. . . time will tell.
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
Tuesday, March 21, 2017
Monday, March 20, 2017
Sunday, March 19, 2017
DEATH AND DECONSTRUCTION
We lost a couple of good ones again.
Chuck Berry, who some (Chuck?) say invented rock and roll, dead at 90.
His voice, along with those of Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley, was in my head in the 1950's when I was a high school student.
His bizarre "duck walk", which became a trademark, evolved from an accident where he fell while playing.
Troubles with the law led to several terms in reform school and prison.
He was emblematic of the times and the trade he took up.
But it didn't stop him from writing and performing some of the great songs we all grew up with.
And this morning we learn of the death of Jimmy Breslin at 88.
A consumate newspaper reporter for decades in New York City, Jimmy told the stories of the common man so well he won a Pulitzer Prize.
A cigar-chomping, hard drinking "ink stained wretch" of the newspaper business with a knack for finding and telling a story.
Who else would think to interview the man who dug the grave for John F. Kennedy?
We'll miss them.
For the second part of my post, take a look at what Chef Judy, aka SWMBO, created for the evening meal yesterday.
Chuck Berry, who some (Chuck?) say invented rock and roll, dead at 90.
His voice, along with those of Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley, was in my head in the 1950's when I was a high school student.
His bizarre "duck walk", which became a trademark, evolved from an accident where he fell while playing.
Troubles with the law led to several terms in reform school and prison.
He was emblematic of the times and the trade he took up.
But it didn't stop him from writing and performing some of the great songs we all grew up with.
And this morning we learn of the death of Jimmy Breslin at 88.
A consumate newspaper reporter for decades in New York City, Jimmy told the stories of the common man so well he won a Pulitzer Prize.
A cigar-chomping, hard drinking "ink stained wretch" of the newspaper business with a knack for finding and telling a story.
Who else would think to interview the man who dug the grave for John F. Kennedy?
We'll miss them.
For the second part of my post, take a look at what Chef Judy, aka SWMBO, created for the evening meal yesterday.
It's a deconstructed (or Inside-Out) Vietnamese Spring Roll.
Shrimp, rice vermicelli, carrots, peppers, peanuts, mint leaves.
Topped with a spicy peanut sauce (unshown) it was delicious.
I know.
I'm a lucky man.
Saturday, March 18, 2017
CHANGES IN LATITUDES . . .
Judy and I drove to Jerome at mid-day yesterday to meet a granddaughter and her significant other for lunch at the Asylum in the Grand Hotel.
They arrived late because of traffic tied up south of Phoenix on the I-10 freeway while wreckage from four consecutive accidents was cleared.
But they got there only about 45 minutes late and we had a nice lunch in one of our favorite restaurants.
We reminisced with "the kids" about one of the first times we had visited Jerome, of how I had a photograph of the then 16 year old daughter who became the mother of our lunchtime companion.
It's a classic photograph of her sitting at the bar in the Spirit Room, a pub that's thrived on the same corner in the heart of town for many decades.
It was pretty much a ghost town in those days and we stayed in a hotel room with a broken glass window above the bar on one of our forays.
Now it's a fancy boutique hotel, completely re-done.
This was the view from just outside the Grand Hotel where we lunched.
They arrived late because of traffic tied up south of Phoenix on the I-10 freeway while wreckage from four consecutive accidents was cleared.
But they got there only about 45 minutes late and we had a nice lunch in one of our favorite restaurants.
We reminisced with "the kids" about one of the first times we had visited Jerome, of how I had a photograph of the then 16 year old daughter who became the mother of our lunchtime companion.
It's a classic photograph of her sitting at the bar in the Spirit Room, a pub that's thrived on the same corner in the heart of town for many decades.
It was pretty much a ghost town in those days and we stayed in a hotel room with a broken glass window above the bar on one of our forays.
Now it's a fancy boutique hotel, completely re-done.
This was the view from just outside the Grand Hotel where we lunched.
It was a hazy day but you can see the San Francisco Peaks 75 or 80 miles in the distance.
I had been watching t.v. before we left for Jerome and heard a weathercaster say that it was going to be in the mid 90's in Phoenix but if you wanted to cool off and go skiing there was still plenty of snow at the Arizona Snow Bowl on those peaks.
About 160 miles separates those two locations and climate zones.
We were about mid-way in between and the day was very pleasant, with temperatures probably in the low 70's.
As we said our good-byes to the young ones we were heading back down the mountain through Old Cottonwood and New Cottonwood and back home.
When we lived between Old Cottonwood and Clarkdale over 20 years ago it was a sleepy place.
Now there were fancy stores and shops and restaurants everywhere.
It always makes me think of the line from Jimmy Buffet's song "...nothing remains quite the same..."
Friday, March 17, 2017
A DIRGE ON ST. PADDY'S DAY
Who would think a lad from Dartford, just outside of London, would link up with an Irish band to sing this mournful tale of murder and lust.
Never mind the national differences.
I love this version of this song.
Never mind the national differences.
I love this version of this song.
FRIDAY FUNNIES
I guess all you Gentle Readers out there can tell by the change of color here what day this is.
It's the day we put on the stupid t-shirts that say "Kiss Me, I'm Irish!"
In America anyway.
I have read that the people of Ireland don't mark this saint's day by any such alcohol-fueled malarkey.
Be that as it may, let me wish you the standard . . .
It's the day we put on the stupid t-shirts that say "Kiss Me, I'm Irish!"
In America anyway.
I have read that the people of Ireland don't mark this saint's day by any such alcohol-fueled malarkey.
Be that as it may, let me wish you the standard . . .
But enough with the Irish blather.
Let's continue now with the regular funnies.
Hey now, something to put next to my birdbath!
Please allow me to give you some words of advice: don't drink too much, don't drive, you don't even have to eat corned beef and cabbage if you don't like it.
And, since I know no one listens to my advice anyway, good luck with your hangover.
And always remember to keep laughing.
Here, kitty-kitty . . . oh, quit bullying that dog!
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