I got an early Christmas present. Only I wish I could return this one. Bell's Palsy. If anyone reading this doesn't know what it is, just Google it. It's one of those things that seems no more than an annoyance at first, but with each passing day it becomes more and more annoying. It's not debilitating (at least not in my case) unless you count drooling, watery eyes, inability to eat properly, or the inability to smile as debilitations.
My doctor tells me that it will subside, eventually. Weeks. maybe months.
Statistically, it affects one out of every 10,000 people. Why can't I have that kind of luck playing the lottery?
Monday, December 14, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Going not-so Ga Ga
As the parent of a teenage daughter, I have, on almost a daily basis, been subjected to the "works" of Lady GaGa. While dance-pop isn't my usual cup of tea, I have at least tried to listen with a sympathetic ear. I wasn't that impressed. I've been called a music snob before, so maybe I think I'm just too darned high-and-mighty to listen to Lady GaGa. Maybe so. Or maybe not. Maybe she just isn't that great.
As of last night, I am convinced of the truth of that latter suggestion. Why last night? Because I, almost by accident, witnessed the true artistry and musical wonder of Rickie Lee Jones. The venue was small and only half-filled. Lady GaGa's personal entourage likely would have required more room than the entirety of Rickie Lee's audience. But it is always thus: sales and popularity have NO direct bearing whatsoever on the quality of an artist's work.
Rickie Lee Jones's performance was exquisite. Dressed in a frumpy black dress and shitkicker boots, she unleashed that voice, and those songs. Spanning a 30-plus career ain't easy in two hours, but after two hours it was like, "Where did those two hours go?" She even threw in a cover of David Bowie's "Rebel Rebel," and an arrangement of "Living It Up" that turned that little R & B ditty into a percolating rocker.
And to Lady GaGa fans: some day you might be lucky enough to see your musical tastes mature sufficiently enough to appreciate Rickie Lee Jones.
We don't deserve her.
As of last night, I am convinced of the truth of that latter suggestion. Why last night? Because I, almost by accident, witnessed the true artistry and musical wonder of Rickie Lee Jones. The venue was small and only half-filled. Lady GaGa's personal entourage likely would have required more room than the entirety of Rickie Lee's audience. But it is always thus: sales and popularity have NO direct bearing whatsoever on the quality of an artist's work.
Rickie Lee Jones's performance was exquisite. Dressed in a frumpy black dress and shitkicker boots, she unleashed that voice, and those songs. Spanning a 30-plus career ain't easy in two hours, but after two hours it was like, "Where did those two hours go?" She even threw in a cover of David Bowie's "Rebel Rebel," and an arrangement of "Living It Up" that turned that little R & B ditty into a percolating rocker.
And to Lady GaGa fans: some day you might be lucky enough to see your musical tastes mature sufficiently enough to appreciate Rickie Lee Jones.
We don't deserve her.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
It's not as easy as I thought
I thought I could set aside 5 or 10 minutes every day to jot down some thoughts for this blog. I mean, as much as I opine about stuff (music, sports, politics, you-name-it), I thought this thing would be a snap. But four months later, here I am, still author of an empty blog.
Maybe I need to start DOING more exciting things so I'll have something to write about. Maybe I should actually try to REMEMBER things I thought about writing about and actually write them.
I can remember my first semester of college in which I was enrolled in a course called "Creative Writing Poetry." The professor was a successful writer himself, with several novels and nonfiction works to his credit, not to mention several teleplays and literature textbooks. He was one of the humblest, kindest, most unassuming individuals I had ever met. Anyway, on the first day of the class, he admitted that even he wasn't sure what the title of the course, "Creative Writing Poetry," was supposed to mean, only that he was sure there would be creative writing involved. As for the "poetry" part, I recall that nothing came of that. But what I'm getting to here is the first assignment that this man gave: "Something you have always wanted to write." He would give no more direct a description than that. When I handed in, two days later, an outline of a short story I had been working on, it came back with the comment: "No. I want something you have always wanted to write." I wasn't alone, as many of the class members received similar responses to their work. We began to think he was nuts. I thought so, until I came to the realization that a thing as important as "something I have always wanted to write," could not be so easily and swiftly brought to fruition. It then occurred to me that I handed in the assignment too soon, that no aspiring writer in his or her right mind could do something this monumental in a day or two, and it also occurred to me that the man had given no deadline for the assignment. Throughout the course of the term, the assignment seemed to have been forgotten. The last week before the end of the term, we were reminded of an assignment that was due. Well, right away we knew.
So here's my first post. More to come.
Maybe I need to start DOING more exciting things so I'll have something to write about. Maybe I should actually try to REMEMBER things I thought about writing about and actually write them.
I can remember my first semester of college in which I was enrolled in a course called "Creative Writing Poetry." The professor was a successful writer himself, with several novels and nonfiction works to his credit, not to mention several teleplays and literature textbooks. He was one of the humblest, kindest, most unassuming individuals I had ever met. Anyway, on the first day of the class, he admitted that even he wasn't sure what the title of the course, "Creative Writing Poetry," was supposed to mean, only that he was sure there would be creative writing involved. As for the "poetry" part, I recall that nothing came of that. But what I'm getting to here is the first assignment that this man gave: "Something you have always wanted to write." He would give no more direct a description than that. When I handed in, two days later, an outline of a short story I had been working on, it came back with the comment: "No. I want something you have always wanted to write." I wasn't alone, as many of the class members received similar responses to their work. We began to think he was nuts. I thought so, until I came to the realization that a thing as important as "something I have always wanted to write," could not be so easily and swiftly brought to fruition. It then occurred to me that I handed in the assignment too soon, that no aspiring writer in his or her right mind could do something this monumental in a day or two, and it also occurred to me that the man had given no deadline for the assignment. Throughout the course of the term, the assignment seemed to have been forgotten. The last week before the end of the term, we were reminded of an assignment that was due. Well, right away we knew.
So here's my first post. More to come.
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