Framicide Prevention

Tea: Vanilla Lapsang.

Music: Gorillaz, "Clint Eastwood"

Time: Night.

The photo exhibit at Nighthawks Coffeehouse in Mission officially opens Saturday (although the reception's not until Friday the 7th), but I figured I'd get a head start on hanging the show.

My rationale ran thusly: "It's my first show. I have no experience. There will be unexpected setbacks."

There were, several involving broken frames. But thanks to the miracle adhesive Handi-Tak, today was a casualty-free day. I can't say enough good things about the stuff, and I owe a large debt of thanks to Nighthawks regular Virgil for recommending it.

Here's hoping for two more months' worth of the same.

Line, Line, Everywhere a Line ...

Tea: Mandarin Orange with Honey

Music: Lots and lots of first lines ...

Time: Night.

So I was shooting pool at church tonight (You didn't know Baptists could do that, did you?) and one of my friends Brian (I have several) and I migrated to the topic of great opening lines to rock and roll songs.

We came up with:

"I met her in a bar (naturally), and naturally she wanted to dance ..." (The Rainmakers, "Another Guitar")

"I saw the Werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand ..." (Warren Zevon, "Werewolves of London")

"Well, I used to be disgusted, but now I try to be amused ..." (Elvis Costello & the Attractions, "(The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes")

Then we ran out of time, or we likely could have gone on for hours.

We're both Rainmakers fans, so I'm sure the list would have included several more from their canon. If I had to limit it to five, not counting "Another Guitar," I'd pick:

"Somewhere under this moon tonight, my lover is holding my shadow tight ..." ("Width of a Line")

"Older than I used to be, younger than I'm gonna be ..." ("Long Gone Long")

"Thirty days have September, April, June and county jails ..." ("Thirty Days")

"I was prayin' last night when an angel broke the line ..." ("The Wages of Sin")

"Moses went up to the mountain high, to find out from God 'Why did you make us? Why?' ..." ("Let My People Go-Go")

Moving on, we have ... oh, let's go for another (baker's) dozen, in no particular order, over the years:

"I met a gin-soaked barroom queen in Memphis ..." (the Rolling Stones, "Honky Tonk Women")

"When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school, it's a wonder I can think at all ..." (Paul Simon, "Kodachrome")

"Some people call me the Space Cowboy, yeah, some call me the Gangster of Love ..." (Steve Miller, "The Joker")

"And the sign said, 'Long Haired Freaky People Need Not Apply' ..." (Five Man Electrical Band, "Signs")

"She never mentions the word 'addiction' in certain company ..." (Black Crowes, "She Talks to Angels")

"In the day we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway American dream ..." (Bruce Springsteen, "Born to Run")

"Well, tell me d'you think it'd be all right if I could just crash here tonight? ..." (Gin Blossoms, "Hey Jealousy")

"Do you have the time to listen to me whine about nothing and everything all at once? ..." (Green Day, "Basket Case")

"Saturday night I was downtown, working for the FBI ..." (the Hollies, "Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress")

"Sitting on a park bench, eying little girls with bad intent ..." (Jethro Tull, "Aqualung")

"Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waitin' for a train ..." (Janis Joplin, "Me and Bobby McGee")

"You say you want a revolution, well you know, we all want to change the world ..." (the Beatles, "Revolution")

"People try to put us d-d-d-down ..." (the Who, "My Generation")

Yeah, I know. I left out your favorite or included a song you hate. I never said it was an objective list.

Now I just need to make my exit. So here's one more, just for fun:

"'There must be some way out of here,' said the joker to the thief ..." (Bob Dylan, "All Along the Watchtower")

And that's my cue ...

If It's Friday, There Must Be Art

Tea: Chai

Music: Tom Ptacek, "The Joker"

Time: Night.

Friday is when the new art comes out here in Kansas City -- not just First Fridays, but through the month.

Tonight, there was an opening at the Kemper Museum of Contemporary Art. It's a photography show, pieces by Stephen Shore -- and it's fantastic. One of the shots stopped me in my tracks and made me mouth one name: "Hopper."

That's as in "Edward." And that, folks, is high praise.

So yeah, you should go. And while you're there, check out Deb Sokolow's brilliant (and funny) "You Are One Step Closer to Learning the Truth." Give yourself plenty of time. You won't just need it. You'll want it.

Tony! Tony! Tony!

Tea: Blood Orange with Honey

Music: Edison Lighthouse, "Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes"; First Class, "Beach Baby"; White Plains, "My Baby Loves Lovin'";

Time: Night.

I found myself in a bubblegum mood tonight .... and perhaps the king of one-hit-wonderful confection is Tony Burrows.

He sang lead on all three of tonight's musical selections -- and had hits with two other "groups," The Pipkins ("Gimme Dat Ding") and The Brotherhood of Man ("United We Stand.")

So why am I writing about him?

Because sometimes, as I've said before, it's good to celebrate the unabashedly lightweight, lighthearted, lightness of a good pop song. Lots of things worse than bobbing your head and singing along with something you haven't heard in years, you know?

C'mon, sing with me ... "I'm a lucky fella, I've just gotta tell her, that I love her endlessly ..."

Pizza, Pizzicatos and Parental Pride

Tea: Blood Orange (Herbal)

Music: Various selections for strings.

Time: Night.

My son's strings group was one of five (one grade school, three middle school, one high school) ensembles playing tonight at his high school. It's an annual fundraising event dubbed "Night in Italy" for the simple fact that pizza is the main food offering. (There's also a dessert bake sale. We made marshmallow brownies. I, of course, had the bread pudding.)

My son plays the cello -- while walking around. His group is the Strolling Strings, you see, and only the double basses and the drummer get to stay put.

He has a lot of fun, and it's a lot of fun to watch and hear him. (Lest I be accused of playing favorites, I also love watching and hearing the senior daughter play in the chamber orchestra and sing with her choral ensemble, and hearing and watching the eighth grade daughter sing in her chorale.)

Tonight was his night, though, and I came away with -- not an epiphany, but a renewed understanding of something.

I'm proud that he's my son -- as I am that my daughters are my daughters -- but even prouder to be known as their father. There's a difference, although I have neither time nor energy to parse it tonight. Suffice it to say that it's gratifying to see them be their own people, using their own gifts and pursuing their own interests.

I see parents trying to make their children into carbon copies of themselves. That's wrong on so many fronts. They are mine, yes, and their mother's, but not in the sense of being "owned" and powerless to be themselves.

They may not take paths I would have taken. In several cases, that's a good thing. The important thing is that they find their own gifts, their own passions, their own personalities.

So far, so good.

Tonight's Question:

Tea: Pu Erh Dante with Vanilla

Music: Norah Jones, "What am I to You?"

Time: Night.

No, Norah's question isn't the question in question.

What I really want to know is ...

(Ha, that's not it either.)

Okay, in all (or at least some) seriousness: Would you rather engage in space travel or time travel?

It's a close call for me, but in the end, I have to go with time travel -- but only backward, and I promise I wouldn't do anything to mess with the present. (Okay, so maybe I'd try to prevent a few disasters -- and yes, Peter Jackson's "King Kong" remake counts.)

Why time and not space? C'mon, you should know the answer by now.

Dinosaurs, baby. That's all I'm saying.

I'm serious, though: Which and why?

Down Doobie Doo Down Down, Comma Comma ...

Tea: Chai

Music: Bobby Darin, "Beyond the Sea"

Time: Night.

Oh, look, another trouble spot is on the front burner again.

I'm no foreign policy wonk, so I'm not going to get into whether the U.S. was right in recognizing Kosovo's declaration of independence. (Part of me figures we have no choice, given that most Kosovars are ethnic Albanians and Albania happens to be one of the rare Muslim countries that Really Likes Us. It also probably didn't hurt that Kosovo has declared itself a secular Muslim state, which is the only kind we'd back -- especially against a Christian-majority country (Serbia is largely Orthodox.)

Heck, I might get international recognition from Washington if I declared my backyard a secular Muslim state. Then again, I like bacon and the occasional beer, so that won't work.

Russia and China, both of which have restive Muslim minority populations (especially Chechnya, which continues to be a pain in the Kalashnikovs for Moscow), consider Kosovo's independence a Very Bad Thing, of course. Since both of them have all sorts of UN clout, don't rush out to buy new globes just yet.

I know the last half of the last century saw several high-profile unifications (Germany, Vietnam and ... um ... oh, yeah. Yemen), and there are likely a few more to come (Korea, most likely, and perhaps even Ireland and China). But compared to all of the breakups in my lifetime, the marriages stand out as the exception.

The split between East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) and West Pakistan (which has dropped its married name and now goes by "Pakistan" made sense. They're a gazillion miles apart. All the other splits have been contiguous -- and with few exceptions, contentious.

The Czechs and Slovaks woke up one day, realized they'd be happier apart, shook hands and vowed to keep in touch. No worries there.

Even Serbia and Montenegro managed to keep things civil when they split up, ending the last vestiges of the old Yugoslavia, and the only people really hacked off about Macedonia becoming independent were the Greeks, who shouldn't have had a say in the matter anyway.

Not all the cranky breakups were bloody, to be fair.

The Baltic States? They never wanted to be in the Soviet Union anyway. They gave Moscow the collective bird, looked west and haven't looked back. Ukraine and Georgia make Russia grumpy on a regular basis these days (although Belarus clearly misses the Good Old Days), but it hasn't progressed to the point of shooting at each other. Moldova has its own separatists to contend with (as does Georgia), Armenia and Azerbaijan finally get to dislike each other again as a matter of Official Foreign Policy. The various -stans, meanwhile, are content to keep their fights inside their national borders.

Then we come to the nasty dissolutions: Slovenia (which got off with a ten-day war). Croatia. Bosnia-Herzegovina. East Timor. Eritrea. Lots of bad blood there, a good deal of it on the ground.

No matter which way things turn out with Kosovo, I'm betting there will be plenty of new national flags flying in New York and Geneva before another dozen years are up. Can the U.K. hold together? Spain? Canada?

It's going to be interesting. Then again, that's a Chinese curse, isn't it?

"May you live in interesting times."

That we do.

That Boy Just Ain't Right

Tea: Mandarin Green

Music: Amy Winehouse, "Rehab"

Time: Night.

The above image is my photograph of my 15-year-old son's handiwork from this afternoon. I see a bit of "Calvin and Hobbes" influence ... okay, so more than a bit.

It's still pretty funny (and warped, too), even if I do say so myself.

No idea where he gets it from, though ...

Pigsitting

Tea: White Grapefruit.

Music: King Crimson, "The Devil's Triangle"

Time: Night.

We have no permanent pets here. Too many allergies. But for the third time since we moved in more than ten years ago, we have temporary custody of a guinea pig (not the same one).

The first two times, we kept school guinea pigs over the summer. Both survived. (The prayer of the pet sitter runs thusly: "Please, dear God, don't let this thing die on my watch.")

This latest charge is named Max, or maybe Pig-Pig, or perhaps Peaches. More on that later. He (at least I think it's a he; I'm not turning it over to find out) belongs to some friends from church. They're in Florida for two weeks.

Max arrived today, a bit freaked out from the car ride but otherwise fine. He's a mellow little sort, doesn't mind being petted, definitely loves lettuce and carrots. With several small children at his permanent home, he's probably finding it quieter here.

Why so many names? Apparently, Max has had several owners and wound up with our friends when a petsitting gig became something more long-term.

Hey, wait a minute ...

Dreamshopping

Tea: Moroccan Mint

Music: The Bangles, "Hero Takes a Fall"

Time: Night.

I've developed a bit of a habit lately. Whenever I view art -- which is often -- I do a lot of "mental buying," picking out pieces I'd get if I were in the financial position of being able to go on a buying spree.

You might call it escapism, wishful thinking, whatever. I call it having one more thing to work toward.

I'd start with something by Michael Molick. Maybe more than one something. He has a gift for color and texture -- and on top of that, he's an amazingly nice guy.

Besides his online presence, Michael shows every First Friday at the Arts Incubator (in the Crossroads here in KC) and has work available at several other locations.

Before long, I hope to be able to afford something of his. In the meantime, you should check him out. And if you see something you like -- by all means, beat me to it.

Dinogeek Love

Tea: Arctic Storm

Music: Yes, "Hearts"

Time: Night

I've already admitted it once here. Since childhood, I've been an utter fanboy of all things Mesozoic (Permian, too) and reptilian -- dinosaurs, archosaurs, plesiosaurs, pliosaurs, mosasaurs, pelycosaurs, pterosaurs, phyto ... okay, you get the picture.

Now, it was hardly the high point of my Valentine's Day to read that two new species of meat-eaters (which, as we all know, are the coolest of the cool) have been unearthed in Africa.

But, hey ... a day filled with love and 25-foot carnivores? Could I really ask for more and not seem greedy?

I didn't think so, either.

Critical Condition

Tea: Mandarin Green with honey.

Music: Crimson Jazz Trio, "Starless"

Time: Night.

I'm prefacing this post with a quote from Theodore Roosevelt:

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."

"Citizenship in a Republic,"
Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

Why that quote? Because yours truly is, for the first time, cast in the role of art critic. I've been assigned to review an outdoor installation for a regional publication. (Sorry, I can't be more specific than that.)

I take photographs. I know lines and composition and whatnot (heavy on the whatnot), and I can string a few sentences together coherently. Does this qualify me to be a reviewer? Someone thinks so, at least.

I do want to remain mindful of one thing, though: My name's on the review, not on the artwork. It takes something to put your vision out for public consumption and criticism, and I do have to respect that courage. I have to let the writing show that, too.

Beyond that ... well, it is out there for public consumption and criticism. Fairness also demands that I not gush, if gushing is unwarranted.

I suppose the bottom line is that I want to write this in a way that would strike me as fair, were someone to write up my upcoming photo show in the same way.

No harm, I'd say, in measuring the Golden Mean with the Golden Rule.

Rock Out With Your Bach Out

Tea: White Grapefruit.

Music: Mark Wood, backed by student musicians, various selections.

Time: Night.

My son, a cellist among other things, played in his first rock concert tonight, at his high school. His strings group and several others (one of which came all the way from Hays, Kan.) backed up violinist Mark Wood, co-founder of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

I went not really knowing what to expect. I wound up in the fourth row. I came away having done a fair amount of head-bobbing (especially during "Kashmir," when I had to fight just the tiniest bit of temptation to put up the two-fingered "RAWK!" salute) and with a good deal of respect for the the star.

Musically, the guy has serious chops. I've long been a fan of rock involving violins -- especially David Cross-era King Crimson and Eddie Jobson's work with U.K. and as a solo artist -- and I have to say, Wood is an amazing player.

He has his own line of electric violins and cellos (and soon, double basses), and when he lays into his six-string Viper, it's anything but sedate chamber music. (A couple of times, when he hit the effects rack, I could have closed my eyes and sworn I was hearing an electric guitar.)

And Wood's no prima donna, either. When he's not on tour with Trans-Siberian Orchestra, he's on the road encouraging high school music students to pursue their passions. He singled out as many kids as possible by name tonight, and stayed afterward to sign autographs and pose for pictures.

I also loved seeing kids whose instruments are considered -- well, less than rocking -- get to play Led Zeppelin and Queen selections (as well as amped-up material by Bach, Vivaldi, Grieg and Copeland). It was plain to see that they got a charge out of it, too.

So, in short: Mark Wood deserves every fan he has, and more. The guitar solo from "Stairway to Heaven" and Vivaldi's "Summer" both sound great on amplified electric violin.

And these kids are more than all right. They rock.

Shivers and Gratitude

Tea: Keemun Concerto

Music: The Hush Sound, "Wine Red"

Time: Night.

It's cold outside. Cold as in the single digits, when wind chill is figured in (and low double digits otherwise). Inside, it's not exactly balmy.

I'm going to wear layers when I sleep tonight. I might even break out a hoodie. Socks are already on the definite list. My foot hurts, and cold doesn't help.

But you know what? I still have it pretty darned good, compared to a lot of people in this city tonight.

My thermostat works. I could turn it up to 80something if I wanted, although I'd get yelled at and I'd have to turn it back down after a couple of minutes. I can lift a faucet handle, fill the electric teakettle, hit a switch and get more hot water. I can make soup. I have blankets.

I think of the people who can't, who don't ... and I shiver, and not from the temperature.

So here's a prayer for the cold and hungry, for nourishment and warmth. And here's a postscript: Let me never take those for granted.

From the Past, a Real Blast

Tea: Vanilla Chai

Music: The Rainmakers, "Small Circles"

Time: Night.

A week ago, during that kind of important pointy-ended football game, a friend (who, like me, prefers futbol) and I were talking about commercials. I brought up the Emerald Nuts spot with Robert Goulet, which is ten kinds of funny. Then, of course, the subject of Elvis shooting the TV came up.

And I said, "It's a TV with a bullethole ..." and he said, "It's autographed ..."

I realized then that the wages of sin ... sorry, that's another song entirely. I realized I'd found a fellow Rainmakers fan. I'd quoted a line from "Doomsville," and he'd picked right up on it.

To make a long story short (naturally) -- and yes, that's yet another Rainmakers song reference -- we spent about an hour reliving our favorite shows and citing our favorite lines. (Bob Walkenhorst, who was the band's primary songwriter and has an amazing solo album as well, is a freaking awesome lyricist.)

So I'm burning him copies of a couple of CDs (almost all of which are out of print), and he loaned me a VHS copy of "Archive," which has all of the band's videos.

Sometime over the next couple of days, I'm going to kick everyone else out of the house, pop it in and relive a few decades' worth of memories.

Because, as any fan can tell you, clocks are slow and hearts beat on and on ... long gone long.

Now I Lay Me Down to Tivo

Tea: White Grapefruit

Music: Metallica, "Enter Sandman"

Time: Night

Sometimes, I wish I could record my dreams. It'd be interesting to see them in their entirety, not in the half-remembered snatches that often are the only things left to me within minutes of waking.

I often dream of tornadoes -- I'd say "even though I've never seen one in real life," but it's probably more accurate to say "because I've never seen one in real life." What's funny (in whichever sense you choose) is that my dreamself knows that I've never seen one in real life.

It happened again the other night. The dreamself was in Sublette, Kansas, about a half-hour north of my hometown, watching a small line of tornadoes move from east to west (yes, I know that's the wrong way). They broke up just as they were about to tear into some grain bins.

My dreamself thought, as it always does, "Cool. Now I've seen tornadoes." And then, of course, I woke up and I hadn't.

Someday I will see one in real life. I wonder if the dreams will end after that. Only one way to find out, I suppose.