true patriotism

the patriotism rants always attract a fair amount of "concerned" reaction. here's a better way to say what i believe:

on last night's late late show with craig ferguson, jet li described his "one foundation" charity and its philosophy. "the world is one family. if everyone gave just one yuan a month to help others in need, the world would be a better place." if you look at his foundation's web site, (onefoundation.cn, and don't forget to click on the "english" button in the upper right), you can read about the simple steps being taking to channel donations to help those suffering as a result of the recent earthquakes and floods. no politics, and frequent use of the word "love" in its most un-ironic form and context.

now THAT is a patriot.

coloring-in the drawing

one of my first decisions for my new place was not to endure even a moment of milk-crate chic. (or would that be frat-house nouveau?) it was hard, but i put every spare cent towards the necessary amount of new furnishings (sofa, chair, end tables, rug, matching bathroom towels, kitchen utensils etc.) that would enable me to feel like i was living in a real place somebody really lived, as opposed to a surreal place somebody else had hoped to exile someone else to live. (if you know what i mean).

i was extremely proud of the results, and supremely comfortable with them and in them. (the ramen noodles sincerely tasted better for it). a few folks offered remarks for the amount of still-bare walls, though i never minded to tell them that it takes time for a quiet space to speak.

first my todd tevlin print, and now some original linda mccluskys and a vassilios giavis have joined me here. my son has caught the spirit, and a couple of jay hungate sculptures and a remarkable leslie macphail photograph now grace his room. the name-dropping i offer, not to aggrandize my humble sanctuary or myself and my odd divorced tastes, but to pay heartfelt homage to others who have found better ways to express their inspiration.

i walked home from lelacheur park yesterday evening in the dusky twilight, having experienced a sublime sunset in the place i belong and love best. the sun streaming in my window at dawn wasn't unwelcome even for its early hour, and how could i have pulled the drapes on the promise of such a thing??? i handle the guitar that will never sing as it should, and sit before the keyboard that can't say half what it ought, and i live here with the choices i have made, and the ones yet to make. it's a mosaic, maybe, but more like a line drawing that begs for a box of color--pens, pencils, crayons, it doesn't matter.

commemoration of the great upheaval

arlo and janis has long been one of my favorite newspaper comic strips. it's the source of my single most favorite personal punch line. ( "there is no right answer, is there?") it's also serves as one of the few mainstream media confirmations i've found of the "commemoration of the great upheaval", recently observed in canada to mark yet another example of north american socio-political sport.

in this case it's ethnic cleansing, and does it get anyone else's goat that so many here on this continent are so often so arrogant to preach "proper" sovereign behavior elsewhere, observing that one of the sovereignties here also happens to be one of the most recent nations, if not THE most recent nation, to sport a history of legalized slavery among our other socio-political pecadillos, among which would also be--pick one--capital punishment of mentally impaired citizens, incarceration of random foreign nationals in a lawless military enclave, invasion of random foreign sovereign states over fabricated covert intelligence, etc. etc. etc.).

anyway, i do find it worthwhile to note that canadians, somewhat unlike their less polite neighbors to the south, have found themselves compelled to mark in their history a travesty that literally does not effect any of their current citizens. (those affected having been deported and exiled long ago). we here in the us have government-proposed holidays to honor random victims of other peoples' violence, (to wit that scandalously mis-named yet otherwise solemn and important "patriot day", which, besides rightfully honoring those who lost their lives and loved ones to horrible violence, not only trivializes the word patriot, but also directly insults those commemorated by perhaps the single most important observance in the founding of our country, which would be massachusetts' "patriots day", honoring those who fought and fell during the first organized military resistance to british occupation back in 1775), but nothing to ever admit that we've ever been, in the history of our nation, in error over anything.

well, in my opinion, the "alien and sedition act" trails only the "patriot act" in its assault against american civil liberties, (which is to say that the "patriot act" has to be the single most heinous and foul piece of legislation enacted in this country) and i truly would like to know why there hasn't been any public observance proposed here to commemorate the great enslavement. personally, if i had to choose, i'd opt for a boat trip south from the bay of fundy over perpetual enslavement, and i'm quite sure you'd find a majority among those unfortunate enough to have endured both a near-fatal boat-hold crawl across the atlantic on short, rancid rations and fetid water and then enslavement afterwards, too, and not just because they wouldn't get a national holiday to mark their misfortune.

nope, aside from slaves who might have had it worse, those francophone catholic exiles were given a pretty raw deal. (summary confiscation of all land and property and immediate exile, as in, if you don't march off to the boats now, we're burning your farm with you in it). much like the deal some of my ancestors got being run off their land along the rhine by their francophone catholic opressors back in the earlier 1700's. (isn't it nice that europe and their european-style colonial heirs are always such equal-opportunity miscreants).

so what do you say that we take a day, just ONE out of 365, and admit to the world that we, too, have one or more of those pots in our past that contrast in just some small way to our kettle-calling caterwauling and illegal incaceration of the inhabitants, along with armed occupation thereof of their foreign lands. it might do us a bit of humble-pie good.

or, on second thought, maybe we could just elect ourselves somebody willing to call a "do over" and try to get it better next time.

"there's a lot to love about lowell"

i still don't think the "official" slogan officially bests mine, but it's accurate and apropos, and there's something to be said for that. for instance, did you know that monday nights all summer long there's a series of free concerts over at sampas pavillion at the lowell heritage state park esplanade? (aside the beautiful, historic and scenic merrimack river off pawtucket boulevard, across from the heritage farms ice cream stand, where they also coincidentally run a classic car night at the same time). last night i caught bryan paro and the tired horses, and not only weren't they, but, as mentioned as happens often in beautiful, historic and scenic lowell massachusetts earlier in this blog, a good time was had by all.

it's perhaps not the crowds nor the scene of boardinghouse park, but somewhere nice to ride on ones bicycle on a warm summer evening, and an extremely pleasant place from which to enjoy some good music. (though you might want to bring your blanket and your bug spray if you're camping out for the whole show).

and a good time was had by all

the late returns from the folk festival still continue to wander in. this just in from reporter robert mills in today's lowell sun:

"a park ranger pulled an intoxicated man out of the pawtucket canal [hey! that's the one that runs right behind my place!] off dutton street saturday night, but the man escaped without serious injury, police said. police and firefighters were called to the canal, near the locks off dutton street, about 9:30pm, for a report of a man in the water. park ranger dan kuja was close by though, and got to the scene and got the man out of the water before other emergency crews arrived. police did not immediately have information on the man's identity. he was not seriously hurt."

or, in other words, "hey, didja hear about the drunk guy that jumped into the canal saturday night?"

all i have to say was that it wasn't me!

mind the gaps

i started this blog thingy to capture what might otherwise go missing among my thoughts, and purely for myself. interestingly enough, it has created both that for me, as well as its own sort of negative image of the rest, where fuller time appears as empty between posts. in case anyone might have been worried--just consider every silent moment since the 24th of july as the stylistic musical, artistic and epicurean counterpoint to the fullness that is the lowell folk festival.

i think i most thoroughly enjoyed hearing the common thread that linked for me the sounds of west africa, cape verde, hispaniola, and louisiana, with my enjoyment peaking en la bontemps. (please take my word that jeffrey broussard and his creole cowboys are worth catching anytime, anywhere). i was struck by how common rhythms, instrumentations and vocal stylings morphed and yet held true. kind of like how i found the architecture of historic london to evoke for me my last summer's sojourn from morocco to andalusia to england, where the fingerprints of the moors and the romans and the anglo saxons comingled as they evolved.

and here i stand...

and it put me in mind of frank morey's "red brick town", and how there's a lot out there that got us to where we are today, and if it wasn't for the gaps in our memories, we'd see it all beside the beauty that we prefer.

and there's no question to me, as i hear most frequently there isn't from just about everybody who's ears i've bent in the last six months, that i'm crazy 'bout a red brick town.

tito's ulcer

masterson, masterson, where for art have thou been, masterson!

hats off to manny d for a good night's pitching, (he's like the dr. jekyll of bullpen work, only when he's not mr. hyde), but just consider what it's GOT to do to tito's digestive system to have a choice like hansen, lopez or timlin to try to save a game these days, three runs up or one. and i don't mean to dis mike timlin, because he's chewed up and swallowed more key innings for the sox since '03 than anybody else in that little pen o' horrors, though lets all also agree that his 6.00 era, and 1.67 whip this year aren't what he used to be. i'm just glad it was seattle, not a genuine major league team, that loaded the bases against hand-em-two-hits-and-a-walk hansen in the 12th last night. i simply don't know how the franconaman sleeps at night...

nice to see lowrie hitting seventh, and playing that solid shortstop we've all been waiting for. with any luck, we're seeing the infield of the future these days, and at least that part of our game is looking better.

now, theo, about that bullpen...

l'alpe d'huez

l'alpe d'huez is, hands down, my all time favorite cycling course and finish. it's the kind of terrain that the timid refuse even to walk up, let alone try to pedal without falling over, and if you're racing 150+ of the best of the world's best on nothing but bicycles and adrenaline, you've got yourself a recipe for a quick heartbreak of the most literal kind.

today not my favorite spaniard, but close enough and who's counting anyway, carlos sastre, positively bludgeoned the rest of the tour de france field into contrite submission, pulling away by more than two minutes on the final climb, with the gap getting wider, not smaller, as the main group of contenders desperately tried not to be knocked clean off the mountain. sure, cadel evans is still within about a minute and a half overall, with his specialty, the big time trial, coming up on saturday, but today was sastre's day, and he's made the most of it. more often than not, the rider that conquers l'alpe d'huez is the one wearing le maillot jaune in paris, and in this case we surely have a worthy candidate.

perhaps just as impressive today were the rides of the brothers schleck in sastre's csc team cadre. no other team was capable of placing as many domestiques in the main group making the final assault on the peak as csc, and no other team did as much to catapult their man into contention on the final climb. and then, after brutally wearing down every other contender, including cadel evans, the right honorable andy schleck, beneath a canopy of luxembourgian flags for he and his brother frank, (who is coincidentally in second place overall), calmly pedaled his bike alongside that of the vainly struggling (spaniard again) samuel sanchez, and snagged third for the stage, right ahead of (spaniard again!) alejandro valverde. russians efemkin and menchove then sandwiched aussie cadel evans, followed closely by christian vandevelde and third-in-the-tour (german) bernhard kohl. nobody else could endure the test.

not for nothing, but, in addition to big threat cadel evans, christian vandevelde, the surprise yank power in the race, sits impressively in 6th, less than 5 minutes back, and my favorite spaniard, alejandro valverde, just behind him within 5 1/2, so there's a lot of quality not an impossible distance behind. kohl and schleck (frank) and menchov will also be giving it their all down the stretch, but i think it's going to take minor miracles for anyone beyond evans to give sastre his run down the champs d'elysee.

a great day to be a bike racing fan!

carey ott

yesterday evening's spinners game was suspended after 4, 2-2, because of a decent helping of summer rain, and, like any self-respecting ball fan, my first refuge was taken at the closest proximate watering hole, in this case, the sparkling new and clean lowell beer works. (thumbs up on the victory red). greeting us upon our arrival, in addition to a number of very pleasant hostesses and barmen, was the warmly familiar melody to "am i just one" by one mr. carey ott. its screen was left-of-center (among the big hits collection of music now videos from folks like eric clapton et al), aside the front-and-center and soundless red sox pregame show, and the right (but hardly, though rightly soundless) espn texas hold'em extravanganza. (poker on tv, like baseball, gets pretty repetitive if all you show are the big hands and highlights).

we can trash the poker later if you want, but it's hardly fitting to sound peevish when such a sublimely wonderful musical experience can be had just for free, within steps of jeff natale's ongoing hitting clinic over at lelacheur.

it won't surprise regular readers to learn that i first learned of mr. carey ott from his collection of tunes on amiestreet.com. you know i was able to get 'em all for the proverbial song because that's what i do there, but even now the collection is still less than six bucks, and, therefore, a veritable musical bargain, so no reason not to take advantage of better late than never and give 'em a try. (the samples are free, so no excuse to get a little familiar at least).

it's one of those moments for me when my simple, under-the-radar social and cultural existence feels validated, and that feeling is pretty damn good. nah, i didn't and i don't need the validation to keep living and enjoying life as i do, (and snagging great stuff for next ta nuthin on amiestreet, like adam ezra's latest that you ought to check out too), and it doesn't lessen the joy of music that doesn't get picked up for rotation on the more conventional outlets, either. it's just a chance to remind folks who haven't yet gotten it, that paying $10 or $12 or $15 for a cd isn't just plain wrong, it's also strangling BETTER artists who are putting their best stuff out there for fair and for better for us all.

i heard rumors that there might be something new in the offing from populuxe, (no word on when, sorry), and the day that this happens, there'll be a listening party at my place and more blog posts persistently bending your ear that you really ought to get it.

life is good.

holy imax batman

i played a little hooky yesterday to catch the dark knight at the imax in reading, and i've never felt more rewarded for the price of my admission to a movie theater ever before. josef von sternberg once opined that the mark of a good film is how enjoyable it would be to watch upside down and backward, and here we have a decent nomination for the keeper of that flame. i've heard various reviewers and sundry claim disappointment and/or disaffection for their experience, but i, for one, felt exhilirated and wholly satisfied for what i got.

it helps that the imax seats shake whenever the bat pod rockets across the screen, (von sternberg never had such literal parlor tricks at his disposal), but most of all that heath ledger did something no young actor of his limited experience could ever rightly aspire to do, which is take a nicholson character and turn it inside out and lay it all on the table to make jack look like a very, very dull boy. the kids and i caught the keaton version on tv this past weekend, and i'm here to tell you that, no matter what you might recall, the present contrasts are stark and striking, and in no way complementary to the ridiculous farce that we all used to think was so cool. "i'm batman" was a cute line, but "you complete me" was both gut-wrenchingly terrifying, and ribaldly hysterical at the same time. who knows, maybe it was somewhat to do with the fact that mr. ledger was six stories tall when he delivered the line as i saw it, but my sense is that even a smaller screen could never hope to contain all of that performance.

color me highly satisfied.

now, on a serious film criticism note, i'm sure the logical flaws (i.e. gaping holes, like somehow one man having the time to load a couple of ferries to the brim with gasoline and explosives without anybody noticing) might cause some folks unrehearsed in the "suspension of disbelief" theory of filmgoing to feel like they just aren't quite along for the far-fetched ride. and i can respect that. but if anyone is willing to play along, here's a two and a half hour thrill ride that won't let up nor let you down. good and evil. hero and villain. love and loss. it's a comic book thrill ride from one extreme to each other, and no excuses or pretensions to be more than it is. just good, simple summer fun, and an honest attempt to show you things you've never quite seen that way before.

so don't skimp on the little screens if you can help it, or come unprepared to throw your whole self into the milieu. forget that you know it's not real, and, instead, pretend that it is. now you're reading a comic book, and now you're ready to live, gotham-style.

i'm going back again next week, who's with me?

oh, and because i know you're wondering

the revs, already assured a second round spot, still felt compelled to come back and tie chivas usa to knock the farm boys out of the tournament this past sunday night. they earn themselves a piece of atlante on wednesday, home in foxoborough, while the dynamo (yes, those guys who spanked atlante 4-nil in the opening game) set up to take on pachuca tonight, home in tx. not for nothing, but getting another shot at houston in a meaningful game would be a wonderful thing. put me down as seeing an all-american final put away by khelli dube off the lightning-quick feet of sainey nyassi, and an entire nation of mexicans embarrassed to be shown lacking at the game they used to play so well. or, not, you just have to watch to find out.

reasons to be cheerful, part next

tek finally flashed a bat last night, (tito was quoted that he'll never ph for his catcher, and observing how he endured pedroia's o-fer april and may last year, i believe him), and the shortstop position slash number 9 hole in the batting order was 2-3 with a walk and 2 rbi. for those of us who are counting, that's 9 rbi and not a single error in 22 games, vs. 22 rbi and 16 errors (.945 fielding pct) in 82 games. so, theo/tito/red sox nation, which ss would you start? (and wasn't it a measure of where things stand in the pen that pap had to go one and two thirds with a four run lead?)

reasons not to be cheerful

watching the pen gift-wrap wake's gems to the opposition is a very unsatisfying way to finish a ball game.

looks like theo won't be done with just a (potential, based on the emergence of one mr. jed carlson lowrie, not to be confused with mr. jethro jonathan robert papelbon) shortstop. this bullpen needs serious help.

speaking of which, and, no, i absolutely do not mean to imply this is anything but the logical equivalent of a spare container of gasoline being stored in the shed which should never be used to try to douse a conflagration happening over at the barbecue pit, one mr. kyle ehren snyder is rehabbing over at lelacheur with shangri-lowell's very own spinners. not big papi down in pawtucket, but we did see bobby kielty the other week, and there's a lot to love about being able to walk over to see a game, if you haven't noticed me mentioning it yet.

:-)

reasons to be cheerful, part...

i received in my inbox today the latest demo recording from one of my life's favorite musicians. it's a song that, like so many of his others, speaks to me as well as inspires for nothing more complicated than how wonderful it sounds. for that alone i'm indeed a lucky man, but it occurs to me that few people will ever know this experience--to be correspondent with an artist whose art is of such immediacy and currency that it leaves one both at once a fan and an acolyte. (kinda like i feel about being a citizen of lowell, too, come to think of it). who else gets to enjoy such things?

imagine john lennon sending you the rough cuts of "imagine" while he was still working it out for himself in the studio. pretend that big papi asked you to hang out with him at mccoy stadium while he works on his home run swing. (got one in his first game back, not too shabby!) try to envision someone you deeply admire honoring that admiration with their personal generosity and trust, and then multiply by 10, and then you'll start to come close to how i feel about it.

it's inspiring. humbling. deeply rewarding. a catalyst to ones own expression. the best present a guy could have on a day otherwise beset with challenge.

"if you see her tell her i'm not really mad / but i had to go before it got too bad".

no lie, that's how it begins.

and if you could only hear the solo that leaps from the break...

well, you can do whatever you want to us, but we're not going to sit here and let you bad-mouth the united states of america

yes, the immortal words of eric stratton, rush chairman (he's damn glad to meet you) still ring true today, which is a worthwhile reminder, because, paraphrasing from doug neidermeyer, sergeant at arms, "we have received more than two dozen reports of individual acts of perversion so profound and disgusting that decorum prohibits listing them here." (or, alternately, "fun with ex's").

this little exercise in self-expression has failed it's original mandate to provide a safe outlet for things that need to be said--not because it's not still here to help say them, but because i realize there isn't going to be any good to come from my explaining how it all went down, given the present size of the peanut gallery. sadly, no matter what the offense, or righteous the victim, it's still he said/she said and the classic daily dance of divorce, and it only serves to make all look petty and bitter for either one to voice a complaint. so, better to be thought a fool than to open ones mouth and remove all doubt, i'll just let you imagine what you will, and remain confident that it's my lot to suffer this part of my life in self-imposed silence, because there's nothing better that could possibly be done about it.

even the music got rained upon...

the season pass pays off

last night i had the pleasure of experiencing four remarkable musicians making some incredibly beautiful music together. bela fleck, abigail washburn, casey driessen and ben sollee combined to give the lowell summer music series audience something that i'm quite sure none of us (who hadn't seen them before) could have imagined before seeing and hearing for ourselves. from chinese folk music to a good old fashioned bluegrass banjo/fiddle feud, there was something from every point on the globe, and everywhere in between. (if you've never heard an illinois farm girl raised on appalachian clawhammer banjo, singing in fluent chinese, i guarantee you have more to experience in your life). bela fleck has been nominated for grammys in more categories than any other artist, living or passed, and if he isn't the banjo personified, then earl scruggs (the man who literally invented three-finger banjo, and you know how tasty that sounds from your nostalgic recollections of the theme from the beverly hillbillies) is getting just due as having invented what bela takes somewhere incredible and impossible to anticipate. and though bela and abby shared the top billing, what an understatement are the talents of the remaining half of the sparrow quartet. casey driessen on the fiddle creates an incredible range of sound, most notably something i can only describe as a pizzacato scraping, chopping and purely percussive drive that intersperses his fills and runs on the violin and provides an incredibly powerful frame onto which the sparrow sound is laid. (i went looking and found casey covering boogie on reggae woman accompanied by ben sollee at last year's grey fox festival that'll give you a little taste). but the highlight of the evening, bar none, was ben sollee's solo turn at it's not impossible (boys don't cry) and if you can ignore all the accompanying instruments on this linked recording, and focus just in on the cello that he makes sound like an incredibly full and fluent guitar on the verses (it's there, but you wouldn't believe it if you didn't know what to listen for, and you have to tune out the banjos and horns and other distractions that get in the way on this version). brought the house down, and everyone was still talking about it long after the encores were over.

and i have to say there would have been slim chances that i'd have made the effort to catch this show if it wasn't already part of my season package. (i'm not generally much for bluegrass). and i'm forever grateful to the season pass that i did.

wailers tonight!!!

...not as i do

ever been harangued for a year or two on the subject of rebound relationships related to divorce? you know, lectured at some length every few weeks over the evils of confusing the children, and imposing your selfish choices on them, since your spouse "knows" that you won't be able to help yourself?

yeah... that. :-)

so the email arrives today with the suggestion that friday she'd like to, you know, introduce the kids to him. and me too! (ain't this the summer of entertainment). wouldn't it all be great if we could show the kids everything is ok?

a couple of things i've noticed about myself in my immediate reactions:

1) the time suggested would interfere with getting to boardinghouse park early enough to get good seats for the wailers show. (which is to say, sure, i'd love to meet him, but let's make it early so nobody misses out for the concert).

2) the "boyfriend" premise is pretty disappointing when you get right down to it. (which is to say i could really get excited about "fiance", what with its potential impact on my alimony obligations, but anything short of that is really just a tease).

so i typed back the requisite polite and cheery response, asking, "gee, could we make it earlier?" and i eschewed the "what about all that rebound and i'll be the one to be engaged in six months stuff?", as well as held off asking the "is it serious?" stuff, because that none of that could possibly end anywhere good. (oh, the things we wish we could say). i'm pleased to report that i'm really quite ok with having her make the first post-separation relationship mistakes, since the downside risk that they won't turn out to be mistakes only positively improves my chances for her remarriage and my freedom from alimony. ( of course, i'm not so silly as to ever believe that alimony-free thing will ever happen short of my sixtieth birthday, when the separation agreement suggests i'm to be made free, and, in fact, i'm quite sure i'll be receiving letters from lawyers right around that time suggesting we need to renegotiate because, as she's always fond to point out, "what if it isn't enough?")

and if this all sounds cynical and you're tempted to be worried about me, please, listen to what i'm really saying. i've got spinners tonight after my massage and myofascial release, (her latest study, and everybody ought to have their own regular masseur or masseuse), spinners tomorrow, the wailers on friday with my kids, and a trip to nyc with them on top of that. i'm still possessed enough of my innate sense of humor to see the funny bits in all of this, and though committed to remain aware of how these things might impact the kids, not inclined to begrudge anyone their shot at happiness. people, after all, ought to be happy, and giving our children a good example to follow is the best we can do.

so, make it 4pm on the meet and greet, and i'm good.

toughness

i think americans are evolving an extremely odd sense of "tough", that's ironic given our laconic screen and literary tough guys of the past and present. "speak softly and carry a big stick" has apparently been replaced--perhaps not least by the foul torrent of trash-talking, combined with whining and complaining about the officiating, that has evolved from within our popular professional sports. (ever watched an nba or nfl game lately?) we've become a nation of whiners, and it's certainly not pretty.

much attention was recently paid to manny ramirez' and kevin youkilis' visible dugout set-to, and it certainly made sense to me when rumors suggested it was incited by manny's disdain for kevin's histrionics. (manny still retaining, apparently, his dominican, i.e. non-american roots). now i'm not saying kevin youkilis isn't one of the toughest ballplayers i've ever watched, because he is. but what i am wondering is why he feels it necessary to illustrate his emotions by flailing them about when things in the game don't happen to go his way. i certainly wouldn't recommend a shouting match to settle the question, but that's not tough. that's merely petulant.

manny is a fascinating study, because his irrepressible demeanor implies anything but toughness. now i'm not saying that manny ramirez isn't a tough ballplayer himself, because, simply, his achievements speak to the doubtless truth of that. but, in my opinion, he's putting that toughness in it's proper context, and letting his actions speak for themselves, and i say that's a beautiful, wonderful, admirable and TOUGH thing to do. yes, sometimes those actions are inexplicable, but they're always genuine, and the most-often result in good things on the baseball field. (witness his remarkable assist totals, among his many other hidden excellences, like hits with two-strike counts, grand slams, etc.)

but what i really came to say here has nothing to do with baseball, or manny or kevin, or anyone else but the amazing sainey nyassi. reached after the game for a quote about the elbow that had laid him flat on the turf for some extremely anxious minutes, he simply replied that, despite its being a terrible blow, he took it as indication that his opponent needed him to be off his game, so he simply resolved to stay on it. no whining. no complaining to the referee. and no retaliation.

unless you consider setting up the game-winning goal retaliation. because, if you want to look at it that way, then you have to realize what a tough little hombre this diminutive gambian really is. "he's a gamer", they used to say.

he certainly is.

he's the toughest example of what "american" ought to be i've seen in a long time.

speed

the '08 sox have it, (second in the al in steals, if you can believe that), and the subtly-new-look 2008 new england revolution have it too.

sainey nyassi so much had his way with the santos laguna midfield and defense last night that they resorted to trying to cut him down with a nasty elbow, only to find themselves playing 10 against 11 with the free-wheeling gambian still at their throats every time down the field. finally, in the 70th minute, santos broke, and lost the ball to nyassi who effortlessly glided around the back line of defense and fed a smooth-rolling pass to steve ralston as he opportunistically entered the box. ralston, ever the man to be as smooth as any pass fed to him, deftly stepped over the ball and subtly redirected it with an almost-imperceptible touch to the waiting khelli dube, himself no slouch when it comes to quickness, and he left his mark flat-footedand to pounce on the opportunity. still within the reach of world-class keeper osvaldo sanchez, the shot was nevertheless powerful enough to escape the desperate saving attempt, and the revs took their first international match ever on home turf, 1-nil.

i've seen fast, but nyassi is a whole new class of it.

great show.

julie we hardly knew ye

julie tore a quad legging out a ground ball (does he hit anything else?) and now he's out up to six weeks while jed lowrie and alex cora split the playing time at short. anybody want to wager on how quickly the job becomes jed's running down to the end of the season?

2007 was the year of jacoby.

now it's jed's turn.

superliga 2008

feast or famine with the blog posts, huh.

so the superliga 2008 kicked off last night, and houston immediately served notice that the american clubs aren't going to be intimidated by their mexican brethren. by the 29th minute it was 3-0 in favor of the yanks, and it only slid worse for the mexicans from there, ending 4-0. yeah, it's a club competition, not a national one, but make no mistake, the mexican clubs (and their fans) still don't consider the americans up to their standards, and the disrespect is not always so subtle. (for example, chivas maintains their mls club as a "minor league" affiliate for talent development). well, guadalajara proved worthy enough against dc united on the away pitch, 2-1, so there certainly is no reason to disrespect the mexican clubs at all, but i'm guessing there won't be any more 4-0 blowouts during the competition, and all the participants will be taking things all that much more seriously from here. last year, if you recall, the final match was decided on penalties, and the message was that the americans (in this case, the la galaxy) were lucky to even have made it that far. this year the prize money is a cool million dollars, and there's all the more reason to come ready to play. let's see who wants it.

our revs take their home field tonight against santos laguna, so time to break out the fan jerseys and root for the boys in blue. chivas usa takes on pachuca in the other match tonight, and then there'll be more on tuesday and wednesday, followed by the end of the first round next weekend. (i know you're all looking forward to that!) the knockout stages begin on tuesday the 29th, so stay tuned!!!

more great noodles

oh! i almost forgot!

by complete coincidence, while i was walking home from the safety course, i got the text (aren't i the cool guy) that one of the shangri-lowell crew was catching a bowl of noodles over at yet another spot in my neighborhood i'd never been to yet.

wow.

$5.50 for a huge plate full of gustatory love.

fresh. fresh homemade chili sauce. fresh (cold!) tea that i'd never tasted before, and by the way loved a lot. delicious. $5.50.

i think southeast asian has surpassed it all as my new all time favorite food genre, and that's even included all the deep fried kinds. (ok, the local corn on the cob season is starting now, and i'm going to be telling you that it's the best ever in just a few posts, and you know it, but that's not the point).

i love my neighborhood.

catching up

been a busy last few days, what with daily concerts and all, so here's a compendium of what's been going on with a few editorial comments:

1) tour de france: first of all, team columbia is kicking derriere. yes, my favorite non-team-columbia spaniard, alejandro valverde, (not to be confused with my least favorite non-team-columbia spaniard, the blood-doping manuel beltran), is only a minute and 12 seconds off the pace in 6th overall, so very much in the hunt, but the HUGE story is america's team, and their indefatigable cadre of (non-artificially-enhanced) super humans. their isle-of-man-er mark cavendish has already grabbed TWO stage wins, their luxembourger kim kirchen, impressively holding both the green AND the yellow jersey, sits firmly atop the standings, their swede thomas lovkvist has catapulted the best-young-rider and it's white jersey into 10th place, and the team overall sits comfortably in second, thanks to inspiring performances as that of their german gerald ciolek, who not only shepherded stage winner mark cavendish to the front of the final spring yesterday, but retained the strength to hold off every other world-class sprinter in the pack to take second place for himself. inspiring stuff. (more later today!!!)

2) home town throw down: the mighty mighty bosstones move up to top billing on this one for me, though its impossible not to love the dropkick murphys as the show's headline act. dickie barrett and the boys were as tight as i've ever seen them, (and that's TIGHT), and had the kids in an uproar long before even the sun went down. the murphys only delivered the ass-kicking coup de grace. (avec mickey ward onstage yet again, natch, though no comment from the mickster on his ongoing assault beef). rumor has it, according to one of the cops on site, that over 100 barrels of beer were consumed at the mosh pit concessions alone. i counted over 20 barrels emptied at the little table near where we were camped out, and the story was that the concourse concessions were sporting lines 40 minutes long all night, and one can only imagine how much beer that equals. and just one single arrest. it was the happiest punk-fest you could imagine, and a night to remember. oh, and i almost forgot... the opening act, civet, sported four of the most foul-mouthed, sweet-dispositioned female punkers you could ever meet, (they were personally signing tour souveniers at the souvenier tent after their set, with a line of testosterone-intoxicated fan boys snaking past the beer line waiting to have their pix snapped with 'em), and they delivered my personal favorite stage name for the day, "susie homewrecker", along with some great music. i didn't opt for any of the civet merch, but i did snag a murphys tour poster sporting the lelacheur details that we can talk about next:

3) memorabilia: so there was this tour poster i just HAD TO HAVE. i put my cash down, and bought it. so the next day i googled (it's what us geeks do) frame shops and discovered one right on the other side of the pawtucket canal, just steps from my front door. what a find!!! did you know that the very first two casualties of the american civil war, both lowell boys, are buried beneath the obelisk on the plaza in front of the lowell city hall? guy r. lefebvre, who runs the lowell gallery on jackson street, knows. he also knows where to get ahold of full color surveyors maps of the shangri-place, and that's absolutely the next acquisition on the docket. but this trip was to place the tour poster (and ticket stub) under glass, and in a couple of weeks when the job gets back i'll be adding something very cool to my little home art collection, and picking out the frame for the next one. i've also got my eye on an incredible oil painting of my fave canal (the pawtucket, you know it) that features my very own building in the background. that one'll have to wait until a major windfall comes in, (oils can be expensive), but it sure would look nice here. y'all should come see.

4) indigo girls: (with the emphasis on "girls"). i don't think there can be two audiences more ironically disparate than those between the murphys and the girls. one are a set of hormone-addled, breast-obsessed uber-devotees who know every word and sing along to every song, and the other... wait a sec... ok, there are those details about the penises and the moshing that make one impossible to confuse with the other, but you have to be impressed with how much the indigo's audience loves their band. to everyone's credit, the indigo girls are, in my opinion, two of the most talented musicians to ever harmonize on stage, and their show at boardinghouse park was a wonderful exposition of all that and more. (i did have to smile at the fact that their keyboard player was a green-spike-haired grrl who could rock a pretty impressive squeeze box, and who might have likewise visually fit in among the civet quartet, even if her musical style was a bit more lavender and patchouli). great stuff.

5) a well regulated militia being necessary to the defense of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed: i took my eight-hour firearms safety course yesterday afternoon, and found it well worth the investment of time. the instructors from instructional shooting, inc. were top-notch, (thanks jay and greg!!!), and the material both fascinating and compelling. i haven't talked much here about the fear and awe in which i hold trains, but lets say to start that there's nothing about a five hundred thousand pound locomotive (yes, that's right, they generally weight more than 250 tons, and that's not even counting the following cars and contents) that isn't equalled in my sober appreciation by even just the *potential* for the consequences of firing a single 50 gram bullet. it took me almost an hour of class time before i was not viscerally nauseous that the instructor was holding a real live (unloaded, with the additional precaution that there was no ammunition of any kind in the room, and he interrogated every one of us before starting that we didn't have any in our pockets before he'd continue) firearm whose muzzle would quite frequently pass across our direction, (lets face it, no other way to demonstrate in front of a group of 20, and i get the necessity, and appreciate it), and i found that, even hours later during the target sighting drill, i couldn't even bear to look down the sights whenever he was anywhere in the vicinity of my practice target. guns are that scary. so here's the mantra:

* muzzle ALWAYS in a safe direction
* finger NEVER on the trigger, unless and until ready to fire
* gun ALWAYS unloaded, with the action open, until ready to use

i can also recite the unloading drills, and what to do in cases of hangfire and misfire and squibs, for both revolvers as well as semi-automatics, (and both single and double action of each), and i can tell you that guns scare the ever living hell out of me MORE now that i have been that much closer to the bald truth that, once a trigger is pulled, it's something in this world that can never be taken back. i appreciate like i can't find words to express that the average police officer will never unholster and discharge his or her weapon in the line of duty over the duration of their entire career, alongside the fact that they are all trained incessantly for even the barest possibility that they might have to some day, and i think that's something we all need to respect and consider next and every time we're contemplating our various local tax bills, because people bearing arms are doing so in the face of other people bearing arms, and there's nothing more sobering and serious and important than that. (i'll digress to point out that we need to prioritize armor-plated humvees and full kevlar for all our troops--only THAT is supporting them--and anything less is an insult and a treason, and i do mean to say that i believe our current president is deserving of both charges in our own congress, as well as more in the hague, but where was i).

yes, guns do, indeed, kill people. we need to know about them more, not less. and, as afraid as they make me, and how critical i believe is strong licensing and regulation, i also believe it is critically important that we live in a country where they are constitutionally protected and guaranteed to all, especially FOR THE DEFENSE OF A FREE STATE. i think we should all contemplate our commitments to our patriotism, and understand how important this issue remains, no matter how we feel about self-defense and the overwhelming statistical odds that guns will eventually deal more harm to their owners than to anyone else, but sometimes to others too, and those are always terrible things. but our freedom is that important. 500,000 pound locomotive important. more.

who da man?

i'm just askin

is it the british or the americans who are coming?

mark cavendish, the 22 yr old brit sprinter who adds the panache to team columbia's powerful and experienced (american) assault on france, took the stage today in stirring fashion. frenchman nicholas vogondy cannot be overlooked as the lone remainder of the attack group who literally made it to within meters of the finish line before being swept under by the crescendo of sprinters at the head of the peleton. (but not so far under that he wasn't still ahead of all but the best 20 among the frantic chasers at the finish line). also notable among the also-rodes has to be george hincapie, who overcame a blowout with just 10km to go and the resulting and critical loss of time, to roar back to the front of the peleton inside 3km, and successfully chaperone his teammate cavendish at the front of the race where mark could then finish things the way they're designed. a stirring win for columbia, and for cavendish, and for hincapie, and for fellow team columbian kim kirchen who remains #2 in the overall individual standings.

so that's 5 riders from the 2 american teams in the top 10, including 2 americans, translating into the #1 and #2 positions in the team rankings, too. oh, and the white jersey for the top young rider is from team columbia as well. (thomas lovkvist). it's early, but it's never too early to give props for an outstanding performance, and to wave a little flag to remind le francais that, lafayette, we are once again here.

whoo hoo!

jklo update

the music business is (thankfully) changing. to wit: livenation, essentially a concert promoter, has signed recording rights deals with mega-acts madonna, jay-z, shakira and nickelback, correctly intuiting that the better economic model is recordings to promote the *real* music, as opposed to the other way around. (hate to say it, but the cd is dead).

artists at the better end of the music spectrum have also had the math figured out for awhile now, and i'm pleased to pass along a great link to the (much of it free for download!) music trove for jen kearney and her lost onion. worth a visit and a little juicy upgrade/download to what's on your pod. (there's an older recording of jen's dr. feelgood for those who are curious, but i'm still holding out for the version from last week's lowell summer music series show, cuz it was transcendent whereas the one here is merely great). the store still has links to places where you can score the plastic mcguffin, so there's that option too. it's not amiestreet, (btw, why are most download places still asking us to bear the plastic cd prices, when production and distribution costs of .mp3's are a fraction?), but it's better than having to go without.

oh! and for the trivia buffs in our audience, if you click on the main jen kearney / lost onion link above, the photo you see first for just those few moments is taken in the courtyard of the building that's right next door to my building, but don't get too distracted by either the onion or jen's (who knew!) great legs, or you'll miss it.

kinda like living in the dakota, only better.

yep, i said it

the other day i made an extremely veiled comparison between pedro martinez (btw, era 6.55, walks + hits per inning pitched 1.71, K 30 since the end of may) and tim wakefield. (compare his era 2.25, WHIP 0.94, K 42 over the same time span). yeah, i know the timeframe is subjective and pedro's numbers aren't from the 2003 comparison in question, but the point is that grady little left the first guy in against all obvious better judgment, and terry francona just yanked the other guy out in front of what is shaping up to be one of the worst bullpens in the majors. the similarity is that neither manager seemed to be paying attention to what he had when he made or didn't make the move that, at least in grady's case, served to define his entire career.

yep, terry's got his 2 world series rings, but i'm saying that if he (and theo, don't forget theo) doesn't get his head in his game, he's not going to be sporting a 3rd one anytime soon.

play your ace, terry. demand a shortstop. and keep counting down the days until papi.

on the button

there's a humility that comes with failing at a marriage, *especially* where it relates to your children, and a necessity to always remember to whom that humility is most owed. doesn't make it any easier, mind you, but i like to keep reminding myself in hopes of lending myself whatever scraps of moral support a reprobate father can offer himself in the never-ending struggle to do better.

today was not a good day. there's the petulant impulse to point out from where he absolutely must have gotten it, my buttons being complete with sufficient memory from how and when they've been prior pushed... but also the little quiet voice that resigns to accept it, and resolves to be ready to accept it all again tomorrow as it undoubtedly will be.

the hardest impulse, however, to master, is that of bridled masculinity. it feels unnatural, and there's immediate rationale from that part of the self that's always quick to offer such. "you want to play it that way?" no, no, no... that cannot be right.

the net result is a gnawing disquiet, and the realization that it may never be possible for it to go fully away. the power for such, after all, is not mine to ever control. (again the assault upon the bridled masculinity). ours is not to reason why...

tennyson was quite the prescient poet.

celebrities at the ballpark

forget jack at the lakers, and everybody else who is anybody else at the sox, (do you think a-rod is f***-ing ben affleck whenever he comes to boston?), i got to thoroughly enjoy the enhanced shangri-lowell version last night at the spinners, and it's out of deference to privacy (and not to offend ben affleck in case he's also involved with any of the relevant parties) that i'll leave the details a little vague. after all, i wouldn't want to bring the worst of boston and new york to a much better place, nor betray any of my secret crushes until the beautiful truth can come out in three part harmony on youtube.

i think it's all something i love best about my adopted home town. we're all just folks here, and genuinely inclined to greet each other accordingly. i've met the club owners and sidewalk cafe owners and lead singers (amazing what kind of camaraderie you can engender at a rock and roll bar with little more than a dropkick murphys t-shirt) and (my personal stage favorites) lead guitarists and i'm holding out hope that one day i'm going to finally get introduced to del "dog man" christman over at lelacheur. (tried finding a snap of him in full game-time regalia on the web, but no soap). they all don't know me from adam, and, as we've discussed, they're not going to confuse me with a life-timer the moment i open my not-from-exactly-here mouth, but it never seems to matter. the club and cafe owners most frequently have sported more exotic patois, (though i'm batting 1.000 on 100%-local lead singers in a small but growing sample set), and that's the ultimate beauty of this place.

it's a town that is built on people who come here for their reason(s), and learn to get along with all the other people who have come here (or stayed here) for theirs. not too big that you can't say hi and shake hands with someone you genuinely admire at the ballpark, nor too small to limit the daily opportunities for all that and more.

who is william frischkorn and where does a guy learn to ride like that?

today's stage of le tour saw lightning strike twice for france, when a four-man break initiated and sustained by an american (who?) outlasted the entire peleton for over 200km, and delivered both france's first stage win, as well as their first yellow jersey, since 2006. samuel dumoulin took the stage barely ahead of the aforementioned impetuous yank, william frischkorn, with romain feillu sliding comfortably into the yellow jersey just behind them. paolo longo borghini completed the fantastic four, and enjoys his share of the credit for doing what rarely succeeds in le tour--taking on the entire peleton, comprised as it is of the best in the world, and refusing to be caught.

frischkorn makes a compelling hero for the day (that is, if you're not french) because he's in france to be nothing but a cog in team garmin chipotle's big wheel of support for englishman david millar and fellow american christian vandevelde. normally chained to said wheel, frischkorn was granted liberty for one day to follow his dream, which he did by simply deciding to follow nobody. in just his first tour, he came within a wheel of capturing the stage, and he can rightly enjoy the distinction of having led the charge that made it.

america's team columbia, with hincapie, kirchen and rogers, may have the stars, but garmin seems nevertheless determined not to be lost in their shadow, and with a couple of charismatic yankee boys among their cadre, they're an easy team to love.

so hats off to william frischkorn for carrying the flag over the top, and here's one american's opinion that the two frenchmen had to collude a bit to ensure it wasn't a non-frenchman atop the podium. fuille attacked first, and when it became obvious that frischkorn was superior to the challenge and would catch him well before the end, demoulin stepped in from out of frischkin's draft to put le bleu blanc et rouge back in front.

i think the french script would have put both the stage win and the maillot jaune into the same mains francaises, but if they would have to be separated, then demoulin was going to see that the american wasn't going to be the one to do it. i think, with a bit more experience, frischkorn could have ended things a bit differently, but he's clearly learned something that he can use, and it looks like america has yet another rider who will be around awhile to use it.

stand by your man

so far i've been sympathetic for tito and his predicament, to be managing a bunch among whom there are often apparently only six reliable bats, but last night's 2-fer-4 by the .360-hitting sean casey, not to mention the other day's 2-fer-4 by the .277-hitting brandon moss that went to waste in the third most recent one run loss (that one against league-leading tampa), starts to tempt thoughts of the distinction between a player's manager and a should-be ruthless clubhouse czar who simply won't allow such things to happen. (out of our last 5 games played we've lost three 1-run games, and six out of our last 10, which is a stat that surely presages october golf, not october baseball, for our olde towne teamers, if something cannot found to be done).

similar to the tampa game the other day, yet another sox baserunner of molasses-like speed (yes, you mr. youkilis) was cut down on a failed hit and run two batters in front of mr. julie lugo. (what, you didn't believe me that tito knows what time it is?) but this game, the story is indeed about the bullpen implosion, because unlike the other day when the franconaman was attempting to spin gold out of the unraveling thread of mr. five innings himself, dice-k matsuzaka, last night he had his de facto ace on the mound, and his game well in hand.

so paint the picture: it's the bottom of the seventh, and your guy has only given up four hits and a walk through six and a third, and, come to think of it, already the guys representing two of the hits and the walk were all in the inning's rear view mirror by decision time. we've got a two run lead, 3-k fievel posada at the plate, and though admittedly we've got a guy on first with a pretty sure stolen base in the offing, we're also fortunate to see the veritable death valley of the yankees lineup just waiting to be knuckled under in the on deck circle. in addition to mr. 3 k himself, the next three's cumulative batting average is somewhere south of .240 on the season, and, i believe, at the time, taken together, the four guys at the bottom of the order were a silly 1-fer-a-dozen against our guy on the night, including 6 k's to that point in the game. 1-fer-12, and SIX K's. even our sitting president can do that kind of math.

so he's your ace, terry. let's treat him like one. (which is to say, don't be a philly).

we all have to admit it--beckett gets to stay in and win his own game. but somehow we're supposed to believe that the guy who's sporting a 1.something era over the past EIGHT STARTS, whose knuckler is dropping off of tables just like it ought, has to be pulled so that one of the worst bullpens in the major league can have their shot at handing a gift game to one of our likeliest wild-card rivals?

this kind of stuff isn't just bad luck. yeah, running yourself out of innings because your 9.25 million dollar shortstop is a soul-sucking gidp of a rally killer, (that is, when he's not booting the game-winning ground ball in front of the best-fielding second baseman in the majors), is like making your choice between the devil and the deep blue sea. we all know there is no right answer there. but opting to go to your batting practice pen when your ace is on the mound and in control of his game is just plain inexcusable.

somebody ought to find tape of grady little's last game as a sox manager, and, while explaining the differences to last night's situation, give our present skipper a clue.

the black hole at the bottom of the order

today's ninth says it all. bases loaded, no outs, and then crisp, tek, and julie to kill the rally.

theo, the team needs help.

and valverde it is

day 1: valverde is the man. cadel evans wasn't far behind. pereiro, newly crowned king of the landis-embarrassed '06 race, was right there too.

team columbia, us-owned and new colors of us fave son george hincapie, was looking extremely strong and dominant at the top of the peleton, which will give us yahoo yanks an easy rooting interest throughout, regardless of the man atop the individual standings, and the fact that astana's controversial team expulsion have denied us a chance to pull for levi leipheimer. (uci have suspended the french cycling federation for dis-inviting giro d'italia winner astana to le tour, though, given astana's doping history, it's hard to determine the good guys from the bad guys in this one).

and wouldn't it be something if this year the stories could once again be about the riders...

tour de huh?

floyd landis has lost yet another appeal, and the stained, sorry sport of bicycle racing seems to have all but disappeared from the popular consciousness. even the organizers of the sport's pinnacle event, le tour de france, have bowed to the obvious and set their annual summer celebration off without a prologue stage. (first time since '67 they've skipped it). who would we be watching, anyway, with (seemingly) all the top riders expelled for pharmaceutical funny business?

it's kinda like the question of whether baseball is better or worse off for the home run orgies enabled by performance-enhancing drugs. yeah, we're all disgusted now, but the sad fact is that we were all watching mcgwire and sosa and bonds crush long ball after long ball and raising not a whimper of objection at the time. we still sit mute to the travesty that is the designated hitter, so belated outrage and asterisks really carry very little weight as far as i'm concerned even now. everybody loves a show.

well, regarding le tour, it still boggles my mind that these guys race for over 2200 miles over the course of just over three weeks, over the tops of some of the world's most intense and precipitous peaks, and that they do it in largest part simply because they love to. (not a whole lot of money at the back of the peleton). it's poetic and pastoral on the one hand if you're looking around at the scenery, and brutally intense if you're looking at the hundreds of elbow-to-elbow riders chaining themselves inexorably towards each day's finish. but, either way you look at it, it's great human theater and achievement, and something i love to watch.

so here's to the serendipity of cable sports, where an obsession with euro2008 can enable a daily love affair with the sox, which can lead to a wonderful summer morning ritual (on versus) of watching the drama of the world's greatest bicycle race unfold. i'm familiar with extremely few competitors, (valverde is the one i like best--wouldn't it be something for spain to capture both the euro2008 title as well as le maillot jaune), but i'm looking forward to discovering the new stars of the sport over the course of the next month.

which brings to mind a very encouraging point: the world's most popular sporting events these days, (the super bowl being shown to be the hollow spectacle that it is as an exception), are those that play out over time among a truly global cast of competitors. the world cup. the olympics. completely unknown outside the us, the f1, and within it, (though hardly international save the occasional pop singer's husband, winks to ashley judd), nascar. and, every july, le tour.

today's race, unlike the most-previous forty, awards the yellow jersey on the first day, and the fastest man grabs it. and then for the three grueling and punishing weeks to follow, he and the rest of his compatriots fights with everything they've got to hang on to it, or simply to chase it, or, most of all, to wrestle it to the final podium in a team-fueled obsession to be the very best.

meet me on l'alpe d'huez!

lost and found

"it sounds like stevie wonder goes to cuba"

as hinted earlier here, opening for daryl hall last night were local favorites jen kearney and the lost onion.

WOW

the anonymous reviewer on cd baby who suggested they sound like "stevie wonder goes to cuba" didn't get it wrong. latin rhythms, soul cadences, and a true connection with their home audience gave their "warm up" act the full heat of a headline show. somewhere a couple of songs past what would have, should have been the cut-off for an opening band, (they kept checking--"can we do one more?"), with the audience in full flow and love all over the room, the park service organizers gave jen the nod to deliver one more tour de force.

maybe it was the enthusiastic audience member's shout of "ARETHA", and clearly her band had to talk her into doing it either way, and i swear she asked them all four or five times not to give up their spots in the spotlight while the audience was on its feet, but they knew what ought to be coming, and they knew it was the right way to end their evening, and so they insisted.

and so, with just a single keyboard and spot, alone onstage with only her voice to carry her through, jen kearney delivered one of the most stirring renditions of aretha franklin's dr. feelgood it's ever been my privilege to experience.

if anyone ever finds even a bootleg cell phone video recording of that performance, they need to send me the link. jen kearney and the lost onion ROCK!

until then, here's a link to the band they opened for last summer, los lobos, singing "let's go" right from the boardinghouse park stage. and then, because you know you want it, a taste of J(k) LO from the same night. or two. (ya gotta love the park rangers in uniform introducing all the acts!)

in addition to rocking the old court during the lowell folk festival, jen hooks up with melvern taylor at the lizard lounge in cambridge on august 28th for a night where the soul of lowell meets its ukelele heart. bee they-ah!

the ghost and mrs. muir

maybe it's because i just saw KITT outside lelacheur park the other day and i'm extremely suggestible, but i've got to say that daryl hall, in addition to appearing to be remarkably fit, relaxed and genuinely happy to be playing music these days, bears a fascinating resemblance to a young edward mulhare, though without as attractive a sidekick. (you know i've always had a thing for hope lange). put hope's hair on top of that mug on the top left, and see if you would't agree.

which is not meant to poke fun in the least, because the show was great, and i sincerely enjoyed every minute of it. yep, 99% of the forty-somethings that came shrieking and bouncing down front to dance during the all-hit finale were women, but it was truly something for everyone, and an impressive evening for someone who has come shining through the pop culture distractions to prove his true musical colors. (props, too, to t bone wolk who really shines on his amped up acoustic six-string).

on an evening when rain and the confines of a high school auditorium could have sent things in any direction, daryl's relaxed joy to share an evening with an appreciative audience was impressive and infectuous. for a man every bit the record-selling equal to pomp icons like michael jackson, it's a tour de smile that reflects best on everyone and everything involved. a great day in lowell, and a wonderful time was had by hall/all. :-)

live from daryl's house

hall and oates, as much for john's moustache as anything else, are cliche for everything cliche about late seventies and early eighties pop music. and so they should be, as they were the only group capable of giving uber-cliches michael jackson and paul mccartney a run for their chart money when that sort of kitsch was king. the best part? their music is actually pretty good.

anyway, shorn of oates' philadelphia moustache, both literally and figuratively, either upstate new york, maine, the bahamas or london-based daryl hall (depending on his mood, i guess) has out-dueled lyme disease, survived the dissolution of his relationship with collaborator sara allen, (sara smile, remember?), and reinvented himself in the most remarkable and contemporary of ways: he's simply invited all his friends over to make spontaneous music and make it freely available it on the web. the latest collaboration is with one of the original cutting pop edgers, nick lowe, and it's tasty tasty tasty. ("cruel to be kind" in three part harmony! mmmmmm). what i liked best? the obvious intimate familiarity daryl maintains with nick's signature song. gotta respect a musician who respects a musician's musician.

so my privilege tonight is to wander down the block to hear a 62 year old guy who hangs out on the web and sings with such obvious joy and accomplishment--the same after all these years. no, nick lowe isn't likely to be there, but jen kearny & the lost onion will, (catch them also on 'fnx' jazz brunch), and that's plenty good enough for a small city boy like me.

here's how bad it's gotten

tonight's seventh inning bullpen implosion was one of the most uncomfortable spectacles in recent red sox memory. but even more troubling than the truth that both manny delcarmen and craig hansen are both too young and too completely suited to little more than minor league hitting, is what went down in the top of the ninth inning.

the obvious parts we all saw: first manny (finally!) made contact and got a ball deep enough into the hole at short to earn first base. (scored as an error, but a tough play for bartlett either way). next, mike lowell continued his hot hitting streak and both got the potential tying run safely on base, in addition to sending manny over to third. then, if tropicana wasn't such a capacious place, and if bj upton wasn't such a quick recoverer from a wrong first step, youk's fly ball could have either been a home run or something rattling around the center field, rather than just a long sac fly and an out into upton's over the shoulder basket catch glove. but, either way, we've still got the tying run on first, with only one out. still hope, right?

so here's where the bottom falls out, and knot in the pit of my stomach turns to full-fledged ulceration: with an oh-fer-sixteen walking strikeout machine at the plate (eight out of the prior sixteen at-bats were whiffs) tito sent the painfully lentissimo mike lowell on a suicide hit-and-run, praying for some sort of contact. we do know what comes next, don't we. two outs. (and the third moments later on tek's ninth whiff in his last seventeen at-bats). so why would tito EVER consider doing that???

think about it: tek's already sure to whiff, and that would only make it two outs, with the creditable brandon moss (already 2-fer-4 on the night) coming up to possibly get the hit that sends mike lowell to third. good enough, right?

so here's what i know that i know tito knows and that makes this game not even remotely about the batting practice bullpen. coming up after moss with the responsibility to get the run home is none other than mr. 18 rbi in 234 at-bats, julie lugo. (by way of contrast, mr. moss has 8 in 61 tries). the fact that we're now at the point where the manager is throwing in the desperation towel with only one out in an inning, and praying for the most improbable of hit-and-run executions to get the guy over in time for your de facto rookie second-string outfield backup to get a chance to hit with him in scoring position, instead of your starting acquired-for-his-hitting 16-error shortstop says it all.

yeah, i know it looks like we still have the wild card spot well in hand, but, look, tito, if you're going to do anything, pinch hit for your struggling catcher, but absolutely march right upstairs to theo's office immediately after the game and demand a shortstop who isn't the automatic third out in the big game against the looking most likely playoff nemesis. it's getting sorely painful to watch. and it'll be worse in an NL park, if we ever get there, with the pitchers hitting behind him.

what we have here is a failure to communicate

i'm going to have to start tagging my blog with labels so we can keep better track of the main conversational threads and topics. absent better signage, please consider this one yet another chapter in the saga of kad the cad, or, as i like to think of it, further study of the potential peevishness of the forty-something female mind.

when we last left our (anti)hero, prior to his stifling laughter at the evolution of a certain forty-something female's underwear habits while deflecting a rain of arrows aimed at his having the poor manners to have let the world know about it, we were on the topic of keeping score. (the current scoreboard being four hyper-sensitive forty-something females to two not so much). well, dearest readers, looks like we're up to five...

this one came about rather circuitously, having only the most distant of work-related coincidence on her side as she angled for more. she was, of course, when the intents became clear, duly apprised of all standing relationships, and, of course, she naturally became stuck on her inability to get a clear and unequivocal response to her suggestions for more private social interactions. i think it came down to "why are you still talking to me if you're involved with so-and-so and so-and-so", coupled alternately with "why won't you talk to me?" no amount of reassurance that talking has never been my problem could resolve the ultimate disconnect between that and her implied-yet-never-admitted insistence that i prefer to talk only to her.

yeah, we all know it's more complicated than that, because it's not the talking that gets the lovelorn the most exercised, but that's as useful a euphemism as i think we need for this hopefully g-rated discussion. or, to use another metaphor, i might ask why there seems to be no stopping the hopeful from swearing they'd be happy to taste just a piece, if that's all they can get, right up until the moment they decide/argue that they can't stand to have anything other than the whole pie? i guess it's to my credit i'm becoming smart enough to accelerate the discussion to identify the paradox before the serving utensils come out.

well, i like to communicate when i'm having a conversation, and i like to think that the reason that they slice pies at the coffee shop is that it's rarely healthy for people dropping in to insist on having a whole one. yep, some day a couple of folks might want to bake one all by themselves and keep it whole in their refrigerator to enjoy in a more intimate setting, but i'm just sitting here in the psycho-social-sexual coffee shop, ya know? sure, some folks would want guys like me to stay off the streets, perhaps to help them avoid any potential confusion that we can both be friends with a woman and more than that at the same time, but i guess i'm the guy who lacks his manners on that score, too.

you want to hang out and/or go somewhere with me? just ask. you want to have something to say about more than that, like who else might be allowed to be there? if it's not "i really like all your friends", i think we're going to be experiencing one of those euphemistic failures to communicate.

i guess you could say there's a reason i'm not "taken" right now. ;-)

news you just won't get anywhere else

today's sun came through in spades on the j. james marzilli sexual harassment scandal/story, just as we knew it could. yes, we all worry that today's media is all about glossing over the detail in order to deliver the soundbytes, but the sun has delivered *both* in a comprehensive and wonderfully (if you're amused by such things) detailed account of yesterday's indictments in lowell district court, three for "annoying and accosting a person of the opposite sex", (no word yet on the related homosexual campaign for equal opportunity), and one each for "attempting to commit a crime", (to wit, indecent assault and battery, but apparently j. james isn't quite that accomplished a criminal yet), "disorderly conduct", "resisting arrest", and, because it was so good he had to do it again, "annoying and accosting a person of the opposite sex".

i considered paraphrasing the following, but the prose is so direct and succinct that i'd feel myself a cheat to journalists everywhere if i didn't hand credit directly to lisa redmond and quote her verbatim:

The first female victim was sitting outside the Lowell Community Health Center when Marzilli approached her and allegedly said, "The sex is sweet, the sex is sweet, you want it and you want to go with me."
The victim became fearful and walked into the health center to get away from him.
About 11:30 a.m., the second victim was walking toward Jackson Street when Marzilli allegedly came up directly behind her and said, "Oh, baby, you are so beautiful, your body is perfect, your butt is so perfect."
The woman tried to walk away from Marzilli, but he allegedly continued to follow her and to verbally harass her. Fearful, the victim turned around, raised her voice and yelled, "Listen, take $20, go up to Merrimack Street after 5 p.m. and get yourself a hooker."
At 1:15 p.m., the third victim was waiting for a bus on Central Street when alleged seeing Marzilli drive by her three times in a white vehicle, staring at her. Marzilli then parked his car and walked toward the victim. He then looked her up and down and asked her, "Do you have any under garments under that?"
At 3 p.m., the fourth victim was waiting on a bench outside 16 Middle St., when Marzilli walked toward her. She thought he looked familiar. She believed she saw him approximately a week earlier in the same area of the city, although he had appeared disheveled at that time. She described him as looking homeless.
Marzilli approached her and sat very close to her on the bench. He said, "Since I saw you, I've liked you. You are a very beautiful woman."
He then moved his hand and attempted to grab her in a sexual manner, according to court records. She leaned away and screamed at him to stop. He then continued to verbally accost her by making an addiitonal sexually explicit remark. The victim moved away and went inside the building.
Police were notified and approached Marzilli, who informed the officer that he had left his identification in the car and gave the name of Martin Walsh, a longtime House colleague from Dorchester.
Marzilli fled from the officers, running first down the sidewalk and then in the middle of the street through moving traffic. He as arrested in a parking garage.

jim--"the sex is sweet the sex is sweet you want it and you want to go with me"??? really? is that sort of jedi mind trick approach really the best you could come up with at the time? puh-leeze, you know we've always expected better from our elected officials! and, "oh baby you are so beautiful your body is perfect your butt is so perfect", is hardly any better. take a page from the object of your oh-so-temporary affections and her quip about the hookers on merrimack. (which, by the way, just for the record, is a scandalous slur that only panders to antiquated stereotypes of my fair city, and isn't good contemporary advice, since, as any loyal sun reader can tell you, the hookers are all found elsewhere nearer the park). the stultified high-brow (must be an arlington thing) version of "are you wearing any underwear" is a bit better, but, still, jim, at a city bus stop??? a girl (i've been told) likes to be romanced in finer surroundings.

no word yet on the availability of video surveillance footage related to the (alleged) crimes, but, you know, if it's made publicly available, the sun's gonna have it on their web site!

viva espana

it occurs to me that regular readers may be wondering where the european championship ended up, just in case their usual diet of news sources (other than this blog, of course) failed to get it to their attention that spain did, indeed, best the germans for the european bragging rights for the next four years. (the game was great, btw). i'm only now catching my breath.

the remarkable feat for me was fernando torres racing past (one could also say overpowering) german defender philipp lahm in what amounted to just two strides, which would have been incredible even against an average athlete, but is all the more remarkable against one of the best in the world. the rate of torres' acceleration cannot be precisely measured, but he was at once behind and then ahead of his defender in that single instant, and his extension to reach the ball and lift it beyond the sliding goaltender's reach was timed to perfection. it was a beautiful goal and a fitting achievement to match the moment of the occasion.

europe's classic underachievers have undone europe's classic overachievers, and observing the youth of this team, and their incredible talent and espiritu de cuerpo, there's ample reason for all other countries to fear for their chances in south africa two years from now. oh, of course hope will spring eternal for every side, but the wise will have their wary eye out for the spanish, because beating them will likely be the only way anyone else will have a shot at the big prize.

you heard it here first. ;-)

caller id

this past season's "the big bang theory" episode 9 ("the cooper-hofstadter polarization") begins to a wonderfully whimsical and letter-perfect characterization to the geek-fest joy that mastering curious and obscure technical phenomena can impart. to the epic strains of strauss' also sprach zarathustra, instantly recognizable as the opening theme from kubrick's 2001 a space odyssey, the four uber-nerds celebrate wildly upon the moment that their stereo and living room floor lamp can be operated by strangers via a globally-circumnavigational internet circuit. why, you might ask? well, if you don't get it, you just don't get it.

it was with analogous satisfaction that i discovered my blog's random (and wholly undeserved) relevance to music that i enjoy, and it is again this morning to query via reverse lookup the caller-id of the anonymous person who rang my work phone at 5:08pm yesterday evening. richford, vt. as in, can't get any closer to quebec without donning a toque and wiping the poutine stains from your bib overalls. as in, if the northeast kingdom had a northeast kingdom (well, north central, anyway), it'd be capitalized by richford, vt.

mind you, i've never been to richford, vt, but it's entertaining to know that someone from that particular acreage within god's country might have for whatever random reason happened to hit the numbers on their keypad that ultimately correlate to those of my phone. i think that's neat. as a result, i got to wonder if my right-wingnut vt buddy had been trying to reach me from a friend's house, (nah, even he doesn't wander around *that* much--certainly not that close to canada where the draft dodgers and pot smokers all go to shack up with boho french chicks), or if the iron lady had wandered a bit too far afield on one of her triathlete training runs from across the nh border, and was looking for a pick-up. (some day we'll discuss the iron lady, as its been a subject too often suppressed in favor of discretion, decorum, and the futile pursuit of self-implicatory avoidance, but not today).

reminds me of one of george carlin's bits about forgetting who you've just dialed and using a fake voice so you can call back in awhile and pretend it wasn't you. kids these days aren't going to get the joke, because they're as used to caller id as us oldsters used to be about telex. (did you know that banks still use telex for its communication auditing capabilities, even after 70 years?) yep, you read that right. 70 years.

where was i? oh, yeah... caller id... telex had it back in 1935.

isn't that cool?