Let Me Grab Your Soul Away

Finally got around to watching Crazy Heart last night. I liked better it when it was called Tender Mercies. It's not that I hated Crazy Heart, but the story has been told before. Jeff Bridges did his usual great performance and I'm glad he finally got the hardware. What did put me off was the relationship between the alcoholic country singer and the writer. Maybe it was the age difference between Bridges and Gyllenhaal (60 vs. 33), or maybe it's that Gyllenhaal, despite her lovely baby blue eyes, was a bit out of her depth in this film.

I watched a couple of Robert Bresson films last week to, which alters how I watch film. If it's not in French, with a bummer of an ending, it most likely will suck.

My wife wanted to kill me after we saw Au hasard Balthazar, saying it was two hours of her life she cannot get back. I get that. It's not for everyone. But after seeing this film, you will believe a donkey can act.



It's a bleak film, but the camera work and sound are magnificent.

Kate Bush turns 52 today. Here's a video to send you off on a positive note from a performance during her only tour. She was 21.



So darn sweet when she jumps and waves at the end.

Over Fifty Pounds Ago

Today marks what would have been Prince Charles and Lady Diana's 29th wedding anniversary. This date would have also been the 25th wedding anniversary with my first wife.

Hindsight offers a lot of opportunities at excuses and what ifs, but it happened and cannot be changed. She and I are, by her choice, no longer on speaking terms. This day finds me thinking in terms of rituals that probably have no real meaning. So finding a narrow part of the Scioto River to throw a tarnished piece of silver across is of mixed metaphor and a pathetic stunt at best. Closure is a myth.



Last night was another IWPS qualifying slam at Writers' Block. Twelve poets took part and round one was close. I'm not sure if I was tied for seventh, eighth, or ninth. All I knew is that I was going 11th in round two. The one minute round.

One minute poems are a necessary evil of slam. Every slammer worth their salt onstage should have a few of them to rely on. It's like learning trigonometry in high school. As the teacher said, "You never know when you're going to need it on the Subway."

Such is the one minute poem. It's tough. It's quick. But it's a tool the good poet needs.

Scores in round two were once again weirdly consistent, and very tight. Had a feeling I could jump up the ladder with a high score. Did a poem I've been holding onto for this moment. It was inspired by an item in a friend's memory box, and essentially wrote itself in a thread on Live Journal. Went up and did it. Knocked it out well enough to get the highest score of the night (29.2) and vaulted up the standings like Beamon at the '68 Olympics to finish in second place.

All I'll say is that the poem is related to the image above and that I have forever changed the way many people in Kafe Kerouac think about said image.

Congratulations to Dain for winning the slam and Atticus for coming in third. Hot action all around!

Writers Block

So I'm stealing this from another blog.

The All Songs Considered podcast recently asked it's listeners to create a dream music festival line-up of ten artists and/or bands, active or defunct, living or dead, that might get to out of the comfort of your living room and into the mud of a make-shift campsite. Here's mine, starting with the opener and ending with the headliner:

Since The Beatles in 1961 were not a festival band!

Let me try this in order too, and I will forget at least ten other bands before the next hour is done. I'm appalled at my lack of women on this list.

Belle and Sebastian
Arcade Fire
Wilco
Talking Heads
Lucinda Williams
The Clash
Creedence Clearwater Revival (ca. 1969)
Otis Redding
The Who (ca. 1971)
The Jimi Hendrix Experience

I've seen seven of these bands. I'm counting John Fogerty for CCR and The Who in 1982, despite the lack of Keith Moon. Weird, I saw the Who and The Clash at the same show in Buffalo.

Jimi Hendrix opens for no one, not even The Monkees.

If this list went to eleven I'd add Queen to the line-up.

Car Trauma

After many months of noise and one failed attempt at repair, the noise that my car's exhaust was making has finally been fixed.

This summer has been irritating; all the heat, the longer commute in a car that has black leather seats, no air-conditioning and a CD player that has had better days. So when you can't hear yourself think when you start the car, or accelerate, because something in the tailpipe is blowing up - there's not much relaxing. No Fahrvergnügen.

The noise had escalated, and I returned to Mad Hatter Muffler for another shot at hope. Initially I was told there is a small hole in the muffler, but that was not causing the major noise. I know there could be a problem with the exhaust manifold, and understand it would cost a few hundred bucks to repair. It's a 22 year old Volvo with 237.000 miles on it, there are some repairs that would not be worth the expense. The mechanic and I talked about this, but then he said he'd take the car off the lift and take a closer look.

He emerged from the garage area with a diagnosis of a broken gasket between the manifold and the downpipe. The cost, about $50, which would have been so much more if I had gone to a dealer or just about any other shop I can think of. If you're having trouble with your exhaust system, I highly recommend Mad Hatter Muffler, they've done good by me several times in the past few years. Yes, that was a plug.

With the gasket repaired I started the car and heard...the engine, and little else. Idling is quiet, acceleration sounds normal. I keep flinching, waiting for the loud sound to happen, but it does not. The relief is incredible.



There's still a bit of life in the 760 yet. Not sure if there's enough to go to Buffalo in it come October though. At least the rest of the summer will be quieter.

No One Received a Score of 2.3

There's something to be said about the topic du jour during a poetry slam. Some nights it's about domestic violence, some divorce, some nights there is no theme at all.

Not last night.

I told my Scottish Wife before the draw that I'd get the first or second slot and I was right. I drew second.

In preparation for this slam I pretty much had the poems I would be reading in mind, and in order. So when Ethan started off with a poem about LeBron James I was in a bit of a quandary for, you see, I had already planned on using my LeBron James poem in the first round as the poem I wanted to use in round two I did not think would be the right fit that early.

Thought about switching for a second, then said screw it and took the risk. So I did the second of two LeBron James poems coming out of the gate in a poetry slam and did well with it, even scoring a few notches higher than the first LeBron James poem.

We all sail through round one. I end up in fifth place overall.

Joanna reads second in round two and guess what she does? That's right, another poem about LeBron James. It goes over well.

I read an older poem, one that mentions a certain malt beverage without actually naming the item. It's a younger crowd and I'm not sure the kids are getting the references, but I can definitely hear that some people were getting it. But when I was done Scott came up to me and asked what that was about? Dude's heard me read it before, in a slam. What?!?

Weird happenings all around.

I'm having fun, so I sidle up to Louise and offer her a dollar if she reads a LeBron James poem. She shows me the poem she was about to read. Oh well.

But wait, I then see her scribbling something and I'm thinking, nah, she's just doing some small editing, adding a line or two.

Turns out, she was editing LeBron James' name into her poem. So the place is going nuts, I throw the promised dollar at her, Vernell throws keys, it was a great night!

The tally.

Four poems about LeBron James.

There were sixteen poems read in last night's slam. 25% of the poems mentioned LeBron James.

Of the four poets who wrote about Lebron James only one of them, Joanna, earned points by finishing in second.

The winning poet, Rachel, did not do a poem about LeBron James.

Only two IWPS qualifying slams remain. I got to get my butt in gear or it's going to be a like a Super Bowl champion not even making the playoffs the following year.

Spread it Around

This is no secret blog. It's public in that there's nothing going on here that I'd hide from my wife, child, mother or boss.

I put the Share This option just to see if it works. Feel free to work it. I'm not going to put the box in which you check if you think this post is funny, cool, or whatever.

That's too easy.

If I had time I'd post a longer review of Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne. Until then, here's a preview to whet your appetites.



Good stuff there, am I right?

Readership is up. Or, the number of hits this page has had in increasing a bit more than gradually. Thanks for stopping in!

That Darn Closure

Still thinking about Andyman's passing. My first wife was a disc jockey on his station for a brief time. Triggered me a bit with the question I was asked a couple of weeks ago. She made some very cruel posts about me on craigslist a few years back then accused me of spying on her when I called her on them.

I never did get an answer to my question. How is seeing posts made in a pubic message board, or a blog or website that is public and not password protected considered spying?

If you put material out there for the public to see you should be responsible and know who is going to be a part of the audience. It could be anyone. It often is someone you specifically do not want to see what you're ranting about. People do not like to be caught being jerkwads, or sticking their foot deeper and deeper into their mouths. I guess that's what makes them jerkwads. Lord knows I've stuck my keyboard up my ass too many times to mention.



Back to Andyman. Another time when he was the PA announcer for the OSU hockey games he announced a penalty on an opposing player as, "Two minutes for holding the steek."

You read the Facebook and Twitter tributes and you see the impact one person had on people in the city. It will be hard to replace someone who had the personality he had.

Now I'm getting word from wife2 that she does not want to keep the dog. There's nothing wrong with the dog, but she does not think she has the personality to be a fur-mother, or whatever term she used. Better to find out now than later I guess. Now she has to find a home for the sweet guy. Wonder if my son with notice the dog is gone? Something she should have thought through, like so many other schemes she has had, which I'm sure includes marrying me.

Maybe I won't be so damn angsty when the heat breaks, at this rate we're looking at October.