Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Merci, mon ami

This blogging works. No sooner did I mention the Little Sparrow than one of my readers -- you know who you are -- Fed-ex-overnighted me the definitive, live, Piaf au Carnegie Hall (in 1956 & 1957) cd.

Tres bon.

That, along with the bonus cd of Johnny (and June Carter) Cash she sent rounds out nicely the tunes being gathered for this road trip. My generous reader may not remember (couldda been within that 21-day (yes, I counted) period when she wouldn't speak to me) but back when she was in law school I went to see Mr. & Mrs. Cash out in Maryland. Had to sit through a horse show first -- alotta jumping -- was this pre- or post- Superman's broken neck? -- can't remember -- then Johnny and June came out riding in a white surrey with a fringe on top and sang a nice selection of songs. Soberer times then, but weren't those the days?

Nephew D----, who thinks -- and is probably correct in so thinking -- that I should cancel this mortoring eastward thing and spend the summer surfing with him down at San Onofre and other spots along the Orange Coast, already gave me some CCR and alotta Jack Johnson for my days along the blue highways. When J--- M saw I was uploading Jack Johnson she said she didn't know I liked him, he not being Enrique Morales or a Los Lonely Boy or Michael Jackson -- my listening/dancing staples. Surpriseamundo. There are alotta things about me not generally noticed by the general public. But they're no less true for not being noticed. Hey, my tastes are ecclectic. I like Snoop Dogg and Vestal Goodman. Yeah. I'm bipolar. And the only thing I'm missing from JJ is the soundtrack to Curious George. I'll rip that from someone's collection one of these days. Meanwhile, see George read.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Frenchie, or Little Sparrow, or Yard Art

Saturday morning. Been to the gym, did my little workout, very little, some back work, some delt work, 1000 crunches, but face it, no, really, face it, it's about burning fat now, not crunching or lifting, burn off the fat, loser. Or take out a loan for some lipo.

Went to Target, picked up some stuff for the road trip, including acoupla itty bitty gifts for my poolside Texan host, and some soaps that might work if I'm washing my face in the Colorado River. Icy, clear water north of (Viva!) Laughlin, cool, brown water south of Blythe. Been there? Just asking. Picked up my meds at PXRX, then home to breakfast: cup of coffee (not because i want it, more to keep away the headache), hardboiled egg (1), carrots, lettuce (iceberg), slices of orange pepper, cottage cheese (with salsa, hot), slice'o'bread (fresh, whole grain, from Panera) with cheese, slice'o'bread (fresh, whole grain, from Panera) with peanut butter (desert). Had some celery on the plate too, but it was so bad even Annie (BitchBitch) wouldn't eat it, so I had no hesitation tossing it.

Breakfast reminded me of Jerusalem. This was my daily breakfast in Israel -- was that just two summer ago?: salad and hb egg/s and cottage cheese and toast and coffee. Not my idea, that's what they serve over there in the Middle East. Then hop on the bus & sightsee 'til midnight. Sure I want to get back to Israel, but today I'm glad to be sitting in my driveway at my picnic table with my macbook.

Mach 1 Plumbing. The plumber's here now. Happy, friendly, talkative, not afraid of dogs, about 6'2, muscled, except at belly level, shaved head beneath his cap, long-sleeved t-shirt, olive drab shorts with a superman tag, black skin. Wait, there're two of them. James and Aaron. Them's Biblical names. Plumber's crack squared right before me on a Saturday morn.
At last we'll be able to shut off the driveway hose and at last I'll be able to wash my face in my bathroom sink again. Been a while.

Frenchie has fired up his music behind me, next door, this a.m. J--- F and J--- M always call it his Gypsy music. Really it's just French popular music. Having grown up in Milwaukee, where Poles abound, I've always liked the accordian, so while no two-stepping (Mexican) or polka (Polish) tunes waft this way, ever, this French squeezebox accompaniment to my repast is okay by me. Even, or especially the Edith Piaf. Sure I recognize her voice. Watched some movie recently where the soundtrack included La Vie en Rose by: Grace Jones. Hate to admit I'm so low-brow that I prefer Miss Jones' version to Miss Piaf's, tho Frenchie's played acoupla Piafs already today, and tho I may go see the new Piaf movie on the big screen. Oh, be honest, I'll wait for the dvd. I'm much more likely to be at DH4 -- Die Hard: Live Free or Die -- on opening day than I am a Piaf biopic. Did see P. LaBelle on YouTube recently doing a Piaf song. It always comes back to her, don't it? Yes it do. Yippee Ki Ay, m----------r.

Still, the real deal for this summer is Travolta playing Edna Turnblad in Hairspray. If I hadn't given away -- misquided magnaminity, to be sure -- my collection of Divine dvds some time ago I'd be toting Divine with me on this roadtrip. Rosie Valez and Organ Pipe Cactus National Park and Lust in the Dust, indeed.

This morning I'm sitting on J--- M's side of the table here on the veranda (driveway) so rather than gazing toward Larissa on the other side of the rat border I'm looking away from her and I can see our back yard (no pool). Been watering plenty this month, mostly to get rid of the stench of Annie's (BitchBitch's) drying urine, but the plants and grass are green ("lush" says J--- M) for that now too. Mostly what's drawing my eye this morning is the yard art:
Speaking of Annie (BitchBitch), J--- M told me I could take her camping with me, take her on my road trip. Then, channeling Sy----, she barked out "Ha. Take BitchBitch along and you'll be back on Cantura Street in a week."

Got that right, sister.

Among the (few) things I hate, one of 'em is the word blog. That I despise the word is one reason I've never had one. That and that I have nothing to say. Other day when I mentioned I'd be emailing to J--- M from the road she barked again in that quick, always funny, Squirrel Hill way of hers: "Email? I want a blog." Ta dah.

Here's your bonus Yard Art:

Friday, June 22, 2007

Okay, okay

You keep asking for a pic of Ida Lupino. Here you go:

And here she is with Glenn Ford in Lust for Gold:

Sure I like the face, but don't forget, she wasn't just a face. She directed Hayley Mills in Trouble With Angels and she directed The Rifleman & Bewitched and she directed other films and many many television shows. And, she wrote.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Get 'Em Up, Scout

You know who you are:
Heading to Texas any day now.
Didn't tell you about the firearms, did I? They arrived. Acoupla Airsofts. An American-designed, history-endorsed Colt 25 pistol and some German-designed/EU-endorsed M41A rifle. They're not electric or gas fired. They're simple spring actions. Basic. Low cost. Plastic. Entry level replicas. The Colt shoots bbs about 25 yards. The rifle shoots them farther. Or as the box proclaims [bbs]: Fly More Farther. Thought these'd come in handy on the road, along the borderlands, in west Texas, at Big Bend. We could play Cattleman and Rustler or Border Patrol and Dope Smuggler or American Psychopath and Hapless Camper or Walker, Texas Ranger and Bad Guy or Cowboy and Indian.

Not that I'm into role play.

Or, speaking of Indians, June is Ida Lupino month on Turner Classic Movies and I TiVo'd many and was watching some one of her old movies the other night -- Lust For Gold -- takes place in Arizona in the 1940's with flashbacks to the late 1800's -- with the same lust in both centuries -- and along with the ageless, ever-flawless Lupino there was a never-ever-looked-better Glenn Ford playing a handsome, if conflicted, b-a-d man and a very very young Jay Silverheels playing an unconflicted and handsome good man. Uncredited, I think, was Mr. Silverheels. Didn't see him in the rolling credits anyway. Figures.

I didn't recognize Silverheels' young face at first, but the voice was unmistakable, bearing tidings from my childhood. Hey, that's Tonto. That's Jay Silverheels. Was fun to see him there sans buckskin, sans aboriginal garb, pre-Ranger, pre-Clayton Moore, pre-sidekick, pre-Scout with a decent sized cinematic part as a supporting player with no big deal made of his nativity. Silverheels sported jeans and a shirt (that is, nothing to indicate otherness) throughout the movie and with the scripted, Anglo, Gringo, pale-faced, round-eyes, Christian name of Walter, worked -- as a Deputy -- in the 1940's Tuscon sheriff's department -- so he probably carried a gun onscreen but truly I don't remember.

Anyway Kemo Sabe, back to you heading west and me heading east and the twain meeting up in El Paso and heading down the rio (Americano side) and being armed: this Colt's not much use for target practice with these little yellow or green, breeze-buffeted 6mm plastic bbs. Spring action velocity is so slow you can pretty much watch the trajectory and the ricochet and then go scoop up the just-shot shot out of the dirt or the lawn and re-magazine it. Don't want to waste any ammo, having only 8 or 9 thousand rounds to fire. Uh huh.

If you don't meet me in El Paso Del Norte, not to worry, I'll still be armed when I roll into your driveway. We can shoot at each other around the pool, no doubt. Going from memory now, but as I recall your derriere -- even poolside, even moving, even speedo'ed up -- will make a better target than that dart board tacked to my back fence just beyond those plants. And I know you've wanted to zero in on me since you were a kid back on the isthmus aiming your sure shot rough at all your elders. That inter-generational warring never ends, sonny. I'm betting these pellets will sting good and leave some nice bunz welts. Watch the eyes, hey.

The Airsofts weren't the first purchases I made for the road trip, but they're the one's I'm using the most before packing up and heading out. Practice may make perfect but not yet. I aim for but never hit the pots holding the plants here in my back yard but I do hit the fence behind those plants every time. Wonder, does Airsoft replicate the appropriately west Texasy road trip-worthy Winchester -- better yet, do they replicate that modified repeater Lucas McCain used in The Rifleman? Guess I got more shopping to do.