TWO FOR.... THURSDAY
The 1960 classic Mughal-e-Azam, recently colourised, opens tomorrow at the Des Plaines Theatre (1/2 hour from Chicago; the Metra train station is less than a block away from the theatre). It's a rare chance to see it on the big screen; apparently it boasts the best and most moving music our friend Bindi has ever heard in an Indian fillum. So clear out three hours (plus an hour for the r/t commute) and go. Timings and directions are at www.desplainescinema.com.
It seems there was a strike, and Mysore (12-ish hours ahead of us) was shut down today. Something tells me it was business as usual at the Ashtanga Yoga Nilam. From today's Star of Mysore (www.starofmysore.com):
TRADE BANDH HITS CONSUMERS
Mysore, Mar. 31 (BLU&BRS)- Majority of traders in the heart of the city and extensions downed shutters today to observe bandh in response to the call given by All India Federation of Traders Association demanding modifications in VAT (Value Added Tax) system. The State Government is implementing VAT from tomorrow.
Consumers dependent on the shops for their many daily needs were left to fend for themselves.
They could be seen swarming around a few shops which were kept half-open in the morning.
Residents of Agrahara, Nanjumalige, Vidyaranyapuram and surrounding areas, took the brunt of the bandh. These areas witnessed curfew-like atmosphere in many thoroughfares.
However, hotels, drug stores, liquor shops and cinema halls conducted their business as usual.
Business establishments in major commercial areas like Devaraj Urs road, Sayyaji Rao Road, Shivarampet, Old Bank Road, Ashoka Road, Irwin Road, Dhanvanthri Road and Gandhi Square remained closed.
Nearly a thousand businessmen took out a procession from K.R. Circle to DC's office at noon holding placards. A delegation of the traders submitted a memorandum to the Deputy Commissioner.
The memorandum urged the Government to raise the turnover ceiling for VAT from Rs. 10 lakh to Rs. 25 lakh.
It also urged the Government to suspend harsh measures like fine and punishment for violation of VAT during the first two years. It said it was not proper for implementing VAT in some States while sparing others.
The memorandum also opposed imposition of other Central and State taxes along with VAT.
The procession was led by Mysore Chamber of Commerce and Industry President H.N. Ramathirtha, Hon. Secretary A.S. Satish, Mysore Grain Merchants Association President C. Krishnappa, APMC Grain Merchants Association Director C. Narayan and others.
The bandh at APMC in Bandi-palya badly hit the farmers who had come along with their commodities.
The vendors of perishables such as flowers, fruits and vegetables at the locations of their daily business, however, carried on their trade without any hindrance.
The consumers heaved a sigh of relief for the small mercies shown by at least a section of traders.
Meanwhile, some shops on Devaraj Urs Road opened after the procession passed through. Some activists, supporting the bandh, were seen forcing them to down the shutters.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
ODE ON AN ODIOUS MONTH
TS Eliot said that April is the cruelest month.
And most of us would agree that February is the coldest.
But March is definitely the longest -- at least here in the Midwest.
I know this because on yet another dank, sunless day, my usually chipper yoga students will complain about the cold and snow -- again -- and ask why they have no energy.
"Because it's March," I tell them. "There’s no sun."
And as the month draws to a blustery, dark close, the students who aren’t out sick will start saying some very non-yogic things -- like "I hate March" and "Will this effing month never end?"
I see their point. They made it through February and are waiting for their reward. But this is Chicago. There is no reward.
It doesn’t matter whether March comes in like a lion or a lamb or some other Biblical creature. Because it always sticks around like a leech.
In March the average temperature in Chicago is 37 degrees, and 18 of the month’s 31 days are cloudy -- second only to December’s 19. And this year March began with Mother Nature dropping a bomb of snow on the city.
Sure, the first day of spring was on the 21st. But no one noticed.
And yes, there is always a day or two when the sun comes out and the temperature hovers near 50 and fratboys don shorts and blind us with their fat white winter legs.
The next day it will snow, of course, and the shorts and spring jackets will go back into storage (the baseball caps stay out of course).
But in March the snow never sticks around long enough to look pretty. Instead it stays just long enough to mix with the salt and dirt and turn the entire city an even more depressing shade of gray.
March is like a relationship that’s on its last legs but won’t give up the ghost. Both partners are compelled to flog it to death until the bitter end, making themselves and everyone around them completely miserable.
A week later the sun will come out again -- kind of like a wayward lover promising to do better. And he does for a day. And then goes back to his irritating old tricks.
Is it any coincidence that the third month inspired the terms Mad as a March Hare and March Madness? That last term isn’t about basketball -- it’s about losing it during a winter that never ends. This year alone sets a new record for random acts of insanity. On March 12 Brian Nichols killed three people outside an Atlanta courthouse. The next day Terry Ratzmann opened fire at Living Church of God in suburban Milwaukee, killing seven. On March 21, Red Lake High School student Jeff Weise killed ten people, including himself. Two days later a man opened fire at a plumbing store in Arlington Heights, Illinois (he missed). And on the 24th, Rockford, Illinois’ Michael W. Mitchell brandished a box cutter and tried to steal a gun from a store in Florida, so he could "take some action and rescue Terri Schiavo." (At least the Midwest is well represented here).
In early Roman times March was the first month of year, named for Mars -- the god of war -- and was actually designated "the time for resumption of war" (which apparently still holds true, seeing as how the US invaded Iraq two Marches ago).
Mostly, though, March just befuddles people -- like the woman with the $300 haircut who walked past me at Jewel grocery store the other day, wearing a flowered rayon skirt, stylish pink jacket ... and salt-covered winter boots.
Like me, she was sick and tired of wearing the same old down jacket and corduroy jeans.
So maybe I’ll defy the weather, too, and break out the miniskirt and combat boots.
After all, the cruelest month is just around the corner.
TS Eliot said that April is the cruelest month.
And most of us would agree that February is the coldest.
But March is definitely the longest -- at least here in the Midwest.
I know this because on yet another dank, sunless day, my usually chipper yoga students will complain about the cold and snow -- again -- and ask why they have no energy.
"Because it's March," I tell them. "There’s no sun."
And as the month draws to a blustery, dark close, the students who aren’t out sick will start saying some very non-yogic things -- like "I hate March" and "Will this effing month never end?"
I see their point. They made it through February and are waiting for their reward. But this is Chicago. There is no reward.
It doesn’t matter whether March comes in like a lion or a lamb or some other Biblical creature. Because it always sticks around like a leech.
In March the average temperature in Chicago is 37 degrees, and 18 of the month’s 31 days are cloudy -- second only to December’s 19. And this year March began with Mother Nature dropping a bomb of snow on the city.
Sure, the first day of spring was on the 21st. But no one noticed.
And yes, there is always a day or two when the sun comes out and the temperature hovers near 50 and fratboys don shorts and blind us with their fat white winter legs.
The next day it will snow, of course, and the shorts and spring jackets will go back into storage (the baseball caps stay out of course).
But in March the snow never sticks around long enough to look pretty. Instead it stays just long enough to mix with the salt and dirt and turn the entire city an even more depressing shade of gray.
March is like a relationship that’s on its last legs but won’t give up the ghost. Both partners are compelled to flog it to death until the bitter end, making themselves and everyone around them completely miserable.
A week later the sun will come out again -- kind of like a wayward lover promising to do better. And he does for a day. And then goes back to his irritating old tricks.
Is it any coincidence that the third month inspired the terms Mad as a March Hare and March Madness? That last term isn’t about basketball -- it’s about losing it during a winter that never ends. This year alone sets a new record for random acts of insanity. On March 12 Brian Nichols killed three people outside an Atlanta courthouse. The next day Terry Ratzmann opened fire at Living Church of God in suburban Milwaukee, killing seven. On March 21, Red Lake High School student Jeff Weise killed ten people, including himself. Two days later a man opened fire at a plumbing store in Arlington Heights, Illinois (he missed). And on the 24th, Rockford, Illinois’ Michael W. Mitchell brandished a box cutter and tried to steal a gun from a store in Florida, so he could "take some action and rescue Terri Schiavo." (At least the Midwest is well represented here).
In early Roman times March was the first month of year, named for Mars -- the god of war -- and was actually designated "the time for resumption of war" (which apparently still holds true, seeing as how the US invaded Iraq two Marches ago).
Mostly, though, March just befuddles people -- like the woman with the $300 haircut who walked past me at Jewel grocery store the other day, wearing a flowered rayon skirt, stylish pink jacket ... and salt-covered winter boots.
Like me, she was sick and tired of wearing the same old down jacket and corduroy jeans.
So maybe I’ll defy the weather, too, and break out the miniskirt and combat boots.
After all, the cruelest month is just around the corner.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
FUTZ-TUTZING
This morning's Mysore class was marred by the existence of two Futzers (people who dawdle), two Researchers (people who prep and prep and prep -- often with second series poses -- before going into a primary series pose) and two Free-Formers (there have been some minor skirmishes here between straight-up Mysore folks, who go by the book -- the book being Yoga Mala -- and those who see fit to add and subtract from and otherwise "improve" upon the practice of ashtanga yoga in their so-called Mysore classes... which means you get many different interpretations of the practice in Chi-town). In any case the Free-Formers were across from me, which meant there was no Dristi or inward focus but much marveling at their unique versions of the primary series... which in one case meant no vinyasa whatsoever, loud, earth-shaking jumping and backbend after inversions -- and which included Garudasana (Eagle pose) and various power yoga moves rarely performed outside of NYC's Om and Jivamukti studios.
At least there weren't any Locomotives (those distracting practitioners -- usually male -- who have no apparent inhale and force out their loud, short, violent exhale like Thomas the Tank Engine negotiating a steep, steep hill).
That said, it was good to practice at all, what with the sore back, tight hamstrings, hint of a cold and a demoralizing week dealing with Editors Who Can't Stand Me. (Did anyone else notice that yesterday was a full moon, Good Friday, Purim *and* the Hindu holiday of Holi? And earlier in the week it was the Persian and Bah'ai New Year!). So I could barely go into backbend today -- At least I was there. And, in the neverending month that is March (more on that soon), sometimes that's enough....
This morning's Mysore class was marred by the existence of two Futzers (people who dawdle), two Researchers (people who prep and prep and prep -- often with second series poses -- before going into a primary series pose) and two Free-Formers (there have been some minor skirmishes here between straight-up Mysore folks, who go by the book -- the book being Yoga Mala -- and those who see fit to add and subtract from and otherwise "improve" upon the practice of ashtanga yoga in their so-called Mysore classes... which means you get many different interpretations of the practice in Chi-town). In any case the Free-Formers were across from me, which meant there was no Dristi or inward focus but much marveling at their unique versions of the primary series... which in one case meant no vinyasa whatsoever, loud, earth-shaking jumping and backbend after inversions -- and which included Garudasana (Eagle pose) and various power yoga moves rarely performed outside of NYC's Om and Jivamukti studios.
At least there weren't any Locomotives (those distracting practitioners -- usually male -- who have no apparent inhale and force out their loud, short, violent exhale like Thomas the Tank Engine negotiating a steep, steep hill).
That said, it was good to practice at all, what with the sore back, tight hamstrings, hint of a cold and a demoralizing week dealing with Editors Who Can't Stand Me. (Did anyone else notice that yesterday was a full moon, Good Friday, Purim *and* the Hindu holiday of Holi? And earlier in the week it was the Persian and Bah'ai New Year!). So I could barely go into backbend today -- At least I was there. And, in the neverending month that is March (more on that soon), sometimes that's enough....
Thursday, March 24, 2005
YOU’RE EITHER WITH US OR AGAINST US*....
(or, why worry about foreign terrorists, when the homegrown version is so effective?)
Am I mistaken, or have more people been going postal of late:
February 24
David Hernandez Arroyo, Sr., using an an AK-47, kills two (inlcuding his ex-wife) in a Tyler, Texas courthouse rampage before being gunned down by police
Februay 28
Bart Ross kills Chicago Judge Joan Humphrey Lefkow's mother and husband (this occurred about two miles northeast of Satya's house).
March 12
Brian Nichols kills at least three people at an Atlanta courthouse.
March 13
Milwaukee-area loner Terry Ratzmann opens fire at the Living Church of God, killing seven (including himself)
March 21
16-year-old high school student Jeff Weise goes Columbine, killing ten (including himself) in Red Lake Minnesota
It's interesting that the Midwest is so well-represented....One can't help but wonder if it's all the unfortunate result of a too-long and too-dark winter (March Madness coming home to roost) or too much TiVo or not enough yoga / other hobbies or a reflection of what the gov's doing overseas or what.....
*From Bush's Sept. 21, 2001 speech, -- the last time the rest of the world really, really liked U.S.
(or, why worry about foreign terrorists, when the homegrown version is so effective?)
Am I mistaken, or have more people been going postal of late:
February 24
David Hernandez Arroyo, Sr., using an an AK-47, kills two (inlcuding his ex-wife) in a Tyler, Texas courthouse rampage before being gunned down by police
Februay 28
Bart Ross kills Chicago Judge Joan Humphrey Lefkow's mother and husband (this occurred about two miles northeast of Satya's house).
March 12
Brian Nichols kills at least three people at an Atlanta courthouse.
March 13
Milwaukee-area loner Terry Ratzmann opens fire at the Living Church of God, killing seven (including himself)
March 21
16-year-old high school student Jeff Weise goes Columbine, killing ten (including himself) in Red Lake Minnesota
It's interesting that the Midwest is so well-represented....One can't help but wonder if it's all the unfortunate result of a too-long and too-dark winter (March Madness coming home to roost) or too much TiVo or not enough yoga / other hobbies or a reflection of what the gov's doing overseas or what.....
*From Bush's Sept. 21, 2001 speech, -- the last time the rest of the world really, really liked U.S.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA
Today while attempting pinca mayurasana (a forearm balance with the legs in the air), my legs went all the way over and I flipped onto my back, emitting a very loud "Oh!" in the process.
It was more surprising than painful, though.
One wonders if jumping back from the pose into caturanga dandasana could be so anticlimactic.
Doubt it.
Today while attempting pinca mayurasana (a forearm balance with the legs in the air), my legs went all the way over and I flipped onto my back, emitting a very loud "Oh!" in the process.
It was more surprising than painful, though.
One wonders if jumping back from the pose into caturanga dandasana could be so anticlimactic.
Doubt it.
Friday, March 18, 2005
ODDS 'N (BLOODY) SODS
A Review of Bride & Prejudice from The Times of India (and I thought all those local papers lacked bite):
"The film employs the worst pre-packaged cliches about 'natives' letting their hair down at assorted weddings, as a classy, uptight American gulps in embarrassment while discreetly eying the pale and lifeless daughter of a middle-class family in Amritsar. Of course, there are shots of the Golden Temple to thrill the cockles of Britain's nostalgic Sikh community. What? No snakes and snake charmers? Relax, there's a hilarious Cobra dance. "
***
My favourite new web site is Badmash.org (thanks, Bindi) -- featuring really sharp desi cartoons. To start, click on issue #71: "for that yoga flame").
***
Oh yeah. I ran into the Vexx yesterday morn.
No, wait, he was standing by my bike after I taught two classes in a row and came out of the Habitrail club in a haze.
He had to call out to me twice before I saw him.
Stalking? It was snowing.
Apparently he's now driving a Volvo wagon. Apparently That Woman has sold half her apt. to him. Apparently...
Funny, the cat just threw up. While I was writing that last "Apparently"
Apparently he sold the recording studio and works out of her living room.....I mean "their" living room.
Apparently there was some need to tell me all this.
Apparently that couldda been me.
Most definitely I am better off (although three of the five missing lbs have come back home to roost).
I got off some real zingers, too.
***
That episode aired (erred?), er, occurred just five days after Jack and I went out to dinner with his ex-galpal and her husband and his (comedy) partner and intern. They were smart and accomplished but not to the point where you feel like a dullard. We were eating Death by Nachos and discussing various theater susperstitions and David Foster Wallace, etc. when some Liquid Sky-looking chick walked in. All the male heads turned at once. Turns out they were looking at Jack's most recent vexing ex.
ME: "So THAT'S why you wanted me to dye my hair blonde and get it cut short!"
ME AGAIN: "My god, Jack -- Half the women in this place have b*nged you!"
AND (hey, I had The PMS): "She looks a little pinched."
He agreed to the last. And a good time was had by all.
A Review of Bride & Prejudice from The Times of India (and I thought all those local papers lacked bite):
"The film employs the worst pre-packaged cliches about 'natives' letting their hair down at assorted weddings, as a classy, uptight American gulps in embarrassment while discreetly eying the pale and lifeless daughter of a middle-class family in Amritsar. Of course, there are shots of the Golden Temple to thrill the cockles of Britain's nostalgic Sikh community. What? No snakes and snake charmers? Relax, there's a hilarious Cobra dance. "
***
My favourite new web site is Badmash.org (thanks, Bindi) -- featuring really sharp desi cartoons. To start, click on issue #71: "for that yoga flame").
***
Oh yeah. I ran into the Vexx yesterday morn.
No, wait, he was standing by my bike after I taught two classes in a row and came out of the Habitrail club in a haze.
He had to call out to me twice before I saw him.
Stalking? It was snowing.
Apparently he's now driving a Volvo wagon. Apparently That Woman has sold half her apt. to him. Apparently...
Funny, the cat just threw up. While I was writing that last "Apparently"
Apparently he sold the recording studio and works out of her living room.....I mean "their" living room.
Apparently there was some need to tell me all this.
Apparently that couldda been me.
Most definitely I am better off (although three of the five missing lbs have come back home to roost).
I got off some real zingers, too.
***
That episode aired (erred?), er, occurred just five days after Jack and I went out to dinner with his ex-galpal and her husband and his (comedy) partner and intern. They were smart and accomplished but not to the point where you feel like a dullard. We were eating Death by Nachos and discussing various theater susperstitions and David Foster Wallace, etc. when some Liquid Sky-looking chick walked in. All the male heads turned at once. Turns out they were looking at Jack's most recent vexing ex.
ME: "So THAT'S why you wanted me to dye my hair blonde and get it cut short!"
ME AGAIN: "My god, Jack -- Half the women in this place have b*nged you!"
AND (hey, I had The PMS): "She looks a little pinched."
He agreed to the last. And a good time was had by all.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
NEW BEGINNINGS (?)
Did the war in Iraq start on March 16 2003? I thought it had. But after a Google search, I'm not so sure. Some news sources say it began March 14 or 15, others claim March 20. I think it's actually March 19. I supect that the people of Iraq and certain war vets remember the date quite well.....but for my sake let's say 'twas March 16:
-Two years ago the US invaded Iraq (the current death toll is some 16,000 dead civilians and over 1500 US troops, etc)
-One year ago (a few days before I left India) I got that e-message telling me my most regular, lucrative and long-running (8 years) writing assigment was being handed to my sub.* Some highlights:
" I think it's time to make a transition to a new....writer, and this leave of absence is as good a time as any..... Bla bla bla......various reasons....Bla.... not least the benefits that arise from making change for its own sake...Bla.... don't in any way interpret this as punishment or retaliation for your having taken time off."
Mmmmhmmm.
-This year I'm telling you that I'm teaching some 13 classes a week and my writing career is neither here nor there. I can barely go into backbend, let alone stand up from it.
That said, any yoga practice I can do is a godsend, the Shield is back on TV, the disheveled brothers are still in The Amazing Race and the Iraqi war vet has still not had a single flashback.
Except to old girlfriends.
Which is a whole 'nother story.....
------
*Who now apparenty works at CB2
Did the war in Iraq start on March 16 2003? I thought it had. But after a Google search, I'm not so sure. Some news sources say it began March 14 or 15, others claim March 20. I think it's actually March 19. I supect that the people of Iraq and certain war vets remember the date quite well.....but for my sake let's say 'twas March 16:
-Two years ago the US invaded Iraq (the current death toll is some 16,000 dead civilians and over 1500 US troops, etc)
-One year ago (a few days before I left India) I got that e-message telling me my most regular, lucrative and long-running (8 years) writing assigment was being handed to my sub.* Some highlights:
" I think it's time to make a transition to a new....writer, and this leave of absence is as good a time as any..... Bla bla bla......various reasons....Bla.... not least the benefits that arise from making change for its own sake...Bla.... don't in any way interpret this as punishment or retaliation for your having taken time off."
Mmmmhmmm.
-This year I'm telling you that I'm teaching some 13 classes a week and my writing career is neither here nor there. I can barely go into backbend, let alone stand up from it.
That said, any yoga practice I can do is a godsend, the Shield is back on TV, the disheveled brothers are still in The Amazing Race and the Iraqi war vet has still not had a single flashback.
Except to old girlfriends.
Which is a whole 'nother story.....
------
*Who now apparenty works at CB2
Friday, March 11, 2005
A SERIES OF ANNOYING BUT NOT-SO-UNFORTUNATE EVENTS
Apparently my latest radio essay aired while I was teaching open yoga to 14 people (one pregnant, one of whom hightailed it out of there before giving her last name)..... which just about covers the $30 parking ticket I received from a one-legged man the minute the meter expired, just after class ended (I also slipped on some snow-covered ice just before class, and tumbled down a half-flight of stairs, injuring my right hip, wrist and shoulder....Even worse, Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" is now lodged in my brain... and, hopefully, yours too):
"Satya
We were a bit short this morning, so your essay will be on around 10:30 this morning!
Sorry for the short notice…its unfortunately the nature of the business. I do have a copy of Online Dating for you and will also get one for this essay as well.
Best,
Manju C.
Producer"
The essay in question........
CONSPIRACY
By Satya Cacananda
I was driving on the tollway towards Chicago when my brother called to tell me -- again -- that I had to leave the city and move somewhere decent. He still lives in our hometown of McHenry out in the northwest suburbs , and calls me on my prepaid cell phone every time there's a scandal in the city. Which is often.
This time he was hopping mad about Jeffrey Boyle, the Chicago fire lieutenant suspected of setting fires. But he was also incensed with another Boyle brother -- John "Quarters" Boyle, who was charged last year with taking payoffs in the Trucks for Hire scandal.
Our conversation turned to Quarters' nickname, which he got after being convicted of stealing $4 million in change from the Illinois Tollway Authority.
I told my brother I’d opened two rolls of pennies for this trip on the tollway, and was preparing to drop all 100 of them into the toll basket.
I've been tossing pennies into the toll baskets for years out of principle -- the tollways were paid off long ago, and payments from motorists were supposed to be temporary. Pitching pennies is my one-woman protest, designed to make it as difficult and as expensive as possible for the state to take -- and transport -- my money.
But I didn't get serious and start buying rolls of pennies until after the first of the year, when tolls doubled for drivers who paid in cash instead of using I-Pass.
I brought home one of those I-Pass devices. But I don't like being coerced into having my movements tracked, even if it means paying double. And when I opened up the box and saw how much information they wanted from me, I decided to put off the transition as long as possible.
I don't like anyone knowing what I'm up to -- that's one of the reasons I live in a big apartment building on a busy street. But it doesn't stop there. I never use an ATM card, and pay in cash whenever I can. I buy magazines at the newsstand rather than subscribe. The US Patriot Act makes it much easier for the government to track the library books and videos I borrow. So I get what I can from friends. "They" can also track the TV shows we watch and the web sites we visit -- so of course I don't have TiVo or a cable modem. And when it was time to fill out the application for a Jewel Preferred Card, I used the first two street names that came to mind and created a whole new identity -- Lawrence J. Wacker. After all, I don't want The Man to find out I don't eat meat.
My brother warned me that I'd better not put my name on this essay. He said if I did, Homeland Security would be onto me in no time.
So this is Larry Wacker. Reporting from corrupt, beautiful, laissez-faire Chicago.
While she still can.
Apparently my latest radio essay aired while I was teaching open yoga to 14 people (one pregnant, one of whom hightailed it out of there before giving her last name)..... which just about covers the $30 parking ticket I received from a one-legged man the minute the meter expired, just after class ended (I also slipped on some snow-covered ice just before class, and tumbled down a half-flight of stairs, injuring my right hip, wrist and shoulder....Even worse, Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" is now lodged in my brain... and, hopefully, yours too):
"Satya
We were a bit short this morning, so your essay will be on around 10:30 this morning!
Sorry for the short notice…its unfortunately the nature of the business. I do have a copy of Online Dating for you and will also get one for this essay as well.
Best,
Manju C.
Producer"
The essay in question........
CONSPIRACY
By Satya Cacananda
I was driving on the tollway towards Chicago when my brother called to tell me -- again -- that I had to leave the city and move somewhere decent. He still lives in our hometown of McHenry out in the northwest suburbs , and calls me on my prepaid cell phone every time there's a scandal in the city. Which is often.
This time he was hopping mad about Jeffrey Boyle, the Chicago fire lieutenant suspected of setting fires. But he was also incensed with another Boyle brother -- John "Quarters" Boyle, who was charged last year with taking payoffs in the Trucks for Hire scandal.
Our conversation turned to Quarters' nickname, which he got after being convicted of stealing $4 million in change from the Illinois Tollway Authority.
I told my brother I’d opened two rolls of pennies for this trip on the tollway, and was preparing to drop all 100 of them into the toll basket.
I've been tossing pennies into the toll baskets for years out of principle -- the tollways were paid off long ago, and payments from motorists were supposed to be temporary. Pitching pennies is my one-woman protest, designed to make it as difficult and as expensive as possible for the state to take -- and transport -- my money.
But I didn't get serious and start buying rolls of pennies until after the first of the year, when tolls doubled for drivers who paid in cash instead of using I-Pass.
I brought home one of those I-Pass devices. But I don't like being coerced into having my movements tracked, even if it means paying double. And when I opened up the box and saw how much information they wanted from me, I decided to put off the transition as long as possible.
I don't like anyone knowing what I'm up to -- that's one of the reasons I live in a big apartment building on a busy street. But it doesn't stop there. I never use an ATM card, and pay in cash whenever I can. I buy magazines at the newsstand rather than subscribe. The US Patriot Act makes it much easier for the government to track the library books and videos I borrow. So I get what I can from friends. "They" can also track the TV shows we watch and the web sites we visit -- so of course I don't have TiVo or a cable modem. And when it was time to fill out the application for a Jewel Preferred Card, I used the first two street names that came to mind and created a whole new identity -- Lawrence J. Wacker. After all, I don't want The Man to find out I don't eat meat.
My brother warned me that I'd better not put my name on this essay. He said if I did, Homeland Security would be onto me in no time.
So this is Larry Wacker. Reporting from corrupt, beautiful, laissez-faire Chicago.
While she still can.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
SRA. LACONICA
The back is mending little by little what with help from the magical exercises in Pain Free (by Peter Egoscue, a big man with a moustache) and a visit to the chiro who's covering for my regular chiro. Turns out the new chiro's family's from Mumbai and his uncle is *a major producer of Bollywood fillums*. Although he's from Toronto and has never visited India, he's met every single star I named (all three of 'em) plus many I didn't. Can't wait to go back this afternoon....
That will be *after* a trip to Devon Avenue (street of Indian shops and restaurants).
Which reminds me. The competition to the Backwards R -- TimeOut Chicago -- has finally launched. It's coherent and easy-to-follow (unlike the re-designed, slightly dumbed-down Backwards R) and even has listings for kids' stuff... Not only that but you don't have to bend over (and throw out your back) to pick it up off the floor -- it comes right to your mailbox! ... yes, I'm kicking myself for not hitting 'em up for work after returning from India last year sans lucrative weekly Backwards R column. At the same time their movie listings are incomplete and the Backwards R covers things TOC would never even admit exist.......
The back is mending little by little what with help from the magical exercises in Pain Free (by Peter Egoscue, a big man with a moustache) and a visit to the chiro who's covering for my regular chiro. Turns out the new chiro's family's from Mumbai and his uncle is *a major producer of Bollywood fillums*. Although he's from Toronto and has never visited India, he's met every single star I named (all three of 'em) plus many I didn't. Can't wait to go back this afternoon....
That will be *after* a trip to Devon Avenue (street of Indian shops and restaurants).
Which reminds me. The competition to the Backwards R -- TimeOut Chicago -- has finally launched. It's coherent and easy-to-follow (unlike the re-designed, slightly dumbed-down Backwards R) and even has listings for kids' stuff... Not only that but you don't have to bend over (and throw out your back) to pick it up off the floor -- it comes right to your mailbox! ... yes, I'm kicking myself for not hitting 'em up for work after returning from India last year sans lucrative weekly Backwards R column. At the same time their movie listings are incomplete and the Backwards R covers things TOC would never even admit exist.......
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
BEAT ON THE BACK, BEAT ON THE BRAT, BEAT ON THE BACK WITH A BASEBALL BAT
(oh yeah)
Prior to Monday, I believed that people who "threw their back out" were full of sh*t; that the inevitable incapacitation and whining that came with it was a either a desperate cry for attention or a convenient excuse for breaking plans with me -- or both. Worse, I thought that if they were indeed in actual pain, it was their own fault for being stupid.
I take all of that back. Except for the last part. It IS probably quite foolish to repeatedly help tall, stiff yogi men drop back from standing into Backbend (and back up again, several times) when the entire time you're thinking, "This guy weighs too much! He's not ready for this. I'm not ready for this! Why did anyone ever start him on dropbacks? He should learn to walk down the wall instead, and open his own *&^%$#@ back......Why am I doing this? Mon dieu I hope my foot doesn't slip, and I fall on my tailbone! Please don't let my foot slip!" (There's less concern about Stiffy falling onto his head; having experienced this with Guruji in Mysore, I know it can be overcome. On the other hand, I'm still suffering the effects of a hard fall from Utthita Hasta Padangustasana onto my coccyx during a 1998 Mysore workshop, the trauma of which created an imbalance that has contributed to two hamstring pulls, wrist and knee pain, chronic S-I joint problems and thousands of dollars of therapy).
So yesterday while helping yet another Stiff Man back onto his head -- my least favorite part of the whole ordeal -- I felt something lock up somewhere around L3, and pain started shooting in every direction. Next thing I knew I was walking like Chaka from Land of the Lost. Every adjustment after that was a nightmare.
Ice, napping, exercises from Pain Free (a book that solved my chronic knee problem), liberal application of Traumeel (arnica) and the standing poses did little to help. While demonstrating the seated poses last night I was racked with pain -- particularly during the asanas with one leg straight, one bent. Tylenol PM and ice helped with sleep but as soon as it wore off it all came rushing back. *Now* I know what it feels like to be 40.
Of course the chiropractor is out of town.
And now my sad yoga practice is going to slip backwards even further...and when it finally resumes my hands will now be feet from my feet (rather than inches) in Kapotasana. Standing up from backbend? Not in this commercial! (In fact, doing it with splayed feet for 12 months probably contributed to this mess). Not that it's about *getting poses* or anything.
The good news is that I now have an excuse to get out of all and sundry obligations and spend some quality time sleeping in and bringing to the next level of intimacy my blossoming personal relationship with BBC America. And I'll hopefully command some much-needed attention in the process.....
Or so I think.
(oh yeah)
Prior to Monday, I believed that people who "threw their back out" were full of sh*t; that the inevitable incapacitation and whining that came with it was a either a desperate cry for attention or a convenient excuse for breaking plans with me -- or both. Worse, I thought that if they were indeed in actual pain, it was their own fault for being stupid.
I take all of that back. Except for the last part. It IS probably quite foolish to repeatedly help tall, stiff yogi men drop back from standing into Backbend (and back up again, several times) when the entire time you're thinking, "This guy weighs too much! He's not ready for this. I'm not ready for this! Why did anyone ever start him on dropbacks? He should learn to walk down the wall instead, and open his own *&^%$#@ back......Why am I doing this? Mon dieu I hope my foot doesn't slip, and I fall on my tailbone! Please don't let my foot slip!" (There's less concern about Stiffy falling onto his head; having experienced this with Guruji in Mysore, I know it can be overcome. On the other hand, I'm still suffering the effects of a hard fall from Utthita Hasta Padangustasana onto my coccyx during a 1998 Mysore workshop, the trauma of which created an imbalance that has contributed to two hamstring pulls, wrist and knee pain, chronic S-I joint problems and thousands of dollars of therapy).
So yesterday while helping yet another Stiff Man back onto his head -- my least favorite part of the whole ordeal -- I felt something lock up somewhere around L3, and pain started shooting in every direction. Next thing I knew I was walking like Chaka from Land of the Lost. Every adjustment after that was a nightmare.
Ice, napping, exercises from Pain Free (a book that solved my chronic knee problem), liberal application of Traumeel (arnica) and the standing poses did little to help. While demonstrating the seated poses last night I was racked with pain -- particularly during the asanas with one leg straight, one bent. Tylenol PM and ice helped with sleep but as soon as it wore off it all came rushing back. *Now* I know what it feels like to be 40.
Of course the chiropractor is out of town.
And now my sad yoga practice is going to slip backwards even further...and when it finally resumes my hands will now be feet from my feet (rather than inches) in Kapotasana. Standing up from backbend? Not in this commercial! (In fact, doing it with splayed feet for 12 months probably contributed to this mess). Not that it's about *getting poses* or anything.
The good news is that I now have an excuse to get out of all and sundry obligations and spend some quality time sleeping in and bringing to the next level of intimacy my blossoming personal relationship with BBC America. And I'll hopefully command some much-needed attention in the process.....
Or so I think.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
LIKE A VIRGIN......
From Howard Hughes wannabe Steve Fossett's web site:
"Three days before this particular attempt, he will go on a low residue diet of protein orientated foods like eggs to ensure that nothing upsets his digestive system and to dispense with the worry and inconvenience of mid-air of bowel movements. He will also be equipped with a pee bottle and a supply of diet milkshakes - which are low residue yet nutricious."
From Howard Hughes wannabe Steve Fossett's web site:
"Three days before this particular attempt, he will go on a low residue diet of protein orientated foods like eggs to ensure that nothing upsets his digestive system and to dispense with the worry and inconvenience of mid-air of bowel movements. He will also be equipped with a pee bottle and a supply of diet milkshakes - which are low residue yet nutricious."
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
LIMBO
No word yet on when the latest radio piece will air but today they did put on something by Aaron Freeman, one of the city's most ubiquitous and ________ writers (the "Council Wars" author's new stage show is running at the Apollo Theatre, next door to "Menopause the Musical"), so hopefully they've already run it or it's somewhere in the queue. As soon as I know I'll tell you. If not, I'll post the text here when I'm out of ideas.
In the past week:
-People in my class at the Fancy Seventies (lots of dark brown wood) Health Club on Sunday actually *listened* to what I said -- I doubt they've really gotten over their nasty habits of crossing their thumbs in V1, V2, Utkat and Parsvattonasana and sitting on their well-appointed arses and watching while I do vinyasas, *but* -- and afterwords a couple of 'em explained why; apparently *I* explain why we do certain things in yoga, "rather than just telling us to follow along." I usually explain things ad nauseum when I'm exasperated at their seeming deafness. I guess if it makes sense, they're more likely to do it (kind of like children, hmmmmm). And that from an ESL speaker no less (who also mentioned that he translated the entire class to his equally musclebound non-English speaking friend. Good man, that). Although it could be that they listened because my pink-pink top matched my way-too-visible-in-the-mirror thong. You never know.....
-After taking the Clubman moustache wax I gave him for a final spin and twirling up some really festive handlebars, Jack made good on his word and shaved off his beard, moustache and sideburns. This happened Sunday night, while I sat on the toilet and watched. Lid down. 'Twas a long and laborious process once the handlebars came off. Lots of snipping snipping snipping with scissors as red, brown and grey tufts flew everywhere. Followed by lots of foaming and shaving, interspersed with brushing and rinsing off the oft-clogged blade. He saved the intact part of the moustache for last; it made him look like an on-the-take cop. (Oops. Redudant). That was scary enough. Then he emerged tre clean-cut -- as someone much younger and far less serious looking than the Jack I know (two grey streaks in a beard can make a guy look positively professorial). I hardly recognized him. Recognize him. He also kisses differently (too much information, I know) and in some ways yes, it's like I'm cheating on him with him.
-On Friday me, Munkin and Jack went ice skating at one of the city's outdoor rinks, all of which closed for the season on the 27th. There was free parking, free skating, good weather, plentiful fresh air and lots of ice-space on which to suck at skating while tiny children whizzed by doing triple Axels (one pink-clad 'tween even tried to check me into the wall. But I showed *her*). Unfortunately the music they played is still reverberating in my head: the Bee Gees' "How Deep is Your Love?" , that annoying "Who Let the Dogs Out?" ditty and Lenny Kravitz's "Mr. Cab Driver," which they played complete with unbleeped "Fuck you!" Fun for the whole family. Can't wait to hear what they come up with next year.
-If you like The Amazing Race, which starts up again tonight, you'll love this very Satya Caca-esque take on Season 7: Media Fiends
-More caca here: The Brink
No word yet on when the latest radio piece will air but today they did put on something by Aaron Freeman, one of the city's most ubiquitous and ________ writers (the "Council Wars" author's new stage show is running at the Apollo Theatre, next door to "Menopause the Musical"), so hopefully they've already run it or it's somewhere in the queue. As soon as I know I'll tell you. If not, I'll post the text here when I'm out of ideas.
In the past week:
-People in my class at the Fancy Seventies (lots of dark brown wood) Health Club on Sunday actually *listened* to what I said -- I doubt they've really gotten over their nasty habits of crossing their thumbs in V1, V2, Utkat and Parsvattonasana and sitting on their well-appointed arses and watching while I do vinyasas, *but* -- and afterwords a couple of 'em explained why; apparently *I* explain why we do certain things in yoga, "rather than just telling us to follow along." I usually explain things ad nauseum when I'm exasperated at their seeming deafness. I guess if it makes sense, they're more likely to do it (kind of like children, hmmmmm). And that from an ESL speaker no less (who also mentioned that he translated the entire class to his equally musclebound non-English speaking friend. Good man, that). Although it could be that they listened because my pink-pink top matched my way-too-visible-in-the-mirror thong. You never know.....
-After taking the Clubman moustache wax I gave him for a final spin and twirling up some really festive handlebars, Jack made good on his word and shaved off his beard, moustache and sideburns. This happened Sunday night, while I sat on the toilet and watched. Lid down. 'Twas a long and laborious process once the handlebars came off. Lots of snipping snipping snipping with scissors as red, brown and grey tufts flew everywhere. Followed by lots of foaming and shaving, interspersed with brushing and rinsing off the oft-clogged blade. He saved the intact part of the moustache for last; it made him look like an on-the-take cop. (Oops. Redudant). That was scary enough. Then he emerged tre clean-cut -- as someone much younger and far less serious looking than the Jack I know (two grey streaks in a beard can make a guy look positively professorial). I hardly recognized him. Recognize him. He also kisses differently (too much information, I know) and in some ways yes, it's like I'm cheating on him with him.
-On Friday me, Munkin and Jack went ice skating at one of the city's outdoor rinks, all of which closed for the season on the 27th. There was free parking, free skating, good weather, plentiful fresh air and lots of ice-space on which to suck at skating while tiny children whizzed by doing triple Axels (one pink-clad 'tween even tried to check me into the wall. But I showed *her*). Unfortunately the music they played is still reverberating in my head: the Bee Gees' "How Deep is Your Love?" , that annoying "Who Let the Dogs Out?" ditty and Lenny Kravitz's "Mr. Cab Driver," which they played complete with unbleeped "Fuck you!" Fun for the whole family. Can't wait to hear what they come up with next year.
-If you like The Amazing Race, which starts up again tonight, you'll love this very Satya Caca-esque take on Season 7: Media Fiends
-More caca here: The Brink
Thursday, February 24, 2005
PHIL MIHOLE IN DA HOUSE (WITH SPECIAL GUEST LARRY WACKER)
I went down to Navy Pier today to record my second radio essay, which is about Chicago corruption and how I put pennies in the toll baskets and use a fake name on my Jewel Preferred Card. It may air as early as tomorrow.
Since it's my second one I'm hoping it's not a fluke.
This reminds me of this time last year, when, after years of trying and failing, I first stood up from backbend. I thought it was an aberration and would go away. When I was able to do it again, it seemed like perhaps I really *could* do it, and that it might even stick (which it has, but barely; even today I struggled with it and felt like the Heaviest Grrl. in the World). I'm crossing my fingers that I have indeed penetrated the well-guarded fortress that is public radio -- something I've been trying to do for years. So far, writing and recording these things is *so* much more fun than print -- these editors actually compliment and encourage you -- which attracts editors who offer a bored sigh and act like *you* should pay *them* to publish your work. I now like to think of print as Journalism's Ghetto.
With TV and film being of course Kenilworth and the Gold Coast. Radio is Naperville.
You have to eat ramen in Naperville, with what they pay.
But at least the schools are good.
FROM MY MYSORE DIARY, EXACTLY ONE YEAR AGO (TO THE DAY):
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
So yes I've been coming up from backbend for just over a week and doing pasasana (first pose in the intermediate series) since Monday. I didn't want to commit it to print because the moment I did (I thought) it would disappear -- seeing as how I spent *four months* trying to do this in 2002. (I was worried it'd be like saying, "Rumplestiltskin"). So let's hope for the best.....
TUESDAY 2/24:
So today I woke up exhausted and went to yoga and got the worst spot in the house -- the one right in front of the door to the lobby, where everyone waits, staring intently at what we're doing. And who is front and center but me. I chortled when Guruji said, "you go there" because I thought, "no WAY am I going to be able to come up from backbend in front of THAT audience." Plus I had sick people all around me, not to mention an EXHALER. This is a person who thinks ujjai breath -- which should sound like the ebb and flow of the sea / darth vader / steam iron -- is all about the exhale. They have a loud, harsh exhale, like it's a contest to see who can drown out everyone else, and a short, invisible inhale. It sounds like some old-fashioned steam train. This guy was SO LOUD I could not hear my own breathing. Worse yet, I started breathing like him. And then the audience was there to see an unusually clumsy practice. Plus it was breezy and I never broke a sweat. Sharath helped me in pasasana (first pose of intermediate series) and then it was showtime. I did four BB's. My first attempt to come up was aborted (ie, I fell). The second one was all slapstick but successful. Then it was time to drop back. I did a superslowmo in front of all of those faces -- and landed gently. I walked my hands in and came up a second time, with a little less comedy. Dropped back again and again; thelast time was worth an Olympic 8, I think. Beautiful. Then I did dropbacks with Sharath. I figure now that I've done it in front of that many people, I can really do it -- it's not a fluke or an accident. After two frustrating years I AM COMING UP FROM BACKBEND (most of the time). Very exciting.
I went down to Navy Pier today to record my second radio essay, which is about Chicago corruption and how I put pennies in the toll baskets and use a fake name on my Jewel Preferred Card. It may air as early as tomorrow.
Since it's my second one I'm hoping it's not a fluke.
This reminds me of this time last year, when, after years of trying and failing, I first stood up from backbend. I thought it was an aberration and would go away. When I was able to do it again, it seemed like perhaps I really *could* do it, and that it might even stick (which it has, but barely; even today I struggled with it and felt like the Heaviest Grrl. in the World). I'm crossing my fingers that I have indeed penetrated the well-guarded fortress that is public radio -- something I've been trying to do for years. So far, writing and recording these things is *so* much more fun than print -- these editors actually compliment and encourage you -- which attracts editors who offer a bored sigh and act like *you* should pay *them* to publish your work. I now like to think of print as Journalism's Ghetto.
With TV and film being of course Kenilworth and the Gold Coast. Radio is Naperville.
You have to eat ramen in Naperville, with what they pay.
But at least the schools are good.
FROM MY MYSORE DIARY, EXACTLY ONE YEAR AGO (TO THE DAY):
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
So yes I've been coming up from backbend for just over a week and doing pasasana (first pose in the intermediate series) since Monday. I didn't want to commit it to print because the moment I did (I thought) it would disappear -- seeing as how I spent *four months* trying to do this in 2002. (I was worried it'd be like saying, "Rumplestiltskin"). So let's hope for the best.....
TUESDAY 2/24:
So today I woke up exhausted and went to yoga and got the worst spot in the house -- the one right in front of the door to the lobby, where everyone waits, staring intently at what we're doing. And who is front and center but me. I chortled when Guruji said, "you go there" because I thought, "no WAY am I going to be able to come up from backbend in front of THAT audience." Plus I had sick people all around me, not to mention an EXHALER. This is a person who thinks ujjai breath -- which should sound like the ebb and flow of the sea / darth vader / steam iron -- is all about the exhale. They have a loud, harsh exhale, like it's a contest to see who can drown out everyone else, and a short, invisible inhale. It sounds like some old-fashioned steam train. This guy was SO LOUD I could not hear my own breathing. Worse yet, I started breathing like him. And then the audience was there to see an unusually clumsy practice. Plus it was breezy and I never broke a sweat. Sharath helped me in pasasana (first pose of intermediate series) and then it was showtime. I did four BB's. My first attempt to come up was aborted (ie, I fell). The second one was all slapstick but successful. Then it was time to drop back. I did a superslowmo in front of all of those faces -- and landed gently. I walked my hands in and came up a second time, with a little less comedy. Dropped back again and again; thelast time was worth an Olympic 8, I think. Beautiful. Then I did dropbacks with Sharath. I figure now that I've done it in front of that many people, I can really do it -- it's not a fluke or an accident. After two frustrating years I AM COMING UP FROM BACKBEND (most of the time). Very exciting.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
9 FILLUMS A WEEK, 24 FRAME PER SECOND
Last Monday, after a delightful V.D. meal at Mysore Woodlands that included thali and the pink rose-flavored ice cream, vermicelli noodle and tapioca ball treat called Falooda, Jack and I watched the final hour of Salaam Bombay! on cable. It's Mira Nair (Mississipi Masala, Kama Sutra, Monsoon Wedding, Vanity Fair)'s groundbreaking 1988 opus about street kids in Mumbai, and required viewing....(incidentally Nair and her crew practice Iyengar yoga on set).
The following night I saw Bride and Prejudice (see two posts ago). Then I saw Hotel Rwanda (and recognized the Hutus' guns -- AK-47's, with the banana-shaped ammo clips). Then it was Maria Full of Grace (also excellent). And then the Station Agent (an amazing must-see. And not Italian, as I had thought). And somewhere in there I saw parts of Motorcycle Diaries, Barbarella, Saddest Music in the World and the Shape of Things (the last *really* sucked).
The chaser, this afternoon (hey, it's been slow work-wise), was Born Into Brothels, which I saw with Larry David Midwest (LDW), who is known for making an impatient waving gesture towards the screen (to move the film along) when things get slow. This did not happen. We were riveted. The documentary follows the lives of some kids who live in Calcutta's red light district. The filmmaker, Zana Briski, lived with and photographed them; the kids were so curious and interested in the results (as are the kids in the Mysore orphanage near Guruji's new shala) that she gave them cameras to document their lives. Their photos were so good, and the children such quick learners, that she tried to get them into boarding schools -- ie; a ticket out of The Life. Briski (and her co-conspirator and cameraman [and, we suspect, partner], Ross Kauffman) is so hooked up she had a show of their work in SoHo, sold it at Sotheby's (to raise money for their tuition) and got a Very Important Photographer (the guy from Press Photo) to come to Calcutta to talk to them; one of the students even gets invited to view Famous Photos in Amsterdam (he had a hard time with the ice skates). It's been nominated for an Academy Award... and makes me feel like a dirty left hand for doing nothing for the locals in Mysore. Maybe I'll think twice about my actions there when/if I go back.....
So I went full circle -- from Monday night to Tuesday afternoon -- from 1988's fictional view of Indian street kids, Salaam Bombay!, to 2004's (allegedly) more *real* depiction of them, Born into Brothels... and they realy complement each other. So if you get a chance --...
....and if you're *really* feeling tough, follow them up with another heartbreaking view of street life -- Hector Babenco's 1981 Brazilian masterpiece, Pixote. Then follow *that* up with 2003's Bus 174 , a documentary about the highjacking of a Brazillian bus by a previously invisible 21-year-old street kid, which played out live on TV.
Then go out and "do sumpthin!", as a crazed fan once screamed into my left ear during a Blackhawks game (back when there was hockey).
Last Monday, after a delightful V.D. meal at Mysore Woodlands that included thali and the pink rose-flavored ice cream, vermicelli noodle and tapioca ball treat called Falooda, Jack and I watched the final hour of Salaam Bombay! on cable. It's Mira Nair (Mississipi Masala, Kama Sutra, Monsoon Wedding, Vanity Fair)'s groundbreaking 1988 opus about street kids in Mumbai, and required viewing....(incidentally Nair and her crew practice Iyengar yoga on set).
The following night I saw Bride and Prejudice (see two posts ago). Then I saw Hotel Rwanda (and recognized the Hutus' guns -- AK-47's, with the banana-shaped ammo clips). Then it was Maria Full of Grace (also excellent). And then the Station Agent (an amazing must-see. And not Italian, as I had thought). And somewhere in there I saw parts of Motorcycle Diaries, Barbarella, Saddest Music in the World and the Shape of Things (the last *really* sucked).
The chaser, this afternoon (hey, it's been slow work-wise), was Born Into Brothels, which I saw with Larry David Midwest (LDW), who is known for making an impatient waving gesture towards the screen (to move the film along) when things get slow. This did not happen. We were riveted. The documentary follows the lives of some kids who live in Calcutta's red light district. The filmmaker, Zana Briski, lived with and photographed them; the kids were so curious and interested in the results (as are the kids in the Mysore orphanage near Guruji's new shala) that she gave them cameras to document their lives. Their photos were so good, and the children such quick learners, that she tried to get them into boarding schools -- ie; a ticket out of The Life. Briski (and her co-conspirator and cameraman [and, we suspect, partner], Ross Kauffman) is so hooked up she had a show of their work in SoHo, sold it at Sotheby's (to raise money for their tuition) and got a Very Important Photographer (the guy from Press Photo) to come to Calcutta to talk to them; one of the students even gets invited to view Famous Photos in Amsterdam (he had a hard time with the ice skates). It's been nominated for an Academy Award... and makes me feel like a dirty left hand for doing nothing for the locals in Mysore. Maybe I'll think twice about my actions there when/if I go back.....
So I went full circle -- from Monday night to Tuesday afternoon -- from 1988's fictional view of Indian street kids, Salaam Bombay!, to 2004's (allegedly) more *real* depiction of them, Born into Brothels... and they realy complement each other. So if you get a chance --...
....and if you're *really* feeling tough, follow them up with another heartbreaking view of street life -- Hector Babenco's 1981 Brazilian masterpiece, Pixote. Then follow *that* up with 2003's Bus 174 , a documentary about the highjacking of a Brazillian bus by a previously invisible 21-year-old street kid, which played out live on TV.
Then go out and "do sumpthin!", as a crazed fan once screamed into my left ear during a Blackhawks game (back when there was hockey).
Thursday, February 17, 2005
SATYA'S CHI-TOWN YOGA INDEX
Number of yoga classes taught this week: 14
Number of students taught this week: 150
Number of pregnant students who left after ten minutes: 1
Number of students who flagged Teacher down to ask detailed alignment questions while the class held Mari A for eons: 1
Number of students displeased with the answer ("Don’t analyze -- Do!"): 1
Number of students Teacher then avoided like The Plague: 1
Number of students not with child (that we know of) who walked out early: 15
Number of students who got the “You skip savasana, you go crazy!” lecture: 12
Number who listened: 5
Number who then took savasana: 0
Number of yoga classes taught this week: 14
Number of students taught this week: 150
Number of pregnant students who left after ten minutes: 1
Number of students who flagged Teacher down to ask detailed alignment questions while the class held Mari A for eons: 1
Number of students displeased with the answer ("Don’t analyze -- Do!"): 1
Number of students Teacher then avoided like The Plague: 1
Number of students not with child (that we know of) who walked out early: 15
Number of students who got the “You skip savasana, you go crazy!” lecture: 12
Number who listened: 5
Number who then took savasana: 0
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
VENTRILOQUISM FOR DUMMIES*
My little radio essay aired yesterday -- 'twas wince-inducing for me of course, but not as bad as it could have been (apparently "Meigs" now has two syllables) -- and one of my friends, Lisa B, unwittingly caught it on the way to the hospital (she's nine months pregnant but it's TV pregnant -- like she strapped on a medicine ball. In any case she's *still* very pregnant). The website of the writer who helped ease my way, Amy Krouse Rosenthal, is here: mommymommy.com She has a regular ashtanga yoga practice, so go out and buy her book. At an independent bookstore, of course.
Jack tried to teach me some "elementary html" yesterday so I could put pix and lynx here using my very old, tired and cranky Mac. So now I allegedly know their version of Surya Namaskar A. We'll see if it works...
We had a screening of Bride and Prejudice at the Holmes Home last night (the always hooked-up Henry already has it on DVD) and even though it was pretty much shite we rather enjoyed it. The Bollywood sendup aimed at western audiences stars former Miss Universe (1994) and smart chick Aishwarya Rai, and is Gurinder Chandha's followup to Bend it Like Beckham; Chandra's an African-born Indian married to a Japanese American man, in case you're wondering. B&P is to Bollywood fillums what Crouching Tiger: Hidden Dragon is to Hong Kong films, if you ask me. At least the outfits were good.... although I can't stand it when they sing in English. But now we're planning to don Indian dress (why not?) and watch the real, six hour P&P featuring Mr. Colin Firth -- who isn't *all that* if you ask me. Ash is -- although she was *way* underused in B&P -- Colin ain't. (the 'Merican pop star Ashanti -- whoever that is -- also makes a scantily-clad appearance in the fillum). Apparently Chandra also hired top Bollywood behind-the-scenes talent -- including cinematographer Santosh Sivan, choreographer Saroj Khan and composer Anu Malik.... many of whom are visible during the credits. UK B&P Review
But her weirdest hire was Naveen Andrews. You may remember him as the scary Iraqi and former Republican Guard interrogator on "Lost" -- you know, the Jheri-curled guy with the non-Arabic accent who knows many methods of torture. In B&P he appears as a hot, bhangra-dancing suitor for one of Ash's sisters. WHO KNEW HE COULD DANCE? His real name's Naveen William Sidney Andrews, he was born to Indian parents in London in '69, is 5'9" and apparently moved in with his teacher, Geraldine Feakins (now *that's* a freakin' name), when he was 16! They have a son. Turns out he's now dating Barbara Hershey (does anyone else see a theme here? Not that there's anything wrong with that) and, fittingly, starred in Mira (Monsoon Wedding) Nair's 1996 film Kama Sutra: A Tale of Love. Who knew.....More on him here: Naveen's imdb Bio . Which reminds me. Is anyone else happy that that Seattle teacher Mary Kay Letourneau can finally marry her former sixth grade student? They have two kids together; she's now 43, he's 22. The story is here (I wonder where they're registered): teacherteacher.com
Which brings me to my next point. Incensed about paying thru the nose for cable and still not getting the Sundance Channel, the Independent Film Channel, BBC America and CLTV News (mediocre 24 hour Chicago news station run by the Chicago Tribune, and the only place to find out how much it's actually snowed), I made the call and ordered "real" digital cable. Which means I can now watch The Kumars at #42, the British show about the pampered Indian son who does a TV talk show from his home. It sounds not unlike that preternaturally old kid in Indiana, Michael Essany, who's been doing such a show for years on local cable and spun it off into an E! reality series last year. Only this is Wembley (outside London), it ain't reality, and comedian Sanjeev Bhaskar is the mastermind behind the whole thing. Of course it's now in its fourth season while we're just getting it here in the US, but at least it's something. It airs Wednesday nights at 9 Central on BBC America. Details here:
Kumars BBC America
*yesterday's photo has been moved to 1/23 -- "Musical Chairs"
My little radio essay aired yesterday -- 'twas wince-inducing for me of course, but not as bad as it could have been (apparently "Meigs" now has two syllables) -- and one of my friends, Lisa B, unwittingly caught it on the way to the hospital (she's nine months pregnant but it's TV pregnant -- like she strapped on a medicine ball. In any case she's *still* very pregnant). The website of the writer who helped ease my way, Amy Krouse Rosenthal, is here: mommymommy.com She has a regular ashtanga yoga practice, so go out and buy her book. At an independent bookstore, of course.
Jack tried to teach me some "elementary html" yesterday so I could put pix and lynx here using my very old, tired and cranky Mac. So now I allegedly know their version of Surya Namaskar A. We'll see if it works...
We had a screening of Bride and Prejudice at the Holmes Home last night (the always hooked-up Henry already has it on DVD) and even though it was pretty much shite we rather enjoyed it. The Bollywood sendup aimed at western audiences stars former Miss Universe (1994) and smart chick Aishwarya Rai, and is Gurinder Chandha's followup to Bend it Like Beckham; Chandra's an African-born Indian married to a Japanese American man, in case you're wondering. B&P is to Bollywood fillums what Crouching Tiger: Hidden Dragon is to Hong Kong films, if you ask me. At least the outfits were good.... although I can't stand it when they sing in English. But now we're planning to don Indian dress (why not?) and watch the real, six hour P&P featuring Mr. Colin Firth -- who isn't *all that* if you ask me. Ash is -- although she was *way* underused in B&P -- Colin ain't. (the 'Merican pop star Ashanti -- whoever that is -- also makes a scantily-clad appearance in the fillum). Apparently Chandra also hired top Bollywood behind-the-scenes talent -- including cinematographer Santosh Sivan, choreographer Saroj Khan and composer Anu Malik.... many of whom are visible during the credits. UK B&P Review
But her weirdest hire was Naveen Andrews. You may remember him as the scary Iraqi and former Republican Guard interrogator on "Lost" -- you know, the Jheri-curled guy with the non-Arabic accent who knows many methods of torture. In B&P he appears as a hot, bhangra-dancing suitor for one of Ash's sisters. WHO KNEW HE COULD DANCE? His real name's Naveen William Sidney Andrews, he was born to Indian parents in London in '69, is 5'9" and apparently moved in with his teacher, Geraldine Feakins (now *that's* a freakin' name), when he was 16! They have a son. Turns out he's now dating Barbara Hershey (does anyone else see a theme here? Not that there's anything wrong with that) and, fittingly, starred in Mira (Monsoon Wedding) Nair's 1996 film Kama Sutra: A Tale of Love. Who knew.....More on him here: Naveen's imdb Bio . Which reminds me. Is anyone else happy that that Seattle teacher Mary Kay Letourneau can finally marry her former sixth grade student? They have two kids together; she's now 43, he's 22. The story is here (I wonder where they're registered): teacherteacher.com
Which brings me to my next point. Incensed about paying thru the nose for cable and still not getting the Sundance Channel, the Independent Film Channel, BBC America and CLTV News (mediocre 24 hour Chicago news station run by the Chicago Tribune, and the only place to find out how much it's actually snowed), I made the call and ordered "real" digital cable. Which means I can now watch The Kumars at #42, the British show about the pampered Indian son who does a TV talk show from his home. It sounds not unlike that preternaturally old kid in Indiana, Michael Essany, who's been doing such a show for years on local cable and spun it off into an E! reality series last year. Only this is Wembley (outside London), it ain't reality, and comedian Sanjeev Bhaskar is the mastermind behind the whole thing. Of course it's now in its fourth season while we're just getting it here in the US, but at least it's something. It airs Wednesday nights at 9 Central on BBC America. Details here:
Kumars BBC America
*yesterday's photo has been moved to 1/23 -- "Musical Chairs"
Sunday, February 13, 2005
MORE SNOT, LESS TALK
It turns out I erred re;
when my essay will air.
'Snot fair, but appar-
ently they're full-up
with other (suckier) fare.
Now that that's cleared up..... my nose is not. 'Snot at all. Last week they reported that some awful dirt-particles are mucking up the air here in Chicago (moreso than usual) and there was -- for the first time ever in winter-- an actual ozone action day. Which did not stop me from riding my bike here, there and everywhere....So *that* could be what's contributing to my superhigh output of gob 'n' sputnum (they do the show after mine), not to mention my erratic breathing during yoga practice. Which reminds me. I've had three of my worst (ie most difficult) practices ever in the past week: all at once I'm weak, stiff, have no balance *and* can't breathe. Methinks someone has replaced mine own body with that of some 40-year old.
A mean little essay by a friend of mine (Tina Trash) appears on my friend Kai. Eric. 's wickedly cool blog site, which just relaunched as a de facto online magazine with famous (and not so famous) contributors and the whole nine yards : www.brink.com
It turns out I erred re;
when my essay will air.
'Snot fair, but appar-
ently they're full-up
with other (suckier) fare.
Now that that's cleared up..... my nose is not. 'Snot at all. Last week they reported that some awful dirt-particles are mucking up the air here in Chicago (moreso than usual) and there was -- for the first time ever in winter-- an actual ozone action day. Which did not stop me from riding my bike here, there and everywhere....So *that* could be what's contributing to my superhigh output of gob 'n' sputnum (they do the show after mine), not to mention my erratic breathing during yoga practice. Which reminds me. I've had three of my worst (ie most difficult) practices ever in the past week: all at once I'm weak, stiff, have no balance *and* can't breathe. Methinks someone has replaced mine own body with that of some 40-year old.
A mean little essay by a friend of mine (Tina Trash) appears on my friend Kai. Eric. 's wickedly cool blog site, which just relaunched as a de facto online magazine with famous (and not so famous) contributors and the whole nine yards : www.brink.com
Friday, February 11, 2005
BREAKING (INTO) THE (RADIO) WAVES
The following *essay* may or may not run on Monday (V.D.). Whether it does or not I *went downtown* and *recorded the thing* on Tuesday...and I wasn't as wooden as usual (or so I thought). I brought Pazckis ("patch-key," kind of like the dead Chicago artist), a traditional Polish Fat Tuesday jelly donut which originally came in rasberry and is now available in myriad modern flavas such as cappuccino, and which can be purchased one day each year at Dinkel's (www.dinkels.com -- family-owned since 1922). That's where we met Lois K. and Sunny Rae for perhaps our final rendezvous before their move to LA. More on Pazckis here: http://www.mariposamarket.ca/
In any case it seems as if this thing is just mundane and accesible enough for public radio.
***
Last summer’s nasty breakup had me a seeing two therapists. I lost two pants sizes, and vowed never to date again.
But a few months later I was looking good and feeling better, and my friends said it was time to start .
Since meeting men by chance had never worked out, I signed up for an online service and created a smart-alecky profile that would separate the men from the boys.
My first set of matches proved there was indeed life after the Ex…. If you like men with kids who want to date 20-year olds. I also pulled up someone I had gone on a date with a decade ago, and who had smelled like a barnyard.
.
My first face-to-face date was with a handsome, vegetarian MBA. Over lattes I kept looking at him and thinking, "You’re not X. Your nose is different from X’s. You’re more articulate than X. But you say just as many stupid things." Which would have been OK. But then it turned out he didn’t have a job and rarely left his house. We called it quits after just two dates.
Next was a third-grade teacher who was as tall as his ad had promised – most men add two inches. During our only date I learned that he caught every cold his students did, and hated his life even more than I hated mine. At least he paid for dinner.
The Serbian hiphop guy gave great e-mail. But we could barely speak with one another in person, what with his accent and my habit of speed-talking from thought to thought. I did glean that under Marshal Tito, people could travel outside of Yugoslavia, and many drove to Italy to go shopping. I also learned that he was even more negative and judgmental than I am, and after seeing a movie we never spoke again.
The physician who didn’t hate his ex-wife seemed like a good prospect -- despite posting a picture of himself in shorts. During coffee I learned how to get free treatment at Cook County Hospital. I also learned that I know his ex wife -- and like her a lot. We never spoke again, either.
I thought twice before contacting an Iraq war vet, but...WELL... his profile was as skewed as mine. Plus he could spell. After some exceptional e-mails and phone we decided to meet at Millennium Park at sunset. He was late and sported A LOT of facial hair. But he was a gentleman – not to mention an officer -- and shared my unpopular views about Meigs Field and corporate sponsorship of public places. We walked on the BP Bridge in the freezing cold and made each other laugh.
On our second date we talked about concrete and flashbacks, and on the third we saw a Who cover band.
On the fourth date we went cross country skiing AND ice skating – which we both do very badly. I also learned that facial hair isn’t so scary after all.
I haven’t thought about X since.
The following *essay* may or may not run on Monday (V.D.). Whether it does or not I *went downtown* and *recorded the thing* on Tuesday...and I wasn't as wooden as usual (or so I thought). I brought Pazckis ("patch-key," kind of like the dead Chicago artist), a traditional Polish Fat Tuesday jelly donut which originally came in rasberry and is now available in myriad modern flavas such as cappuccino, and which can be purchased one day each year at Dinkel's (www.dinkels.com -- family-owned since 1922). That's where we met Lois K. and Sunny Rae for perhaps our final rendezvous before their move to LA. More on Pazckis here: http://www.mariposamarket.ca/
In any case it seems as if this thing is just mundane and accesible enough for public radio.
***
Last summer’s nasty breakup had me a seeing two therapists. I lost two pants sizes, and vowed never to date again.
But a few months later I was looking good and feeling better, and my friends said it was time to start .
Since meeting men by chance had never worked out, I signed up for an online service and created a smart-alecky profile that would separate the men from the boys.
My first set of matches proved there was indeed life after the Ex…. If you like men with kids who want to date 20-year olds. I also pulled up someone I had gone on a date with a decade ago, and who had smelled like a barnyard.
.
My first face-to-face date was with a handsome, vegetarian MBA. Over lattes I kept looking at him and thinking, "You’re not X. Your nose is different from X’s. You’re more articulate than X. But you say just as many stupid things." Which would have been OK. But then it turned out he didn’t have a job and rarely left his house. We called it quits after just two dates.
Next was a third-grade teacher who was as tall as his ad had promised – most men add two inches. During our only date I learned that he caught every cold his students did, and hated his life even more than I hated mine. At least he paid for dinner.
The Serbian hiphop guy gave great e-mail. But we could barely speak with one another in person, what with his accent and my habit of speed-talking from thought to thought. I did glean that under Marshal Tito, people could travel outside of Yugoslavia, and many drove to Italy to go shopping. I also learned that he was even more negative and judgmental than I am, and after seeing a movie we never spoke again.
The physician who didn’t hate his ex-wife seemed like a good prospect -- despite posting a picture of himself in shorts. During coffee I learned how to get free treatment at Cook County Hospital. I also learned that I know his ex wife -- and like her a lot. We never spoke again, either.
I thought twice before contacting an Iraq war vet, but...WELL... his profile was as skewed as mine. Plus he could spell. After some exceptional e-mails and phone we decided to meet at Millennium Park at sunset. He was late and sported A LOT of facial hair. But he was a gentleman – not to mention an officer -- and shared my unpopular views about Meigs Field and corporate sponsorship of public places. We walked on the BP Bridge in the freezing cold and made each other laugh.
On our second date we talked about concrete and flashbacks, and on the third we saw a Who cover band.
On the fourth date we went cross country skiing AND ice skating – which we both do very badly. I also learned that facial hair isn’t so scary after all.
I haven’t thought about X since.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
TWO DAYS LATE
While in my angry 20's (ie; pre-yoga) Bukowski stage, I wrote this pome about the father's second wife....whose birthday was Monday*:
***
FELONY
Red lips
Red shoes
Red car
and Red nails
That bitch read my mail and threw it out.
***
*Which reminds me; my dad would have been 75 today...something I forgot until I was in the midst of devouring a cholesterol-laden Swedish repast at Svea II this afternoon. I slathered my limpa** toast with an extra pat of butter in his memory.
**traditional Swedish rye bread made with fennel seeds.
http://www.recipesource.com/baked-goods/breads/swedish-limpa1.html
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
NOW WE KNOW WHY IT'S NOT CALLED "LAST YEAR AT MARIEN*GOOD*"
Saw some of that award-winning 1961 fillum "Last Year at Marienbad" anoche and apart from utterly stunning set design and cinematography and the gangly creep who kept winning the stupid game (Put down any number of any object on a table. Take up as many as you want when it's your turn, as long as they're from the same row. He who ends up with one left loses. Or something like that) 'twas a bit of a yawner. Which one hates to say about such a classic. But one is saying it. At this very moment. And hoping it does not mean one is now headed for the latest Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler vehicle (for the longest time I thought they were the same person).
I wonder what they drive, anyway.
No I don't.
But if you thought "Bitchin' Camaro" (by the Dead Milkmen, who graciously appeared in my 1986 16mm fillum "Tina" -- a very watchable black-and-white masterpiece that was awarded honors at LFC) was lame, just try to slog your way thru this excruciating bit of drivel:
PIECE OF SHIT CAR (Piece of Shite *Song* would be more apt)
by Adam Sandler
Here we go
Piece of shit car
I got a piece of shit car
That fuckin’ pile of shit
Never gets me very far
My car’s a big piece of shit
’cause the shocks are fucking shot
And my seatbelt’s fucking broken
I got to tie it in a knot
(it’s a piece of shit)
I can’t see through the windshield
’cause it’s got a big fucking’ crack
And the interior smells real bad
’cause my friend puked in the back
(it’s a piece of shit)
(piece of shit car)
Piece of shit car
(he’s got a piece of shit car)
It sucks royal dick
(that fuckin’ pile of shit)
100% crap
(never gets him very far)
Oh fuck you car
It’s got no cd player, it only got the 8-track
Whoever designed my car can lick my sweaty nut sack
(they can bite his ass too)
And I got no fuckin’ brakes
I’m always way out of control
Eleven times a day I hear hey, watch it asshole
(you fuckin’ piece of shit)
(piece of shit car)
I got piece of shit car
(he got a piece of shit car)
Diesel gas sucks my ass
(that fuckin’ pile of shit)
That pile of metal shit
(never gets him very far)
Oh what the fuck did I do
What the fuck did I do
What the fuck did I do
To get stuck with you
You’re too wide for drive-thru
And you smell like the shoe
But I’m too broke to buy something new
Oh fuck me
Well the engine likes to flood
The car always fuckin’ stalls
And the seat cushion’s got a big rip
So a spring always pokes the balls
(ouch, ouch, ouch)
Plus the door locks are busted
I gotta use a fucking coat hanger
(what a pain in his ass)
And if a girlie sees my car
There’s no chance I’ll ever bang her
(he never ever gets da pussy)
Hey shut up
(piece of shit car)
You piece of shit car
(you got a piece of shit car)
You piece of shit car
(piece of shit car)
Bald fuckin’ tires
(you got a piece of shit car)
No rearview fucking mirror
(piece of shit car)
Seven different colors
(you got a piece of shit car)
Fucking rag for a gas cap
(piece of shit car)
Tailpipe makes the sparks fly everywhere
(you got a piece of shit car)
(piece of shit car)
(you got a piece of shit car)
(piece of shit car)
Oh the whole town thinks I’m a loser
(you got a piece of shit car)
Cabby give me a push
(piece of shit car...)
The above makes the creepy 1985 Dead Milkmen song below look like a subtle masterpiece of social witticism, er, criticism:
"Bitchin' Camaro"
- Hey Jack, what's happenin'?
- I don't know.
- Well uh, rumour around town says you mighht be thinkin' 'bout goin' down to
the shore.
- Uh, yeah, I think I'm gonna go down to thhe shore.
- Whadda ya gonna do down there?
- Uh, I don't know, p-play some video gamess, buy some Def Leppard t-shirts.
- Don't forget your Motley Crue t-shirt; y''know all proceeds go to get their
lead singer out a' jail.
- Uh huh.
- Can't wait to go down. Hey uh, were ya goonna check out the sand bar while
you're down there?
- Uh, what's the Sand Bar?
- Ah, it's a place that lets sixteen year-oold kids drink.
- Ah, cool.
- Ya hey, guess who's gonna be there?
- Uh, who?
- My favourite cover band, Crystal Ship.
- Wow.
- Yeah, they do a Doors show, you'd be reallly impressed, in fact, it goes a
little like this:
Love me two times baby
Love me twice today
Love me two times girl
Cause I got AIDS
Love me two times baby,
once for tomorrow,
once cause I got AIDS
- Uh...
- Pretty good Jim Morrison impersonation thhere. I hope those guys have a
good sense a' humour and don't take us into court.
- Uh, what's the court?
- Never mind that, the important thing heree...
- You mean the People's Court.
- The... Now, that's another story. The impportant thing here is that we get
to the part where you ask me how I'm gonna get down to the shore.
- Oh, how you gettin' down to the shore?
- Funny you should ask, I've got a car now..
- Ah wow, how'd ya get a car?
- Oh, my folks drove it up here from the Bahamas.
- You're kidding!
- I must be, the Bahamas are islands. Okay,, the important thing here is
that, uh, you ask me what kinda car it is.
- Uh uh, what kinda car do ya' got?
- I've got a bitchin' Camaro...
(1.2.3.4)
Bitchin' Camaro, Bitchin' Camaro!
I ran over my neighbors
Bitchin' Camaro, Bitchin' Camaro!
Now I'm in all the papers
My folks bought me a bitchin' Camaro
With no insurance to match
So if I happen to run you down
Please don't leave a scratch
I ran over some old lady
One night at the county fair
And I didn't get arrested
Because my dad's the mayor
Bitchin' Camaro, Bitchin' Camaro!
Donuts on your lawn
Bitchin' Camaro, Bitchin' Camaro!
Tony Orlando and Dawn
When I drive past the kids
They all spit and cuss
Cause I've got a bitchin' Camaro
And they have to ride the bus
So you'd better get out of my way
When I come through your yard
Cause I've got a bitchin' Camaro
And an Exxon credit card
Bitchin' Camaro, Bitchin' Camaro!
Hey man where ya headed?
Bitchin' Camaro, Bitchin' Camaro!
I'm drunk on unleaded!
But the best take on the subject of course is the Buzzcocks' "Fast Cars," from 1978's Another Music in a Different Kitchen:
FAST CARS
They're nice and precise, each one begins and ends
They may win you admirers, but they'll never earn you friends
Fast cars, fast cars
Fast cars, I hate fast cars
They're so depressing going around and around
Ooh, they make me dizzy, oh fast cars they run me down
Fast cars, fast cars,
Fast cars, I hate fast cars
Sooner or later, you're gonna listen to Ralph Nader
I don't wanna cause a fuss, but fast cars are so dangerous
Fast cars, fast cars
Fast cars, I hate fast cars, fast cars
Fast cars, fast cars
I hate fast cars
Of course they *are* British. Very British indeed. And, apparently, still touring: www.buzzcocks.com.
The song that's actually going thru my head -- for no apparent reason, although I blame it on that Marienbad film, what with all the French muttering and whatnot -- is the Stranglers' "Let's Tango in Paris" from 1982's "Feline," which boasts an awesome red, black and white cover and which I picked up for $4.50 at Wax Trax in 1983 (yes 'tis vinyl):
LET'S TANGO IN PARIS
Sentimental through the night
Sharing secret candlelight
We're a - way, every day
Laughing, joking, just sustains
Sit - u - a - tion quite in - sane
Flowing wine, quite sublime
Not so far for me to say
I could take you there to - day
Let's tango in Paris (x3)
You might find yourself with me
Share your glass of van - i - ty
We're a - way, every day
Not so far for me to say
I could take you there to - day
Let's tango in Paris
(repeat chorus until fade).
Or perhaps the song is there because of the album title. There is a porcine white feline under my bed at this very moment (Kirby is perched on the kitchen counter, awaiting dinner). This Lewis, as he's called, is here for three months while his owner is away in Australia... provided the two don't kill each other first. They both have claws and have been hissing at each other under the door.... and none of us is looking forward to the Formal Introduction later this week. But the water buckets are ready. And "Ballroom Blitz" is cued.....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)