Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Old Fogey Music

So I ushered last night. Chicago played to a sold out house. The band, not the musical, which they must've been more clear about in the pre-show advertising because no-one stormed out of the auditorium when the drums started thumping and the fresnels started flashing, muttering "This is not the Chicago I paid for!" which happened when they were here six months ago. It was an usher's dream show: no opening act, no intermission, no never-ending encores--the house lights came up at precisely 10:00 p.m. and everyone went home happy, some already sporting tie-dye tour shirts purchased at the schwag table.

It was a day of classic rock talk--we discussed Neil Young's new album at the gym that morning, my teacher rhapsodizing how his music "took her back." So I'm finally at the age that every generation goes through, looking back at the music of my youth, associating it with excitement and newness while these young folks today must hear it as a kind of bygone. I can't imagine how jazz or swing left listeners tearful or breathless when it first came on the music scene, but now that I think of it with a brain of a certain age, both styles must have been thrilling and rebellious indeed. As was Mozart, wasn't he? Well, he's still pretty darn thrilling.


We're Not Self-Indulgent Whiners, We're Oral Historians! "What we've noticed is that bloggers aren't necessarily wannabe journalists, or people out to break news or get noticed by the public. They're writing for themselves, and their blogs serve as a recreational and therapeutic outlet for their thoughts," said Bill Schreiner, Vice President, AOL Community. "In a way, blogs serve as oral history. When it comes to sharing blogs and reading other people's blogs, we like to connect with people, learn about their lives, and find common ground. There's no pressure to write about a particular subject or keep blogs maintained a certain way, and it's not necessarily a popularity contest." Yeah, not necessarily...

I've decided that when I talk about my blog, I'm going to couch it more in terms of an "online newsletter" or something along those lines. (Dontcha love that word, "couch"?)


I recently read an article in the New York Times about how the chef at the Google cafeteria cashed in his stock and is opening his own restaurant called Calafia, based on a Mexican myth from which the state of California draws its name. What the heck? I thought. I'd never heard of Calafia before. Shocking! So thanks to Google, here's the Calafia story (spoiler: she's a black amazon warrior queen). If a new cat ever finds its way into my home, she shall be called Calafia. Unless she tells me different.


See those vases in the back, at left? My mom made 'em.


It's been a long day off that somehow contained a lot of work. Time for a Bud Light taken while reclining in a chaise lounge on the deck with HMS Surprise blaring tastefully from the boombox. I'm sure my neighbors could use a little culcha.


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