Monthly Archives: March 2009

She’s the human thesaurus

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And good thing, too, because one word simply cannot describe the caper. Here are a few extras that might be used:

And don’t forget potentially brilliant (if he hadn’t been caught, that is).

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Folks, we need to get Shorty. El Paso/Juarez hold some fun memories for me, and it’s sad that the area is a war zone now.

I had me some great times in Juarez back in 1979, when I was hired to sing at a club in El Paso called The Cinders, which is now defunct, torn down, or renamed, as far as my research can reveal.

It was a month-long engagement, at the piano bar with a great jazz pianist named Luis Méndez. I’ve lost track of him over the years…

On a couple occasions, Louie would call in two of his friends — bass player and drummer — to play with us. It was great fun. I learned an awful lot about jazz that summer, at only 20 years old. I’ve never forgotten it.

cinders2And my students will laugh at these photos because I actually had a real tan (living at the pool every day for a month in 100+-degree heat and sunshine will do that). And check out the curly hair. Yep, I paid good money for that.

And speaking of spending good money…time to get back to writing about the history of public school music in America. ZzzZzzzz…..

Fink out (as in “unconscious”).

Using “bedizened” in a sentence

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I must say, it’s impressive, albeit a bit pretentious. Leave it to the Times.

It’s time for a Bando Godspell update. Bando…grace us, please! I need a laff today.

All right, I’m off to start studying. It’s almost 8 a.m. and I promised myself I’d bury my head in this box all weekend (except if #1 Son calls for me to watch Jakey…then all bets are off).

Shocking. What next? A rapper hitting his girlfriend???

Only four more Saturdays until Kay comes home from Slovenia. Yay!

FO

Nuclear fission

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Yep. Last night, I experienced it. Or rather, my students did.

Not pretty.

I hate doing that. I really do. And I feel it coming, too. It’s like a slow, nauseating build-up, as the TNT gradually inches its way closer to the plutonium cell. Then, kachinky. Fission. Bodies everywhere. I go completely blind with rage and forget to be the lady my mama raised me to be. I turn into something ugly and horrible. A hag with horns and fangs.

And the thing is — and I have to hand it to my cast, no lie — they stood there patiently, waiting for the cloud to dissipate. (With abject hatred in their hearts, I’m sure, but they stood there like soldiers nonetheless.)

So why do they put up with the likes of me? I have no idea. But I’m glad they do, because they are truly good at this musical theater thing. I know, all directors yell. I’ve been at this game long enough to know that. But somehow, I like to pride myself on retaining some modicum of self-control, so as not to come off looking like a complete lunatic.

[At this point, Mathew and Kody are laughing. Godspell 2004, anyone?]

Anyway, the self-control thing didn’t happen last night. And the meltdown occurred, oh, three minutes into the first number. Some of them, I’m sure, are still seething about it. I’m developing a nasty cold sore for my efforts. Serves me right. And I don’t even have the slightest recollection of what all I said to them. It’s a blur…but at least it’s Friday.

Fink out (to the pharmacy for some Abreva).

RNF XVIII

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Random Neuron Firings

Three tasty links this morning:

  • Not to start a flame war (because I will put a fast end to it), but this was pretty straight-forward. Almost comically so.
  • WHAT??? I can hear Kody laughing.
  • Oh. Yes. OH YES. Am I getting the wrong degree? Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I love Reuters. And Thursdays.

Fink out.

I kind of knew him, too.

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Twenty years ago, Tim Richmond died. Maybe you don’t know who he was (especially if you didn’t follow NASCAR back then, or if, like some of you, you weren’t alive in the eighties), but he put Ashland, Ohio on the motor sports map.

Fellow RtB poster Michael was his neighbor. I’d totally forgotten about that…

A tragic story, to be sure, that of Tim Richmond. I remember serving him drinks at the Country Club where I worked for that one summer, when he got his racing start. He’d have a group of his friends (and his parents) around him, all yelling, laughing, smoking, getting crazy…and he was the life of the party. One time, I was invited to sit down with all of them at the end of my shift. He was really interesting, and seemingly lots of fun. We laughed a lot that night.

I also remember a couple of years later when he got Rookie of the Year or something at the Indy 500 race. I heard it on the radio and thought, “Wow, I know him.”

If you’ve seen the movie Stroker Ace with Burt Reynolds, you’ve seen Richmond. He had a bit part at the beginning of that film, as I recall.

tr1Then he got sick. Then he was dead. The cause was complications from AIDS, which, back then, was still a horrifyingly mysterious death curse, surrounded by ignorance, supposition and hysteria. According to what I’ve gathered, Richmond’s efforts to get back into racing after his diagnosis were met with considerable opposition. A guy named Tommy Thompson wrote a rather nice tribute to him here. Wikipedia also has some good information.

However, the overriding opinion is that Richmond was a victim of a witch hunt, and that he didn’t stand a chance in the good-old-boy system of NASCAR cronyism.

In 2005, David Poole wrote a bio about him. I think I might buy it.

I came across Tim’s name yesterday as I was looking at a list of well-known graduates of my alma mater (Ashland University). Although Tim only went one year and then dropped out, he was still on the list.

So was Madalyn Murray O’Hair. Yikes. I had no earthly idea. No surprise I didn’t know, though, with AU being a good Brethren Church school & all. I imagine they didn’t mind sweeping that one under the carpet.

RF, off to another weird Wednesday.

Photo credit: Sports Publishing, LLC