a mess, folks.  One Clooney could not even salvage.

Secret Kitten

Grayson: What Republicans Can Do With Their Tax Cuts For The Rich

I am at home.

This post is dedicated to Allison Wait, who turned me on to The Waitresses back in the '80s.

Time to forget all aboot work, inventory, spineless Dems, et al.

Yesterday was a treat (after work, that is, natch.)  My Sweetie, Renee, was v sweet indeed, she heated up the Champagne risotto, got me an iced tea (w/ lots of cubes), and let me watch some French films on Sundance, b/c, Tuesday, apparently is French film night, I guess, on the Sundance channel.  Neither of the films were world-beaters by any stretch of the imagination.  (No Jean-Pierre Melville here!) But it was just the ticket after a long terrible day at work.  (btw, we drank Hitching Post Cork Dancer 7.1 Pinot Noir.  Renee loooved it [gosh, she loves Pinot], I thought the same thing I almost always think about CA Pinot:  No thanks, no fruit, too hot [14.3! eek!], too much oak, etc, ... )

Before I get to the French films, though, today I want to talk about The Waitresses.

The Waitresses, with only two albums of a canon, so to speak, packed so much greatness in to those two albums it boggles the mind.  They had their 'hit', of course, a v v modest 'hit', I Know What Boys Like, which is one of the sexiest female empowering songs I've ever heard.  If you do not believe me, check out some of the comments on You Tube 'neath the video.  (I know, I know, but still.) Attention!:  I am now quoting Molly Ivins, quoting Margaret Atwood, who did her own small, unscientific survey, asking women what they most feared about men (rape) and men what they most feared about women:  Women laughing at them.  Ouch.  That song and video still provokes men, I believe.  The idea of a woman, in charge of the sexual politics of a situation for once, childishly taunting the man must infuriate the insensitive, insecure brutes amongst us.  The song, lyrics included (although I have to believe Ms Donahue had at least a modicum of input), like all of the Waitresses songs were written by a man, Chris Butler.  


Yet, so many, if not all of the Waitresses' songs were feminist-leaning.  I suspect Butler had an axe to grind and/or he was in love w/ his lead singer, Ms Donahue.  


Time and again he writes through her perspective and persona and somehow nails it every time.  Take No Guilt, par example.  No Guilt is the greatest break-up song written in history.  It resides in the Break-Up Hall of Fame for me, its' plaque right next to Elvis Costello's album, This Year's Model.  In fact, This Year's Model, the song and the whole album are the male side of the same coin.  


No Guilt is a brilliantly designed song, enacting Ms Donahue's response over the phone to a (prob) moping ex-beau.  What the song is is a litany of every single way Donahue has moved on w/ her life, and all the fab ways she has grown up since the split.  "I'm sorry," she says, "I'm not suicidal."  In the meantime, she has learned how to cope w/ mundane things he always used to handle, is driving now, fixing shit around her apartment, and has got the go-ahead & wherewithal (both from her folks- prob v relieved to see that asshole gone & their baby grown-up) to go to grad school!

But, there is more.  Check out some of these lines from other songs:  "Get tough/Don't be so patient/Get smart/Head up, shoulders straight/Since when is it a disaster?/If the "S" on your cape/Is a little frayed."; "What's a girl to do?/Born to shop?/No!/Pretty victories/What's a girl to do?/Scream and screw?/No!/Pretty victories"; "Don't work your buns off/For a fool for a fool/Who can barely tie his shoes"; "Don't answer-a phone call/That old boyfriend old boyfriend/Who'd love to see you lose/You don't need that!" (Wise Up); "I guess I set impossible goals/And I don't know when to quit" (Jimmy Tomorrow).  The last quote is much like the famous Situationist slogan.


Believe me, I understand that part of the feminist nature of this group comes from the tough, sexy feminist front woman, Patty Donahue, no matter who wrote the songs.  & I understand that most folks' knowledge of the group is through their only 'MTV video', I Know What Boys Like, & Ms Donahue plays so much (albeit, I think spot-on) to the sexpot stereotype that some dudes miss the joke entirely.  A joke in which they are the punch line.  Their contemporaries, Blondie, however, as much fun & as talented as they were,  nearly always seemed to exploit Ms Harry's sexuality instead of empowering it.  


I think Patty Donahue was Chris Butler's unrequited love. & oddly, he was in a real position to show her off as the amazing, empowered sexy female that he knew he couldn't have, on a big stage, for all to see.  That he did it w/ such intelligence, sensitivity, sexiness, & style is more to his credit.  


Here is a fun thing re The Waitresses & another of their most popular songs, Christmas Wrapping, which, if you work in retail, you are v v familiar w/, I'm sure.  One of the best Xmas songs, ever.

I'll talk aboot the French films tomorrow before inventory.



P.S.  Renee loves to listen to the Waitresses in the car when she's depressed or pissed.  They pump a lil' feminist up, y'see?