Playing John and Mary's new cd, Pinwheel Galaxy, and it's beautiful though not fitting this mood. Time for more classic rock, a little rough drumming. Mary's vocals sit on top of the mix in a very odd way.
Onwards to Flaming Lips' Do You Realize, on the new one.
... do you realize that you have... the most beautiful face. do you realize... we're floating in space.
Speaking of Okies, dug out a favored holiday image made by the Okie Ex, a Christmas manger scene comprised of day-glo painted lawn jockeys and a B.V.M. front and center, a burro and a babe at her side.
Just returned from delivering holiday gifts to a refugee family that lives two doors down from Yours Truly. Deb called to say that her and Grandma Peggy were at my back door and so I accompanied their good cheer and purchases. The father, Sunday, showed us a video of the overarching evilness of Shell Oil in their former homeland, Nigeria. The fam has 6 beautiful kids and Sunday was laid off from the nearby processed meat plant (makers of surreal olive loaf, amongst others) and is in school and Deb and Peggy et al purchased hundreds of dollars worth of clothing, toys and food.
I have made my usual end-of-year donations to arts orgs and donation to the News Neediest Fund, lest you think Your Favored Nancy is a lump coalhearted bitch - not in this context.
Last night the final stop, avec Laura, was rocked-out Mohawk Place where Barrel Harbor and Ice Boom Theory (I think) played their collective hearts out and I presented Marty B a b-day gift of artful cheese cutting set for his pending holiday party (and 12/19 b-day) on the 24th. I gave him 42 hardass spanks and asked Is it 42? When he responded 46 I whacked him 4 times more, with relish.
Robyn reported that a femmette had puked all over the femme lavatory which perfectly explained the sour looks on faces of post-pee girls. So I and a stranger headed into the boy bathroom, where I collected my quote of the month, perhaps year:
(as I'm in the stall with girl stationed at the door and a guy who was peeing into the urinal is STILL THERE and I've asked What, is he STILL peeing?)
girl: What's that white thing?
guy: That's my dick.
Back in the fray Robyn points out Barfgirl and said she had to clean up the barf twice, as she's the only chick Mohawk Place employee who had the misfortune of being there.
We discuss said girl and determined that she's underage, or must be, given her lack of finesse.
I marched over and asked to see her id.
As she's fishing out the id her pal decided to pretend that I had chipped her front tooth to which I sent one of my famed paint-melting glances and waited further for the id.
And the barfer was legit.
Laura and I had been earlier wined & dined - gratis - at the new steak emporium in town, a lavish affair for sure, teeming with hardballers, highrollers, harddrinkers.
Owner, in a holiday-induced change of personality, was gracious and insisted that L and I eat there so we split the 32 ounces of USDA flesh before us, and sides. Afterwards he asked if we'd like a cocktail and in the blink of a dead cow's eye I gushed OBAN, THREE ROCKS to the man's concurrent amazement and impression.
Today work. A small wedding in the mix to shoot from the hip.

Tonight.
An exclusive whispered in my ear during set number two of John and Mary et al. And the voice saying It is so minty, not boozey, and I am confused - this voice is always whiskey-laden, not Scope-rich. Again my implorement that this photo op be offered only to me, not to the daily and the tv stations.
And how were John and Mary? Excellent, excellent I shout. I stood next to the former manager of 10,000 Maniacs who wasn't digging the scenario and I was pitching what was good with the presentation and he was not buying It. Bought him a drink (O'Doul's - ???) and talked about the bands he manages, including a Canadian band I always thought deserved huge fame, far huger than the doofaloppolises of Barenaked Ladies, The Hip, etc.
And I realize that in these parts those words invite firebombing of my home but to hell with peer pressurized nonsense.
So Ani was at John and Mary but I could not rope her into the small and impromptu twist moment to one of the more bopped-out versions of an older song. When she left, with my friend Tanya, I shouted after Tanya Goodbye Sexy Mama and Ani turned her head. That sentiment was not intended for her but I pursed my lips and sent her out the door with a pantomimend big sloshy kiss.
'Tis the season for big sloppy and earnest kisses.
Slobber on, vials of love.

It's a snack, techno & Oban sort of evening to finish the column. In lieu of some semblance of dinner.
All this following the gospel funeral of bebop pianist Al Tinney.
One of the uniformed church ladies on hand, all in crisp whites, asked if I wanted a seat but I said No, I want to move around and take photos and I don't want to bother anyone.
When the preacher was preaching another lady came over to tell me that no photos were allowed at that moment. I said I want the choir and then they noted my note taking and they understood and started saying Excuse me as they ferried others to seats and passed me.

The preacher talked about how life was hard for Al because he had music in him and heard all sorts of vibrations. I think he's right. Al had a placid zone about him, an enlightenment. I had two portrait sessions with him, one in color and one in black & white and it was hard to make Al laugh though I do think I have one image of him that is him. I shot him playing frequently and I can picture his wide open eyes always looking up at the other players, tunes interspersed with bars of classical or children's music.

Sip, sip, sip.
We all want, though do not deserve, a gospel funeral, or, for that matter, a New Orleans jazz funeral like the one I shot for Ernie K. Doe under the hot sun.

Onwards Al.

Late/early I write after seeing growling band of hairy men, Slobberbone.
Excellent and the room full of exceptional Middling City rock types and desirables.
Well, one undesirable was in attendance, the volatile Bad Penny who took every op to come up to me as I was shooting to growl at me, grab at me, general mini-mayhem. She harangued the bandmembers and an occasional, unsuspecting manly audience member as well. So I did not feel so in the Bad Penny Limelight.
One of the writers I wish to meet was not out, as usual, so delayed is the chance and anticipated crossroading.
Robyn and I talked at the clubby bar after I told Doug (who was unsuspectingly there, with Adva) I was hitting the proverbial highway and during the course of intercourse she told me that she might be, after seven arduous years, leaving her video shoppe gig.
Amongst other reasons she said I'm sick of renting porn videos to pear-shaped men.
I said But what's great is that it's you... and them... and they have no shame. (This video joint prides itself on renting hard-to-find Euro films, art films, etc. and Vincent Gallo, when he was in town, praised the shopkeep).
She told me that one of the shoppe's biggest customers is a reverend.
No, make that Reverend.
A regular Reverend pornographic purveyor.
Separation of church and state.
Separation of church and smut.

Phenom/glitch:
Sunday's post is below Saturday's.
Beloved nephew Jake is turning 11 on Thursday and his kooky parents mis-planned a sledding party for yesterday only there was zero snow on the designated hills and they were informed of all this by one of their guests. Words cannot express how this mind boggles such an anal pro party planner such as Yours Truly.
Onwards.
Shopped for music for the child only to realize I had no idear if he had POD or even wanted more alternative choices I would enjoy. So gift certificate time and then more music shop time for ME.
New ones: (and all fabulosic party choices)
– Ivy. Disc is Guestroom, worth the price of admission for The Cure remake of Let's Go to Bed.
And their righton cover (disc = all covers, dig?) of Streets of Your Town by The Go-Betweens is superb.
(Nate, if you are reading this your assignment is to run topspeed to New World today and acquire)
(I think it was Reese who brought my hyper awareness to this band with one of his primo mixed tapes/discs)
Is there anything of late so smart and happy? I think not. Plus they cover superfreak Serge Gainsbourg.
– I Love Paris: The Fashion Chill Out Lounge Collection, 2-discs and it's parfait.
– Tori's new one, Scarlet's Walk. Was prepared to find it heavyhanded as I found that animated foot video so repugnant but it's surprisingly fine and I appreciate an artist tossing in lyrics as I have been known to be one of those 'ScuseMeWhileIKissthisGuy' types.
– The Flaming Lips. Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. Was cheaping out and not buying it for some oddball psychological reasons which I worked out yesterday. Words can never express my canyons full of love and respect for Wayne Coyne, a real artist.
*Remember: one for them (those on the holiday gift giving receiving end) and one for me.