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convert

I recently watched the Dylan documentary, No Direction Home (d. Martin Scorsese) and I guess I’m a convert now. Nothing about Dylan ever really grabbed me, but I’ll be damned if that documentary didn’t turn my ear. I can’t put my finger on it. To be honest, I’d put it right at that moment when he came out onstage at one of those London shows (during the Don’t Look Back shoot) and he opened with Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat to the screams of "Traitor" from the audience. How can one not love a guy like that? This combined with Meet Me in the Morning off Blood on the Tracks. Everything came together like a puzzle. He still sounds and looks like an idiot in all those old mid-60s doped-out interviews, but, much like George W, he’s my idiot now.


- 5/30/2006 8:27:07 PM | link


poem of the day

behind me, my heart


- 5/30/2006 8:09:36 PM | link


New Orleans style

Meant to post this awhile back:

From an interview with both New Orleans mayoral candidates:

Last question: Thereís another flood. You are in a rescue boat. You arrive at a rooftop to find Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie. Thereís only room for one in the boat. Who do you take?

Landrieu: They both get left.

Nagin: I give them the boat and get on the roof and wait for the helicopter.


- 5/16/2006 9:25:47 PM | link


Sway

I donít mean to sound glum. My step-dad called (the day before Motherís Day...who says life isnít ironic?) to tell me heís getting re-married and that sent me into a bit of a funk. The moving on of life, the constant procession can seem cold, even harsh at times. But he deserves some comfort. Heís had two wives die on him after all. Iím not so sure Iíd want to be the third wife, but Iím glad heís found someone. This is my well-rehearsed mature response. Forgive me if it doesnít live up to expectations on either side.

In other news, ainít life grand?

We had a wonderful Motherís Day. Shirley came down and we cooked a nice dinner. I even grilled! We went to the new Blanton and ate at Amyís Ice Cream on Burnet near our house.

Last night we went to see Alejandro Escovedo at an Austin City Limits taping. Iíd never been to see an Austin City Limits show before. Two possible items of interest. 1. They serve free beer. 2. The backdrop is not actually the city of Austin, but a fake. I know, I know. You all thought it was real, too. I hate to burst your bubble like that, but I figured youíll look less like a fool when you go there in person. Alejandro ended with the Rolling Stones song, Sway, which is on Sticky Fingers if youíre curious. Main chorus: "Itís just that demon life has got me in its sway." I love that line.

Tonight Thomas had a choir recital at U.T.ís Bates Recital Hall. A PhD student from the School of Music [and a Greek to boot] had picked a group of students from Gullett to use as his class project. Essentially, he had to train a group of elementary school kids to be an above-par choir. This recital was his final exam. There were six schools total, but the rest were middle schools. Thomasí group was the youngest and not everyone showed up, but they still sang their hearts out. Thomas had a solo on Waltzing Matilda and, as is my wont on these pages and in life, my heart nearly burst. He doesnít like to sing around us so I had no idea he was this good. The audience applauded with wild abandon. Or maybe that was me. Afterwards, the Greek was apologetic. He expected more kids to show up for the choir. He had put some snacks on a table in this tinier practice room, but the table collapsed and the snacks were on the floor. The kids were picking the chips and cookies up off the floor and eating them anyway. The parents were beaming as he tried to tell us, in halting English, how much he appreciated the kids. He seemed like a bundle of chopped electrical wires. "Jesus, man," I thought. "Hold it together for the kids." Such is art.

Everything is not lost. If somebody asked me to sum up Christianity, Iíd say that nearly does it.

P.S. Thomasí team won 1 game, lost 1 game and tied 1 game during the tournament. All in all, not a bad finish to a nearly perfect season.