Wasn’t it great to finally see Pete Seeger on MSM. Some would argue that PBS (& its sister NPR) is not mainstream. It certainly was towing the party line there for a while. I think the times, they-are-changin’, at long last or at least the times have caught up with Pete who has never deviated from his role as the pied piper of peace, b&w together… There’s little with which to reproach him aside from a youthful short-term dalliance with the Communist Party but considering the alternatives and the era it was a more attractive option than say the Fascist Party. Why was there nothing on Libba Cotten as a musical influence? (like Whoopi’s absence from Oscar hosts montage.) The 1967 performance of his anti-war anthem Waist High in the Big Muddy (and the big fool says to push on!) was absolutely remarkable and on the money. His closing song about combining his ‘few molecules’ with ‘his old brown earth” and ‘his blue sky’ brought tears to my eyes. There was a movement afoot a few years back to nominate Pete Seeger (let’s not forget Toshi who stood by her man) for a Nobel Peace Prize. Let’s do it.
What is it about a baby wearing a Che Guevara t-shirt that makes you do a double-take? Is it because we’re used to seeing babies in baby clothes adorned with characters out of fairy tales or comic strips? Many years ago a good friend of mine was uncomfortable with her child wearing a sleeper that had an Elmer Fudd decal on it. She took exception to Elmer’s shotgun. It was both ugly & racist. You never know what you’re gonna get at a baby shower!!!!! Why not a handsome assassinated revolutionary? Che died at 39 and his immortality was assured when Alberto Korda took his 1960 pic of him in the beret & ✫. Die young and leave a beautiful corpse. Jesus started the trend.
Baby Samuel lives in Copenhagen.
Ralph Nader is running again. The leap year candidate is 74. If ever the U.S. needed a Nader it’s now but it’s too late for him. His critics are calling him a spoiler because he took crucial votes from Al Gore in 2000 but the reality is that he probably won’t get any this time. I wonder if he can make enough to live on for 4 years by announcing his candidacy and then wait for the money to roll in from GOP supporters. He should go to Cuba. He would be considered a reformer and they love old men there.
Why did the NYT publish that hatchet job on McCain if not to discredit him? I doubt that it was to aid Obama. He’s from Chicago. I think they are making room at the top for NYC Mayor Bloomberg now that it looks like Clinton may not get the Demo nod. There was talk in May 2007 of Mayor Bloomberg running as an independent with Sen. Chuck Hagel (Vietnam vet who voted against invading Irak) and this gossip has surfaced again to great denials by Mike B. I might be reading too much into this but in the event M.B. does come out of the election closet with Hagel or some other farmboy on his arm, let us not forget who it was that blocked off the streets of NYC in Feb. of 2003 so that the anti-Irak invasion protesters couldn’t form a critical mass and exercise their right of free speech. It was a dangerous and mean-spirited thing to do. Very patronizing, Bush-league. 911 the excuse. Prime. I was one of the many thousands of frustrated marchers out in the cold that day caught in a dead-end street with little choice but to go and warm-up in one of NYC’s cozy restos and abandoning the cause. Too bad. A lot of blood has been spilled. Who was it that decreed that every outing in NYC has to be to a museum or a department store?
read my blog from June 2007 featuring many of the same characters.
The tabloid Hello! Canada (Awake! canucks) has a feature article on Céline Dion and family who were recently in South Africa where they visited with Nelson Mandela and had a photo taken with him. It’s the cover. Used to be that famous people flocked to Rome to have an audience and photo-op with the Pope. It lent a certain ‘gravitas’ to the visitor and the event. How times have changed. I wonder if the Pope’s nose is out of joint? Mirror, mirror on the wall who’s the ‘heaviest’ of us all?
..Maybe Benedict 16 doesn’t do the bloids. Or, he’s afraid Annie Leibovitz will show up and ask him to take off his mitre.
Back in the 70s when I worked for a store-front lawyer in The Purnt, as the locals called Pointe St Charles (old-timey working class district in Montreal South), a yelping tan dog that had just been hit by a speading car on Wellington St. limped through the open door of our humble establishment and into my life. It was Summer. I took the dog home with me because I had a car and after a visit to the vet for an x-ray, my boyfriend and I nursed him back to health. For some reason we called him Mario. He made a speedy recovery after two weeks and we considered keeping him but thought we should at least try and find his rightful owners, just in case they wanted him back. And so in the evenings after we’d finish work, the three of us would drive down to the Purnt and walk through the various neighbourhoods, French, Irish/Scottish, Polish-Ukrainian, asking anybody and everybody if they recognized him. Nobody ever did. I think we even made a sign which we hung around his neck or my neck explaining where he’d been found. There were always lots of people & kids about trying to keep cool outside on a sultry Summer’s evening (sultry is a mite too romantic a word to describe an evening in The Purnt.) Old women in rocking chairs on sidewalks, day-labourers on their stoops sucking on stubbies and kids playing ball-hockey in the middle of the street. And everybody smoked even the babies. Ok you had to be at least four to light-up. The Imperial Tobacco plant was nearby. After a few unsuccessful tries at reuniting Mario with his family we lucked out one night. As I remember it we were on a little shady sidestreet of two-up two-downs with grey facades when three small blond children spotted him and began running towards him calling him by what was his real name. Fidel, Fidel, Fidel. He ran off to them taking our leash with him and never looked back. So long Mario, hello Fidel.
So long Fidel. Hello Raul.
Some friends have just had a baby girl and one of her given names is Che.
Lonely Sue, a clueless dress-designer manqué whose day job as a data entry clerk has been outsourced to the Moon, pounds the pavement of Big Turnip delaying the inevitable, her return to Small Potato, the village of her birth. Now broke, she throws caution to the wind and stops in at her favorite bistro, Aux Trois Frères, for the luncheon special. Lonely Sue is unaware that one of the frères fancies her.
Check out “Tales and More Tales from Big Turnip” under Pages in left-hand column for some background on Lonely Sue, Thingies, The Vapides, McMaster & Strumpette, all of whom reside in Habitat for Inanities in the Megalopolis of Big Turnip.
Hhow iiss itt than None getz to ggo to tthe bbig rappel aand mmany of us gget to sstay inn the bbehind at l’owzile de kkoranwall? ttthe llast ttrip we ttuque wwwas to ththe Emouly Carrharrt att tthe slowmart in Vile Mairie & tthat was in ssleptember. llately i’ve bben atttending to a ffilmy corse (nappoleon soddommites) aaat tthe cooledge of dh llaurence. aftter chattering up the laddies oour 80 sumthhing prooff ffires uup the pprojectile aand ttries hhis ddamndest tto reel us in jjust like Jorge BBush ddoes tuna. wwe have to ppry oour eeyes open wwith toothpicks tto staay awaake dduring ssome of tthe ppresenstations of la cross. Laast weak was La ggrange illusion & I cconfesse itt eeluded me as I ssearched in vein four somme hhay so’s i ccould baille. it’s sas pplane as the bbarn on yer fface h ed said. ccan’;t hhardly wwait for Streetwalker named ddésirée wwith Marlon Monroe.
Spruce Top. P.
c/o Yee Ault Waterboarding Haus
Naan ssays sshe scened tthat fflaky rrapper Crisco with hiss opining act Jeanne-Red-Cloud & tthat tthey look rready ffor mmummiffication. tut tut. naaan sshould talk.
inkqueery: ddoes anyone kknow any goood noparkingsongs? towtapppers? uncchained mmelodies? wwwinching ballades?
Rufus has just completed a critically-acclaimed World Tour in order to “Release the Stars” and I think he may have done just that if the fireworks both literal and figurative that were exploding last night onstage at his sold out Radio City Music Hall show are anything to go by. A St Valentine’s Day massacre of the senses. It was so much fun. (The NYC Fire Commissioner even came by to sign off on the gunpowder plot.) You’d think he’d have been more than a little nervous playing that cavernous artdeco museum to the Rockettes but he was as relaxed as a koala bear grazing in a gum tree. Of course he did just return from the land of Oz. I’m not saying he didn’t have his Tasmanian devilish moments (singing “Gay Messiah” in his in-drag Judy G. outfit where his band who normally dress in tuxes for this number awkwarkly act out the swooning male dance routines. As a special surprise to him celebrating the end of the tour they came out dressed as nuns playing funky old stringless banjos and ukes ‘a la singing nun’ all the while spraying him with what looked like cheese to drive home the outrageous “baptized in come” lyric. It was madness. Do I disappoint you? never and you will always be the most Beautiful Child. Mirror, mirror.. Mommie Kate McGarrigle and little sister Martha W. joined him for an emotionally-charged version of Kate’s panoramic ode to the U.S. of A. “Talk to me of Mendocino.” Rufus’s “Poses” was among one of the many exquisite moments. Sean Lennon and band opened last night’s extravaganza with some very interesting melodic stuff and was joined late in his set by his girlfriend and co-writer Charlotte and together they sang a moving song about the revenge of the sabre-toothed tiger where man does not fare well. Come uppance time. Everybody was on stage for John Lennon’s “Across the Universe.”
For the record, Rufus has been nominated for a Brit Award in the best male performer cat. And this quote from an Aussie paper just came in from a friend in Adelaide ‘Incredibly talented troubadour Rufus Wainwright, is one of the most splendid live talents on the planet right now.’
p.s. I said to him upon his return, “you’re back on terra firma” he laughed and shot back with “you mean terra infirma.”
I don’t know about you but ever since Mutt Romany dropped out of the gop show I’ve felt let down. He seems to have taken all the sex-appeal with him & I find myself missing his symmetrical features. I didn’t realize I was so shallow. Somehow the nasty old albino & the wise-cracking arkansas traveller don’t cut it. It’s like going to the SPCA the day before Xmas only to discover that all the good-looking dogs have been snapped up.
Demo side, Obama has taken on a messianic quality. At least for me he has. The circumstances of his birth are interesting. Born of a white American mother with a Kenyan father & free from the heavy baggage of slavery that all American blacks must carry with them all the time, he reminds me a bit of Moses in that he was brought up far away from the ‘black reality’ of his birth-country, sorta like being raised by Pharaoh’s daughter (not Mia) & her family. But can he rid u.s. of the Burning Bush, lead ‘all’ of the people out of oil bondage & save the World? Or is that too tall an order for a mere human? what am I saying? Isn’t he divine?