Friday Photo
the horrifying power of nature

How's this for irony. Yesterday I wrote a silly, fluff piece that I contemplated posting for today, when the thought flashed through my mind to wait in case there was an image I wanted to publish for Friday Photo instead.

Sometimes my subconscious scares the crap out of me. Is it intuition? I don't know, but this is the last image I wanted to have to share.

Last night I went to bed with the usual stupid criticisms, concerns and complaints. This morning as I was scrolling through the interweb while doing my "morning business" and waiting for the shower to warm up, (okay. ewwww, but I know for a fact I'm not the only one who scans the web while performing my own personal download. And I totally wash my hands afterward which is more than can be said for a lot of sales women. Trust me. You do not want to shake hands with most of those ladies. Where was I? Oh yeah...) I found a flurry of tweets from my niece, Regi who lives in Hokkaido Japan telling of the huge 8.9 magnitude earthquake and aftershocks she was currently living through.

My heart sank like an anchor.

I read in increasing horror the links she shared to news reports regarding the wide-spread devastation, worrying for her safety. When she posted news of a pending tsunami with upwards of 23 foot waves, I felt sick.

She's a brave soul, my niece. She lives alone in a completely foreign country, literally halfway across the world and she's not even 24 years old yet. This is a terrifying ordeal to go through surrounded by family and friends, let alone all by yourself. I can only imagine how frightened she was.

Reg wisely hopped on a bus and fled inland to Sapporo. She finally met up with a friend with whom she is staying. Together they'll figure out how best to proceed. At this point she hasn't heard from her English friend, Reggie who also lives in Hokkaido or another friend who is living in Miyagi just north of Sendai which got the direct hit from the tsunami.

I don't know what's next for her. Whether she has a home or workplace to go back to is unknown at this time. She lives on a low-lying river bed on the east coast of Hokkaido. As of this writing, she's been unable to contact anyone in the region. Chances are a tsunami storm surge has flooded or worse yet, toppled the buildings there. All we know is part of it is on fire.

I have cried so many tears today, I think my eyes are permanently red. I just want her to come home. What do you think, Reg? I'll buy you a pony.

You know Twitter is usually full of lots of frivolous, narcissistic bullshit, but from this day forth it will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Thank you Twitter for existing. Without you I would not have been able to converse with my precious Regi, to know she is alive, to know she's safely inland, to know she's not alone. And for that alone, I will be forever grateful.

Twitter...you and me, we're family now.

That Honey Badger Is A Baaaaad Mutha... Shut Yo Mouth
or another gem from the vaults of YouTube

Okay, so one of the many great things about knowing a young, hip, Internet savvy chap is his ability to scrounge through the interwebs for funny fodder. Case in point, this video about Honey Badgers.



Does this thing ever stop eating? Holy Crap!! Moderation, Dude. Look it up.


Who knew these furry curs were the nasty, ruthless, soulless Gary Buseys of the animal world. Maybe that crazy Mother F**ker Charlie Sheen should start mainlining Honey Badger blood. Or better yet, let's start a reality show where Charlie gets in a life-or-death struggle with a Badger over the carcass of a venomous Asp in a desert far, far away. Yeah. That's the ticket.


Thanks again to Jimmy McParkway for uncovering this gem.

In Which We Chillax With The Spring Standards On A School Night No Less 

Okay, so I've been so undisciplined of late, read the last six months, that it comes as no surprise this event of which I'm about to blog all over is already a week old.


Blergh. Oh and sorry about the mess on your shoes.


Anywho, Geo and I ventured out to our favorite hole in the wall, Club Cafe, on his school night to indulge our senses with an evening of Spring Standards' charming pop musings. We've met Heather Rob and the two James once before at New York's City Winery when they were the opening act for my fantasy husband, the lovely blue-eyed one, Rhett Miller.


see that look? he's lost his place in the song
wondering when he'll see me again.
awwwww. 

See how I worked him in there? I know, it's a gift.

But this is about Heather and James-squared. These young folks are amazingly talented, playing two and three instruments each throughout several songs. Heather's voice is unbelievably clear, haunting and gorgeous. Hers is a lovely compliment to either James' crooning. And they could not be any sweeter, taking time to chat up everyone milling around afterwards. They've recorded an EP (produced by Mr. Miller), a full length CD and are working on a new collection of works funded by fans through Kickstarter.


With the continuing demise of traditional music industry practices, Kickstarter and PledgeMusic are terrific ways for established and up and coming bands to obtain the seed money needed to produce their next effort. Plus it allows fans to become a part of the process and support their favorite musicians in a small or large way. Both are an indie Godsend. If you're a music lover, check it out. It's a great way to feel a part of the team and you'll feel good about yourself, for a little while anyway.


The evening's crowd was sparse, feeling more like a house concert than club atmosphere, but that didn't prevent them from playing as if the room was packed to the gills. From the start, it was clear they intended to enjoy themselves on stage. They joked with each other and the audience all throughout their 12-song set.





Did you see how many instruments Heather plays at once? Amazing. And how about that voice. Again, amazing.


The evening began with two openers. The first a local musician, Justin Andrew who just happened to be a temp several years ago at the Special K. I had no idea he was this talented.



You can't tell from this video, but I swear his thighs were only as wide as my upper arms. Decent songwriter and performer, but he's in dire need of a hoagie or three. Seriously. Eat Papa. Eat!!


The second act was a solo performer out of LA, Joey Ryan. His stage presence was reminiscent of Steven Wright reincarnated as a musician--wry, understated delivery and humorous anecdotes.



It was well after 11pm when we exited the club.


*Gasp!* Scandalous!! We're such bad asses.


All in all, a terrific way to spend a school night.

"New Orleans Ain't A City, It's A Scar..."
or my boys blow up Tipitina's. literally.

Okay, so I have to share this because I think it's kinda awesome, but then again, I am a little biased about the parties involved.

Friday night Old 97's rolled into Nawlins for a Mardi Gras gig at the legendary Tipitina's. I've always wanted to go to Mardi Gras and experience that unique brand of debauchery first hand. Just ask Geo. I've been harping about this journey for years and he's mighty damn sick of hearing it. And now my favorite live band in the entire universe was going to mingle their off-the-charts energy with the craziness of New Orleans' hedonism.

And me stuck in the North.

Jealous, much? You bet your ass!

Fortunately there's this thing called the Internet in which others can gloat share their experiences with us less fortunate fans who are geographically challenged. One of these folks is Jeff Neely, chief administrator from the Old 97's website whose family vacation to New Orleans just happened to coincide with the 97's Tipitina's appearance. Serendipitous, indeed. You can read his full account here.

For this leg of the tour, the guys have been touring with an energetic, in-your-face, punk girl band out of Tennessee known as Those Darlins. These brazen babes are in their 20s and have been teasing the 97's all week about being old men, going so far as posting this good-hearted slam on their Facebook page, "Thanks Grandpas for embarrassing us last night in front of all of our friends in New Orleans! Happy Mardi Gras."



HaHa! Grandpas! I think I like these chicks. HaHaHa!

A fun time not to be missed, for sure, but the enviable experience of this particular show came at the encore break. The normal set up is the band kicks it through 22-25 songs, ending in a clear-out-your-sinuses, string busting, break-neck performance of either Four Leaf Clover or If My Heart Was a Car, after which Rhett returns to the stage for an acoustic two-song set before the rest of the band hits the stage for a 4-5 song explosive encore, finishing the evening with a sweat-soaked Time Bomb.

Everything was going according to plan... and then the bottom literally dropped out.



They ain't afraid of no power outage. Again, how cool and infinitely fulfilling is it to stand on a unexpectedly darkened stage, completely unplugged and listen to a packed house take the reins and sing your words back to you.

The evening didn't end there. Seemingly bewildered as to how to proceed, the lovely blue-eyed one had a brainstorm. Why not, in the midst of the land of unbridled hedonistic drunken debauchery, do a 180 and serve up a Salvation Army song of redemption.



Not the expected send off, but somehow poetically fitting.

My eyes are even more green from envy.

Give Her WHAT?!?
or Happy Valentine's Day from your friends at CBS

Okay, so our Mother Ship, CBS decided to be all warm and fuzzy this Valentine's season by showing how much they are concerned for the well-being of its viewers. After putting their collective thinking caps on, they produced this heart-tugging public service announcement. Better grab for the tissues now.



Wouldn't you have killed to be in that brainstorming meeting?

Clearly, CBS cares... about your "junk" jewelry.

Francis Times Two
or a double shot of Mr. Dunnery to round out the b-day fest

Okay, so as I said in the last blog waaaaaay back last week sometime (Jimminy Christmas, I need to update more often. Cobwebs are starting to form on my keyboard not to mention my wee brain matter.), it's uncanny how often we find ourselves able to indulge in a double dose of our favorite performers on the same trip. Case in point, Geo stumbled on a Francis Dunnery house concert in New Jersey the day after our Rhett show in NYC, essentially on our way home.


Going to a Francis house concert feels like a huge, warm bear hug from your favorite relative who is boisterous, charismatic... and likes to swear. A LOT. F**king A! Francis is big on hugging, and by now you all know how much of a hugger I am. LOVE it! Everyone in his inner circle is so welcoming and genuinely happy to see you, you can't help but feel a part of their family.

Geo, Francis and yours truly
just chilling in the kitchen 

We've been to so many shows now that we've seen all five of his themed concerts a multiple of times each. This, however, was the first time the hosts, Butch and Carole and their guests have ever experienced the personal performance laid before them. It's so wonderful to witness a roomful of newbies fall in love with an artist and his work. They laughed, participated in a few sing-alongs and teared up as Francis sang his closer, Good Life. It was lovely to watch them become enchanted by this amazing musician and his life-affirming message. As my ever-loving, Geo always says, spending an evening with Francis' positive energy never fails to make him feel good about himself in particular and life in general.


It's a great gift, that.


We hung out for a while afterwards, chatted and chowed down a bit until it was time for Francis and Tony to hit the road. We walked them out to the van to give him a present for his new baby girl, Elsie who was born on January 10th, as well as a six-pack of his favorite olive bruschetta. This stuff is like crack to him. Seriously. He cannot get enough. We've become his unofficial dealers. HaHa! Standing in the cold night air, we yakked, were invited to his house and got one last bear hug before they drove off.


The following Saturday, our paths crossed again, this time in our hometown in the familiar game room of our friends, Bill and Beth. As we turned onto Bill's road, a van was pulled over to the side. As we drove alongside of the vehicle, I looked in and lo and behold...Francis and Dorie, a lovely English singer with the voice of an angel, were pouring over a map, looking perplexed. We became their motorcade, leading them to the house.


Like any musician, Francis gets extremely pumped when he's working on new projects. He beckoned Geo and I into his van to treat us to a listen of his new works. So here we are, sitting in a van surrounded by baby items, listening to Francis Dunnery singing live to recorded music from his iPhone of his newest songs... for us.


Awesome.


The show was extra special with the addition of Dorie's magnificent, melodious and full-bodied vocals. She has an amazing range. Her relationship with Francis is so comfortable, it lent an extra layer of playfulness to his performance.


You know, if someone would have told us back in 1994 at the Mercury Lounge that one day we'd not only meet Francis Dunnery, but be part of his circle of friends, I would have scoffed at the thought as sheer madness.


Life is full of surprises when you give up and let it go.

Mix Together One Part Rhett With One Part Francis And Add A Sprinkling Of Friends To Taste
or the recipe for the perfect road-trip birthday celebration (part one)


Okay, so I have the best husband. Period.


This year my darlin' Geo took me on a Rhett/Francis weekend trip for my birthday. It is so uncanny how many times both of my musical loves are performing back-to-back in close proximity of each other. It's like the Universe cracks open his favorite fire water, gropes a few babes, gets all "I love, man"-ish and gives us a big bear hug of love in the form of musical musings.


Once again, Rhett was playing a hop, skip and jump away in New York City at the City Winery. We've been here so often over the last year, the kind folks at the Sheraton recognize us. I don't know if that's a cool thing or just, you know ... pathetic.


Anywho, we sat with our lovely Manhattan mavens, sipping on an amazing Malbec whilst being crooned to by the lovely blue-eyed one. Marcy's so sweet. She forced at gunpoint got Rhett to sign a copy of the Old 97's latest, The Grand Theatre (pronounced The-A-ter) with his trademark birthday message.

Hey, it's a nice sentiment, right?


And she found Steelers gingerbread men.

Zombie Mwelde Moore chases after Ben Asshat
while loco Tequila Toast Man hungrily eyes that loose leg  

Okay. She didn't break Mwelde's leg. That was an unfortunate accident occurring in transport on my watch. In hindsight, I should have taken that as an omen for the outcome of the Super Bowl. Blerg!


Newsflash! I LOVE Rhett solo shows. L.O.V.E.!!!


I know. You're surprised, right, but I just had to say that out loud. I enjoy the band a lot, but I think, gun to head, I prefer his solo gigs. They are so much fun, mainly because Rhett is more chatty, playful and witty alone. He's a skillful showman who really connects with and engages his audience to come along for the ride. He sincerely seems to enjoy himself up there entertaining the crowd. His banter is my favorite part. Just the right amount of humor and irreverence to fill the spaces in between his humongous 26-song set list. 


And the energy... my God the energy is through the roof. 


Turns out I wasn't the only person celebrating an anniversary of birthing during his self-proclaimed Chuckie Cheese night at the Winery. Two other Aquarians got a shout out and song dedication of Singular Girl (with the requisite Hydra refrain) and the standard Happy Birthday, Don't Die.


Eventually it was my turn. Now keep in mind this was the Friday before the Super Bowl and he had already been caught on tape saying how much he despised the Steelers and hoped they'd lose in this interview from Dallas.


I'm still a little bruised. I swear, Miller, if you weren't so damned cute and sweet and talented and smart and funny and and and ...


Anywho, so he doles out the b-day wish and dedicates the following song not to me, but to "her Steelers". Listen for the chorus.




Nice. Very funny, Miller. Poopy head.


Mixed amongst the many favorites, Mr. M treated us all to two new songs. The wonderfully Kinks-ish Perfume from The Grand Theater, Volume 2 slated to arrive in stores in July and a fresh-from-his-three-puppy notebook tune titled Only Home Away From Home perhaps? Sure, let's call it that. 

"Three f**king puppies!!"
(oh mi dio! el esta muy bonito.)

Then he brought out the big gun. Nicole Atkins entered the stage with her big gorgeous hair and bigger voice to belt out the best version of the girl part of Firefly that I have ever heard, outside of Rhett's delightful schizo self duo, of course.




He loves him some Nicole duet.


The two of them together were fabulous, finishing off the master set with a memorable version of Four Leaf Clover.




Even with all her long locks, she's no match for Rhett's flying hair head shake. He remains the master of that domain. I cannot speak for the other "domain". (a tee... a hee)


The evening's music ended in bad-ass fashion with Rhett, clearly channeling the rock 'n roller within his soul, up and kicked the shit out of the music stand sending those adorable three fucking puppies and the notes within flying through the air in a brilliant scatter. In the final chaotic chords of Time Bomb, he knocked into the mic stand and watched as the metal rod toppled into the audience, coming to rest on our friend George's head, before dropping his guitar, punk style, and marching off stage to the howls of another satisfied crowd. 


Rock 'n Roll, BABY!! 


The only thing missing was a full-on hooligan Pete Townsend guitar smash up.


Once George recovered from his head wound, he and Maria were front and center to liberate the set list. They were so kind to send it to me. Heaps of thanks goes out to them.

Why who's that noted on the list?
Holla!! 

The one disappointment of the evening was his absence at a meet and greet, or as John Wesley Harding likes to put it "grin and bare it", depriving us the opportunity to give him a hefty dose of royal shite about that dedication. All in good fun, of course, because truly I could never be mad at him. 


What a terrific way to start the party bus rolling. Next stop. New Jersey.