Present: Will, Bill & Lynne, Edgar, Ben, Steve & Jeanette, Jim, Big Jay, Andy
In a low-key kind of way, this Monday's fairly select gathering ended up discussing song - or at least that's what I heard most about. But if you know better, do say!
Ben, on one of his occasional visits, raised the intriguing question, Who is Aaron Conte? The reason is that he has a framed Platinum Disc, the accolade bestowed on records that sell (or at least ship) more than a million copies.
The trouble is, this record dates back a good 50 years and intense Google searches don't reveal a singer of that name in that era. Indeed, the only Aaron Conte on Imdb is an actor/drummer who is around today and has no such sales. It could be a mistake, it could be a hoax. Answers on a postcard, please.
That led, by a roundabout route to a wayward to and fro about Christmas songs, and how Ian should release a Christmas album - for some reason, Santa Baby was thought to be a good track for him. The musically minded around the table then launched into a Christmas medley, including Silver Bells. Turned out this was originally called Tinkle Bells - until the composer Jay Livingston's wife told him not to be so silly!
Livingston's co-composer, Ray Evans's wife Wyn was much older than most people realised, having been born in 1900 and died in 2002. She was old enough to be a friend of Charlie Chaplin's family in the 1920s and 1930s, and used to have lunch regularly with Chaplin's mother to keep her company.
This got Will talking about how many old radio and TV shows are now available on CD or DVD for a few dollars, mainly because the costs have already been covered many times over. This set Will off on one of his favorite subjects - why writers get paid so little. I joined in enthusiastically on behalf of journalists. Jeanette looked on as if she were hearing strange creatures from another planet, as well she might on a nurse's salary!
CAUGHT ON THE BREEZE
If you're trying to tame a bronc you're not being leisurely
These things are dangerous, they have salt
You can get some really very good books in Out of the Closet, brand new and smelling nice
I just lucked out because Larry Wilson likes me. No, he hasn't got a crush on me!
One thing I'll say about Ian: he's a great STAGE performer
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Where angels fear to fly
Present: Jim, Will, Edgar, Mary, Ian & Regina, Bill & Lynne, Bobb & Barbara, Steve & Jeanette, Sue, Bob, Ray and - after most had gone home - Gloria.
Sadly, we were without the wonderful Javier to keep us in order tonight - and were informed that he will be gone for as long as two months, on a trip home to Mexico. This was nothing short of a minor disaster, as he does so much to keep the rattling train on the rails on a Monday night. But his replacement, the balding Juan, rose to the occasion in a way that suggests we might actually get through the next month or two without tearing our hair out in frustration.
Just as the celebrations for Ian's recent birthday went on far beyond the day itself, so last night we had the beginning of what promise to be a lengthy launch of Jim's eagerly awaited definitive account of Angel's Flight - the first book of his in some years where the title has not contained an obscenity. Official publication date is August 11, and a major promotion is planned downtown for September 12. After that, any visitor to LA who cannot produce a SoCal gas bill will have to buy one. So I hear. Anyway, it's a masterly volume that will be essential reading for anyone pretending to know anything about the history of LA.
It was a busy, buzzy evening, with far more discussion threads than I could keep up with, from the plight of West Virginia miners at one end of the table to the iniquities of Altadena Town Council at the other - it's their loss, Steve, but I think you've reached that conclusion already.
Sue Dadd made one of her all-too-rare appearances. She and Steve had what he described as "a lovely discussion" on Louis B. Easton and a restoration she and James did to one of his very significant homes, and how since his methods of construction were unique, the restoration required significant flexibility of thought. They also spoke at length about a commission she is consulting on, to restore the ceilings at the Arizona Biltmore.
Barbara's pack of Pentel retractable pencils caused a small but significant flurry, for the simple reason that the lead, once exposed, in all cases refused to retract, like toothpaste coming out of a tube and other similes of a similar nature. Several of us tried, We all failed. I would hate to be the person in Pentel's customer service department who takes Barbara's call.
But even the non-retractable pencils were but a fleabite compared to the main topic of the evening: Ian's underpants. To general consternation, Regina revealed that they must be Calvin Klein, and must be bought from Macy's - or better, presumably, but it is a sad comment on the state of Pasadena retailing that that is about as good as it gets these days.
Counter-suggestions of going to Target or JC Penney, from Lynne and Bobb respectively, were dismissed with a regal wave of Regina's hand, while also telling the world where that pair go shopping. At least no one admitted to patronizing the 99cents or Out of the Closet (yuk!) underwear departments. Don't get ideas, you two.
But have we stumbled on the secret of Ian's musical success - a money-no-object attitude to girding his nether regions? Does he, like the girl in the ad, feel like a million dollars when he goes on stage with Ck emblazoned on his bum, or elsewhere?
And no one thought to ask the zillion-dollar question: boxers or Y-fronts? Maybe I ought to hang around the men's changing rooms at Caltech, purely in the interests of objective reporting, naturally.
While Ian's tackle is not in doubt, some weird cross-gender revelations came out of a little test Lynne had plucked from the LA Times: what words do we see in BE_A_E and LO_AL? The Times was adamant that men saw BECAME and LOCAL, while women saw BEWARE and LOYAL. You can't do much more with LO_AL other than LORAL (pertaining to lore, knowledge, learning, etc, in case you are wondering). But Regina and Barbara also saw BEHAVE as well as the other two permutations in the first word, and Bobb picked out LOYAL. Another fine mess courtesy of the Times.
Such weighty issues put into their proper context subsequent discussion about the impact of education on democracy, whether we have a democracy at all, gun laws, thuggery in Altadena and the length of time Ray had to wait to get a plane back from England (or was it to England?0 Either way, he played to the usual crowd of 70,000 in Nottinghamshire, presumably the same 70,000 as hung on his every note last year. And I bet he doesn't wear Calvin Klein underpants.
CAUGHT ON THE BREEZE
Have you had a haircut? No I just combed it, that's all
You're fired from the human race - give me that gun
I can read the back of Barbara's t-shirt without embarrassment
What is a Texan doing getting sunburnt?
That Pasadena Star News reporter is such an asshole
He doesn't usually slap himself
Oh, Regina's here! I haven't seen her all night
I have to say that Bush is quite good-looking - and, besides, who was the last ugly President?
They won't pay me, so I may as well write a letter
Sadly, we were without the wonderful Javier to keep us in order tonight - and were informed that he will be gone for as long as two months, on a trip home to Mexico. This was nothing short of a minor disaster, as he does so much to keep the rattling train on the rails on a Monday night. But his replacement, the balding Juan, rose to the occasion in a way that suggests we might actually get through the next month or two without tearing our hair out in frustration.
Just as the celebrations for Ian's recent birthday went on far beyond the day itself, so last night we had the beginning of what promise to be a lengthy launch of Jim's eagerly awaited definitive account of Angel's Flight - the first book of his in some years where the title has not contained an obscenity. Official publication date is August 11, and a major promotion is planned downtown for September 12. After that, any visitor to LA who cannot produce a SoCal gas bill will have to buy one. So I hear. Anyway, it's a masterly volume that will be essential reading for anyone pretending to know anything about the history of LA.
It was a busy, buzzy evening, with far more discussion threads than I could keep up with, from the plight of West Virginia miners at one end of the table to the iniquities of Altadena Town Council at the other - it's their loss, Steve, but I think you've reached that conclusion already.
Sue Dadd made one of her all-too-rare appearances. She and Steve had what he described as "a lovely discussion" on Louis B. Easton and a restoration she and James did to one of his very significant homes, and how since his methods of construction were unique, the restoration required significant flexibility of thought. They also spoke at length about a commission she is consulting on, to restore the ceilings at the Arizona Biltmore.
Barbara's pack of Pentel retractable pencils caused a small but significant flurry, for the simple reason that the lead, once exposed, in all cases refused to retract, like toothpaste coming out of a tube and other similes of a similar nature. Several of us tried, We all failed. I would hate to be the person in Pentel's customer service department who takes Barbara's call.
But even the non-retractable pencils were but a fleabite compared to the main topic of the evening: Ian's underpants. To general consternation, Regina revealed that they must be Calvin Klein, and must be bought from Macy's - or better, presumably, but it is a sad comment on the state of Pasadena retailing that that is about as good as it gets these days.
Counter-suggestions of going to Target or JC Penney, from Lynne and Bobb respectively, were dismissed with a regal wave of Regina's hand, while also telling the world where that pair go shopping. At least no one admitted to patronizing the 99cents or Out of the Closet (yuk!) underwear departments. Don't get ideas, you two.
But have we stumbled on the secret of Ian's musical success - a money-no-object attitude to girding his nether regions? Does he, like the girl in the ad, feel like a million dollars when he goes on stage with Ck emblazoned on his bum, or elsewhere?
And no one thought to ask the zillion-dollar question: boxers or Y-fronts? Maybe I ought to hang around the men's changing rooms at Caltech, purely in the interests of objective reporting, naturally.
While Ian's tackle is not in doubt, some weird cross-gender revelations came out of a little test Lynne had plucked from the LA Times: what words do we see in BE_A_E and LO_AL? The Times was adamant that men saw BECAME and LOCAL, while women saw BEWARE and LOYAL. You can't do much more with LO_AL other than LORAL (pertaining to lore, knowledge, learning, etc, in case you are wondering). But Regina and Barbara also saw BEHAVE as well as the other two permutations in the first word, and Bobb picked out LOYAL. Another fine mess courtesy of the Times.
Such weighty issues put into their proper context subsequent discussion about the impact of education on democracy, whether we have a democracy at all, gun laws, thuggery in Altadena and the length of time Ray had to wait to get a plane back from England (or was it to England?0 Either way, he played to the usual crowd of 70,000 in Nottinghamshire, presumably the same 70,000 as hung on his every note last year. And I bet he doesn't wear Calvin Klein underpants.
CAUGHT ON THE BREEZE
Have you had a haircut? No I just combed it, that's all
You're fired from the human race - give me that gun
I can read the back of Barbara's t-shirt without embarrassment
What is a Texan doing getting sunburnt?
That Pasadena Star News reporter is such an asshole
He doesn't usually slap himself
Oh, Regina's here! I haven't seen her all night
I have to say that Bush is quite good-looking - and, besides, who was the last ugly President?
They won't pay me, so I may as well write a letter
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
When is Universal Universal?
Will, Edgar, Ian, Jim, Big Jay McNeely, Bill, Lynne, Steve G, Glenn, Bobb, Barbara, Steve & Jeanette.
Glenn, the rest of us agree, is a man of few words. But when he lets rip, anyone in earshot certainly knows about it.
On Monday it was the word "universal" that got him. Not Universal Studios or Mr Universe, but as in universal healthcare. "It's ridiculous," he exploded, "healthcare is not for everyone in the universe."
Jeanette, Bill and Lynne tried to point out that, in this context, it meant healthcare for the entire universe of US residents.
Glenn started punching buttons on his cellphone-cum-organizer - not an iPhone, but just as powerful.
Up it came. Two definitions for "universal". The second covered everything in the universe, but the first was simply everyone or thing in a particular category, from sheep to left-handed pygmies - or all the people in the US who needed healthcare.
"I still don't like it," said Glenn, refusing to accept defeat.
Which only goes to show that we know how to let ourselves go on a Monday night at Conrads. Everything goes, and no one holds back - or shouldn't.
When Bobb and Barbara turned up, Barbara hugged Will to pass on greetings from a well-wisher: or should that be Will wisher?
The big set-piece of the evening was the clash of the musicians: Ian, Will and Jay talking musical terms like titans lobbing skyscrapers at one another. As Edgar adroitly observed, Ian and Jay were opera v jazz, Ian all in favor of structure and Jay putting the emphasis on the flow of the melody. What an evening it would be to get the two of them on stage together (again?).
Looks as if Jay could have a second career as a fire-eater, after he poured a huge amount of Hottest F-ing Sauce on his Greek salad and he ate it as unconcernedly as if he had gently shaken a little salt and pepper on his food. Asbestos mouth and iron stomach, no doubt about it.
Less fiercely, Lynne gave Ian a pot of the precious and rare Greek delicacy, taramasalata, for which he had been pining for months, as a late birthday present, and he revealed that as another present a friend in movies had offered to film his show at the Coffee Gallery on Saturday - but he turned down the chance and regretted it, because the house was packed and Ian was on top form, at least by his own calm, cool and utterly objective reckoning. Another time maybe.
Edgar and his partner, Keith, are thinking of having their house tented. Sounds like they ought to stop thinking about it and do something, because there are little piles of sawdust all over the house. Before long the whole house will be just a pile of sawdust.
We're as tough on termites as we are on anything else that gets in our way from the animal kingdom even though, as the irascible Glen pointed out, they were here before us, whether you are talking about skunks, racoons, coyotes or any of the other lively wild life in these parts. Edgar's bete noir is, appropriately, the black widow spider, which eats its mate and behaves in a generally antisocial way to the rest of the planet.
Monday was Bastille Day, a public holiday in France since 1790, to celebrate the previous year's revolution. But, according to Edgar's partner Keith, there is nothing left of the Bastille, notorious prison of the 18th century, except a post with a plaque on it. This led to tales of how prisoners were allowed to receive meals and other luxuries denied to modern inmates, especially the lavish last meals, before being executed. Americans on death row prefer depressingly familiar grub like hamburgers or fried chicken and the inevitable fries. Now, at Newgate in London, where the Old Bailey central criminal court stands today, some of the more colorful murderers used to bring in prostitutes to enliven their last night on earth...
CAUGHT ON THE BREEZE
This is the most unprepped menu in Pasadena!
What does Barbara's t-shirt say? I daren't look.
It says: "Hard work never hurt anyone, but why take a chance?"
They were all short films in the early days - until the movie houses got taller
Time drags when I'm in a Buddhist temple
They're always closing the Rialto and opening it again
In the 50s kids had springs on their shoes
It's ok - men can join the league of women voters
Glenn, the rest of us agree, is a man of few words. But when he lets rip, anyone in earshot certainly knows about it.
On Monday it was the word "universal" that got him. Not Universal Studios or Mr Universe, but as in universal healthcare. "It's ridiculous," he exploded, "healthcare is not for everyone in the universe."
Jeanette, Bill and Lynne tried to point out that, in this context, it meant healthcare for the entire universe of US residents.
Glenn started punching buttons on his cellphone-cum-organizer - not an iPhone, but just as powerful.
Up it came. Two definitions for "universal". The second covered everything in the universe, but the first was simply everyone or thing in a particular category, from sheep to left-handed pygmies - or all the people in the US who needed healthcare.
"I still don't like it," said Glenn, refusing to accept defeat.
Which only goes to show that we know how to let ourselves go on a Monday night at Conrads. Everything goes, and no one holds back - or shouldn't.
When Bobb and Barbara turned up, Barbara hugged Will to pass on greetings from a well-wisher: or should that be Will wisher?
The big set-piece of the evening was the clash of the musicians: Ian, Will and Jay talking musical terms like titans lobbing skyscrapers at one another. As Edgar adroitly observed, Ian and Jay were opera v jazz, Ian all in favor of structure and Jay putting the emphasis on the flow of the melody. What an evening it would be to get the two of them on stage together (again?).
Looks as if Jay could have a second career as a fire-eater, after he poured a huge amount of Hottest F-ing Sauce on his Greek salad and he ate it as unconcernedly as if he had gently shaken a little salt and pepper on his food. Asbestos mouth and iron stomach, no doubt about it.
Less fiercely, Lynne gave Ian a pot of the precious and rare Greek delicacy, taramasalata, for which he had been pining for months, as a late birthday present, and he revealed that as another present a friend in movies had offered to film his show at the Coffee Gallery on Saturday - but he turned down the chance and regretted it, because the house was packed and Ian was on top form, at least by his own calm, cool and utterly objective reckoning. Another time maybe.
Edgar and his partner, Keith, are thinking of having their house tented. Sounds like they ought to stop thinking about it and do something, because there are little piles of sawdust all over the house. Before long the whole house will be just a pile of sawdust.
We're as tough on termites as we are on anything else that gets in our way from the animal kingdom even though, as the irascible Glen pointed out, they were here before us, whether you are talking about skunks, racoons, coyotes or any of the other lively wild life in these parts. Edgar's bete noir is, appropriately, the black widow spider, which eats its mate and behaves in a generally antisocial way to the rest of the planet.
Monday was Bastille Day, a public holiday in France since 1790, to celebrate the previous year's revolution. But, according to Edgar's partner Keith, there is nothing left of the Bastille, notorious prison of the 18th century, except a post with a plaque on it. This led to tales of how prisoners were allowed to receive meals and other luxuries denied to modern inmates, especially the lavish last meals, before being executed. Americans on death row prefer depressingly familiar grub like hamburgers or fried chicken and the inevitable fries. Now, at Newgate in London, where the Old Bailey central criminal court stands today, some of the more colorful murderers used to bring in prostitutes to enliven their last night on earth...
CAUGHT ON THE BREEZE
This is the most unprepped menu in Pasadena!
What does Barbara's t-shirt say? I daren't look.
It says: "Hard work never hurt anyone, but why take a chance?"
They were all short films in the early days - until the movie houses got taller
Time drags when I'm in a Buddhist temple
They're always closing the Rialto and opening it again
In the 50s kids had springs on their shoes
It's ok - men can join the league of women voters
Saturday, July 12, 2008
No more Mr Nice Guy
Ray, Ian and Regina, Bill, Lynne, Jim, Edgar, Steve G, Steve & Jeanette, Mary, Bobb and Barbara, Bob Birchard turned up at 7.03 and couldn't get a seat at first.
This edition of Diner Diary is later than usual because of last week's hiatus. The Diary's veracity came under challenge, whereupon I ceased publication. I did so because I am still a working professional journalist, and any suggestion of lying therefore poisons my reputation.
I have been persuaded to resume the blog only after a heartwarming display of overwhelming public demand, but only on the understanding that the rules are changing: the sources of Caught On the Breeze quotes will not be identified, and in return anyone who casts doubt on the blog will run the risk of full investigation and exposure. If you are mocked, humiliated, ridiculed or otherwise pilloried, you have to take it as served. In my book there is no such thing as a right of reply, but I promise not to censor comments.
Enough of rules. The dominant theme of last week's session at Conrads was Ian's 67th birthday, celebrated in characteristically eccentric style with cupcakes preceded by a large green bag of French onion-flavored multigrain chips. This marked the start of week-long celebrations, which are of course only a dress rehearsal for the big Seven-Oh, only three years away now.
Ray Campi made a second consecutive appearance after his debilitating two-month illness, and was flying to England on Wednesday to sing at a rock-a-billy festival near Newark in Nottinghamshire on Sunday. 'The promoters treat me real well,' he growled. 'We are put up in a five-star hotel, and give us plenty of time to see the other acts.' Trouble is, he will be stuck in one of England's less appealing areas, unless you are fan of Nottingham castle and Lincoln cathedral.
One of the group's more charming qualities is that everyone retains a childlike freshness, to the extent that it is possible to see each of us as children. That raised the question of how much we really change, or is growing up merely a process of learning how to adapt our inbuilt characteristics to our surroundings, and having the ability to change those surroundings. At school or college we are thrown together with people we may or may not like, but gradually birds of a feather flock together and no more is that truer than on Monday nights. But you can see the extroverts, the attention-seekers (plenty of those), the quieter ones, the mischief makers, the pontificators and the gossip-mongers. I couldn't possibly put names to any of those, but feel free to post your own suggestions in the comment box!
A recurring theme is the group's general distaste for organized religion, and scepticism or more about the existence of a god. Nowhere does that bring out hostility more than in the case of the money-making TV evangelists, and no one nails them more fiercely than Jim. 'They say God is merciful but then he's going to send you to hell if you transgress,' he pointed out, 'and he is infinitely powerful but he still passes round the begging bowl.' My view? Religion is inversely proportional to knowledge, so the more we have learned the more religion has taken a back seat. Politicians pay lip service to it, because millions of ignorant people still believe in an unthinking naive way. I'm not ruling out that there might be a god, but I don't think we've thought seriously about what form it might take.
Our closest observer of what is going on under Pasadena's placid surface is undoubtedly Steve Lamb, plugged in as he is to the Coffee Gallery and Altadena Town Council. He observed that you never know who the really rich are in Pasadena, because they dress like the workers. This also happens in Britain, where the old-money rich pay little attention to their appearance unless they are attending some grand ball, when the family jewels come out of the safe deposit box. They tend to be rural, love green boots and Barbours, let their clothes go to rags. It's not an attempt to hide, they just don't need to impress many people, and maybe the same goes for the old money in Pasadena. However, you can usually tell them apart if you look closely, because their tattered clobber usually comes from very expensive tailors, cobblers or couturiers. They just make things last - especially household gooes. One jibe by one of the English old wealthy against one of the up-and-comers was 'Do you know, he had to buy his own furniture!' Of course, none of us would be gulity of such a solecism.
CAUGHT ON THE BREEZE
You can never be too far from Birmingham [England]
La Crescenta is a dead zone
Regina is Queen of the Cupcakes
If a car goes 100,000 miles without changing the muffler you are not going to do much business
You watched Yankee Doodle Dandy and it wasn't even July 4? How wonderful!
It's too hot to cook
We'd all like to be Rollo!
This edition of Diner Diary is later than usual because of last week's hiatus. The Diary's veracity came under challenge, whereupon I ceased publication. I did so because I am still a working professional journalist, and any suggestion of lying therefore poisons my reputation.
I have been persuaded to resume the blog only after a heartwarming display of overwhelming public demand, but only on the understanding that the rules are changing: the sources of Caught On the Breeze quotes will not be identified, and in return anyone who casts doubt on the blog will run the risk of full investigation and exposure. If you are mocked, humiliated, ridiculed or otherwise pilloried, you have to take it as served. In my book there is no such thing as a right of reply, but I promise not to censor comments.
Enough of rules. The dominant theme of last week's session at Conrads was Ian's 67th birthday, celebrated in characteristically eccentric style with cupcakes preceded by a large green bag of French onion-flavored multigrain chips. This marked the start of week-long celebrations, which are of course only a dress rehearsal for the big Seven-Oh, only three years away now.
Ray Campi made a second consecutive appearance after his debilitating two-month illness, and was flying to England on Wednesday to sing at a rock-a-billy festival near Newark in Nottinghamshire on Sunday. 'The promoters treat me real well,' he growled. 'We are put up in a five-star hotel, and give us plenty of time to see the other acts.' Trouble is, he will be stuck in one of England's less appealing areas, unless you are fan of Nottingham castle and Lincoln cathedral.
One of the group's more charming qualities is that everyone retains a childlike freshness, to the extent that it is possible to see each of us as children. That raised the question of how much we really change, or is growing up merely a process of learning how to adapt our inbuilt characteristics to our surroundings, and having the ability to change those surroundings. At school or college we are thrown together with people we may or may not like, but gradually birds of a feather flock together and no more is that truer than on Monday nights. But you can see the extroverts, the attention-seekers (plenty of those), the quieter ones, the mischief makers, the pontificators and the gossip-mongers. I couldn't possibly put names to any of those, but feel free to post your own suggestions in the comment box!
A recurring theme is the group's general distaste for organized religion, and scepticism or more about the existence of a god. Nowhere does that bring out hostility more than in the case of the money-making TV evangelists, and no one nails them more fiercely than Jim. 'They say God is merciful but then he's going to send you to hell if you transgress,' he pointed out, 'and he is infinitely powerful but he still passes round the begging bowl.' My view? Religion is inversely proportional to knowledge, so the more we have learned the more religion has taken a back seat. Politicians pay lip service to it, because millions of ignorant people still believe in an unthinking naive way. I'm not ruling out that there might be a god, but I don't think we've thought seriously about what form it might take.
Our closest observer of what is going on under Pasadena's placid surface is undoubtedly Steve Lamb, plugged in as he is to the Coffee Gallery and Altadena Town Council. He observed that you never know who the really rich are in Pasadena, because they dress like the workers. This also happens in Britain, where the old-money rich pay little attention to their appearance unless they are attending some grand ball, when the family jewels come out of the safe deposit box. They tend to be rural, love green boots and Barbours, let their clothes go to rags. It's not an attempt to hide, they just don't need to impress many people, and maybe the same goes for the old money in Pasadena. However, you can usually tell them apart if you look closely, because their tattered clobber usually comes from very expensive tailors, cobblers or couturiers. They just make things last - especially household gooes. One jibe by one of the English old wealthy against one of the up-and-comers was 'Do you know, he had to buy his own furniture!' Of course, none of us would be gulity of such a solecism.
CAUGHT ON THE BREEZE
You can never be too far from Birmingham [England]
La Crescenta is a dead zone
Regina is Queen of the Cupcakes
If a car goes 100,000 miles without changing the muffler you are not going to do much business
You watched Yankee Doodle Dandy and it wasn't even July 4? How wonderful!
It's too hot to cook
We'd all like to be Rollo!
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Why Mars is like Vegas
Present: Jim, Ian, Lynne, Bill, Edgar, Ray (getting over 8 weeks in bed with a virus), Steve G, Bob Birchard, Will.
Maybe it was because it was the Monday before July 4, but we had a fairly small turnout of nine - no more than eight at any one time, because Will replaced Edgar - and the conversations took a while to get onto anything more than gas prices and the will they/won't they actors' strike.
Ray was a welcome returner after being away for a long time which turned out to be a virus that kept him in bed for eight weeks. He put it down to a diet of Mihares food washed down with copious Margharitas. Not exactly a balanced diet, but hardly deserving of eight weeks flat on his back. And next week Ray has to be off to Newark in Nottinghamshire, England, to play his special brand of rockabilly before an expected audience numbering 70,000. You can't knock the money that'll raise, even if the July weather in that part of the world is usually rubbish.
So, as a Brit I have to confess, are the breakfasts. The great British breakfast has been exported round the world but, like tennis, cricket, soccer and most other games we invented, it is done so much better in foreign lands.
The American diner and coffee shop are bywords for excellent reliable plain meals, especially breakfast. So why can't the Brits carry through on what they basically started? French and Italians have been making do with coffee, bread and jam, and northern Europe was starting the day with cold ham, cheese, salami and more bread - untoasted of course.
It has much to do with restrictions in the two world wars, designed to save light, encourage the workers to focus on the war effort and get everyone off the streets and tucked up in bed before the bombing raids started. But that's not the whole story, otherwise the standard would have risen as soon as the shackles were unlocked. Instead, many places quietly continued as if the wartime regulations were still in force, producing rubbish food and basically ordering consumers to buy when it suited the owners of shops, cafes, pubs and restaurants. British governments, too, were far too slow to scrap rules that were eventually half a century out of date.
Britain's volatile relationship with alcohol also discouraged a more liberal attitude, but the floodgates have been opened and the only answer is to avoid most shopping precincts and malls on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights.
America, meanwhile, produced McDonald's, Burger King, KFC, Denny's, Carl's Jr Starbucks and many others (not forgetting Conrads, of course) that recognised the importance of reliability and repeatability.
Mind you, those qualities can be taken too far, and many of those fast-food chains are not to everyone's taste - nor, Jim pointed out, were crime series such as Perry Mason. But aren't all crime series formulaic, and all TV drama series, for that matter? There is a never-ending tension between the predictable framework that gets viewers into a hit series within minutes every week, and the conveyor belt nature of daytime soap operas.
Songs, too, go through periods when one or two formulas dominate - often, as Ian pointed out, related to particular nationalities such as the Italians in the 1950s. In the 1920s and 1930s, Chinese songs and dress were objects of great fascination in Europe and America, mainly because few westerners had been there so there was a great mystique attached to China.
Nowadays much of that mystique has been stripped away by cheap airfares. We can go just about anywhere now, and the reason that some areas are still remote is that they are not particularly attractive - the same could be said about the midwest, where few tourists venture.
Lynne said she was keen on a trip to Mars in the wake of the JPL Phoenix mission currently digging into the harsh, frozen northern soil. "Mars looks like Vegas before the hotels were built," Ray observed. I look forward to a branch of the Bellagio staffed with little green men with three heads: "I'm Brad, Brad and Brad and I'll be your waiter, waiter, waiter tonight."
Trips to Cuba may soon be on the agenda for left-leaning Americans after Fidel Castro stepped down and his brother started making conciliatory noises to Washington DC. Tales brought back to Europe by intrepid adventurers suggest it is a mixture of luxury and penury, which I suppose is the ideal blend for the champagne socialist with enough dosh to fly long-haul to Havana.
And we learned that during the Cuban middle crisis, Jim was on alert with the Marines - in North Carolina, though, so not really in the front line. I was at school and remember our chaplain getting all worked up about it as Kennedy and Krushchev played poker on a global scale.
Back in the realm of the day-to-day headache, Edgar told us about the unexpected complexities caused by the fact that his late father had transferred $80,000 to an annuity but died before finally signing it into action. That has created one of those legal limbos that lawyers love so much, though the odds are that it must happen to every annuity provider a few times a year, so it can hardly be impossible to sort out. As Edgar said, it certainly can be sorted out, but not without the go-betweens taking a little matter of $3,000 off the top for their trouble. And, as Edgar Snr was 82 already, the insurance company was onto a near-certain winner in return for saving the old fella the trouble of having to think about how best to invest such a tidy sum. For the sake of our heirs, may we all tidy up our financial compost heaps before we keel over.
CAUGHT ON THE BREEZE
My uncle had about 13 kids, all born in different countries
Barbara is the original earth mother
Reading a book is like going into that person's bedroom
The margharitas are weak but the flesh is strong
If you were told you'd get a 70,000 crowd at the north pole, you'd turn up all right
I've had my check but I've just noticed I haven't had my carrot cake. Sorree, Mister Jim, last piece just gone!
Maybe it was because it was the Monday before July 4, but we had a fairly small turnout of nine - no more than eight at any one time, because Will replaced Edgar - and the conversations took a while to get onto anything more than gas prices and the will they/won't they actors' strike.
Ray was a welcome returner after being away for a long time which turned out to be a virus that kept him in bed for eight weeks. He put it down to a diet of Mihares food washed down with copious Margharitas. Not exactly a balanced diet, but hardly deserving of eight weeks flat on his back. And next week Ray has to be off to Newark in Nottinghamshire, England, to play his special brand of rockabilly before an expected audience numbering 70,000. You can't knock the money that'll raise, even if the July weather in that part of the world is usually rubbish.
So, as a Brit I have to confess, are the breakfasts. The great British breakfast has been exported round the world but, like tennis, cricket, soccer and most other games we invented, it is done so much better in foreign lands.
The American diner and coffee shop are bywords for excellent reliable plain meals, especially breakfast. So why can't the Brits carry through on what they basically started? French and Italians have been making do with coffee, bread and jam, and northern Europe was starting the day with cold ham, cheese, salami and more bread - untoasted of course.
It has much to do with restrictions in the two world wars, designed to save light, encourage the workers to focus on the war effort and get everyone off the streets and tucked up in bed before the bombing raids started. But that's not the whole story, otherwise the standard would have risen as soon as the shackles were unlocked. Instead, many places quietly continued as if the wartime regulations were still in force, producing rubbish food and basically ordering consumers to buy when it suited the owners of shops, cafes, pubs and restaurants. British governments, too, were far too slow to scrap rules that were eventually half a century out of date.
Britain's volatile relationship with alcohol also discouraged a more liberal attitude, but the floodgates have been opened and the only answer is to avoid most shopping precincts and malls on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights.
America, meanwhile, produced McDonald's, Burger King, KFC, Denny's, Carl's Jr Starbucks and many others (not forgetting Conrads, of course) that recognised the importance of reliability and repeatability.
Mind you, those qualities can be taken too far, and many of those fast-food chains are not to everyone's taste - nor, Jim pointed out, were crime series such as Perry Mason. But aren't all crime series formulaic, and all TV drama series, for that matter? There is a never-ending tension between the predictable framework that gets viewers into a hit series within minutes every week, and the conveyor belt nature of daytime soap operas.
Songs, too, go through periods when one or two formulas dominate - often, as Ian pointed out, related to particular nationalities such as the Italians in the 1950s. In the 1920s and 1930s, Chinese songs and dress were objects of great fascination in Europe and America, mainly because few westerners had been there so there was a great mystique attached to China.
Nowadays much of that mystique has been stripped away by cheap airfares. We can go just about anywhere now, and the reason that some areas are still remote is that they are not particularly attractive - the same could be said about the midwest, where few tourists venture.
Lynne said she was keen on a trip to Mars in the wake of the JPL Phoenix mission currently digging into the harsh, frozen northern soil. "Mars looks like Vegas before the hotels were built," Ray observed. I look forward to a branch of the Bellagio staffed with little green men with three heads: "I'm Brad, Brad and Brad and I'll be your waiter, waiter, waiter tonight."
Trips to Cuba may soon be on the agenda for left-leaning Americans after Fidel Castro stepped down and his brother started making conciliatory noises to Washington DC. Tales brought back to Europe by intrepid adventurers suggest it is a mixture of luxury and penury, which I suppose is the ideal blend for the champagne socialist with enough dosh to fly long-haul to Havana.
And we learned that during the Cuban middle crisis, Jim was on alert with the Marines - in North Carolina, though, so not really in the front line. I was at school and remember our chaplain getting all worked up about it as Kennedy and Krushchev played poker on a global scale.
Back in the realm of the day-to-day headache, Edgar told us about the unexpected complexities caused by the fact that his late father had transferred $80,000 to an annuity but died before finally signing it into action. That has created one of those legal limbos that lawyers love so much, though the odds are that it must happen to every annuity provider a few times a year, so it can hardly be impossible to sort out. As Edgar said, it certainly can be sorted out, but not without the go-betweens taking a little matter of $3,000 off the top for their trouble. And, as Edgar Snr was 82 already, the insurance company was onto a near-certain winner in return for saving the old fella the trouble of having to think about how best to invest such a tidy sum. For the sake of our heirs, may we all tidy up our financial compost heaps before we keel over.
CAUGHT ON THE BREEZE
My uncle had about 13 kids, all born in different countries
Barbara is the original earth mother
Reading a book is like going into that person's bedroom
The margharitas are weak but the flesh is strong
If you were told you'd get a 70,000 crowd at the north pole, you'd turn up all right
I've had my check but I've just noticed I haven't had my carrot cake. Sorree, Mister Jim, last piece just gone!
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