"She Got Up Off the Couch..." by Haven Kimmel

The full title of this book is: She Got Up Off the Couch And Other Heroic Acts from Mooreland, Indiana.

It's an autobiography about growing up in the 70's in a very small town, in a rather odd family. Make no mistake, this is a very small town, with all of its advantages and disadvantages. I was born in 1970. I have a few photos of myself like this.

I don't even know where to start, there's so much good stuff between these covers! I have decided that the only way I can do justice to a book that made me laugh and weep in equal amounts, is to just let it speak for itself...

*The couch in the den was the color the crayon people called Flesh even though it resembled no human or animal flesh on Planet Earth, and the couch fabric was nubbled in a pattern of diamonds. It was best to prevent the nubbles from coming into direct contact with one's real Flesh, so there was usually a blanket or a towel or clothing spread out as a buffer. Also no one wanted to pick up the blanket, the towel, and the clothing and fold them. Or even pick them up. So it was a fine arrangement.

*As we walked toward our bicycles, Julie reached up silently and pulled the burr out of her hair; dozens of flame-colored strands came with it. She tossed the whole mess down in the junkyard, where, for just a moment, it blazed up, and was consumed.

*I slept in my clothes all summer, so I could just hop up in the morning and go. I was working on simplifying my life, which I had discovered could be done very easily if I ceased to do the following: wash my face, brush my hair, brush my teeth, wear shoes.

*On television, Granny said, "I've made some possum stew," which I frankly couldn't improve. Beverley Hills, wherever that was, looked like the grimmest, most unhappy place in the universe.

*Oh I hated school, it was mean to make me go, my fingers got all crampy around a pencil and my sister said I had the handwriting of a psycho murderer.

*I stared at Mother as if looking at her alien replica...I had never cleaned my room one time in my life as was abundantly clear from walking up the stairs, something Mom didn't do, hallelujah. That room was beyond hope or help and I'd thought it wise to surrender.

This woman is my hero because she has written a memoir that alternately makes me want to write my own and devastates me because I don't know if I can ever write something as funny and moving and heartbreaking and funny as she has.

If you grew up in a slightly odd family, or in an isolated place, or in the 70's, you have to read this. If you're from Indiana you should read this. If your mother was depressed and nobody knew it, or if you were, or are, then you should read this. You know what, read it regardless. It's just that good.

"Inkspell" by Cornelia Funke

Have you ever found yourself, while reading a particularly wonderful book, wishing that you could slip into it and experience it with every sense? In Cornelia Funke's "Inkspell" the characters have done that, but the experience isn't always pleasant in the Inkworld.

I can't tell you about this excellent sequel without some background on its predecessor, "Inkheart." In it, a young bookbinder reads a story out loud to his wife and small daughter, but accidentally reads his wife into the story, while reading three of its characters into his world.

It's such a fascinating concept. I thought Inkheart was very good, except for my complaint that there was too much back-and-forth with the characters imprisoned by the bad guys and escaping.

Inkspell shifts the setting and with it, the atmosphere. This time around, instead of story characters being trapped in our world, our "real world" characters have been taken into the Inkworld. As with many fantasy stories there is magic, a villain, and a road trip. The characters have a chance to really develop now, given shadings and backstory that really fill out questions left unanswered by the first one.

The author of the fictional book Inkheart, Fenoglio, in now living in the world of his making. To his surprize, the story has gotten completely out of his control. He attempts to rewrite it as it progresses but the results are not always what he expected or wanted. As in the first one, his creations have odd feelings towards him. I personally, as someone who fancies herself a writer, had to stop and think about some of the characters I've created.

I found this story more enjoyable, maybe because this world is different and special. The characters struggle to decide which of the two worlds they belong in. Many of them can't decide anymore where it is that they belong. How many of us can relate to that?

I was pleased that the most compelling figure in the story, Dustfinger the fire-eater, got more focus this time around. He was not ever intended by his author to live very long. Always aware of his own impending death, Dustfinger is back in the world he loves so much, but can't ever let himself enjoy it.

Saying anything else about the plot will spoil it for you if you want to read it yourself, which you should if you enjoy fantasy stories. This volume is very much like The Two Towers, because it takes place in a very beautiful world but bridges the gap between two worlds and two stories. Yes, there will be a third installment from the Inkworld.

When you get these books in your hands, take the time to appreciate the artwork. Each of the cover illustrations has significance and is beautifully done. The packaging looks like a fantasy story should look. Each of Inkspell's chapters starts with a quote from another book, and ends with a small illustration.

A central theme is the way books are treated and handled. Silvertongue made his living by "healing sick books" and there is always a conflict between those who are careless with books and those who gasp in horror every time a page is wrinkled. I'm a freak about my books. I don't let them get dog eared or let the spines crack. A creased cover on a paperback damn near puts me in tears. I felt the pain every time a book was mishandled! It was torture! Thankfully books are treated with nearly worshipful respect in many places in this story. The passage describing the creation of a new book with leather-wrapped wooden covers was a bonus.

Keep in mind when you read this book, and its prequel, that the author, Cornelia Funke, has written them in German, and then they were translated into English. Considering some of the delicate sentences and images, the occasional awkwardness can be excused.

Reading this out loud with my kids was an interesting experience, because this is all about the power of reading aloud. Silvertongue won't do it anymore because he is afraid of his unwanted gift, but his daughter Meggie is using it for all she can. As with many talents, it's a blessing and a curse.

It's a beautiful story that will not only stay with you for a long time, it may change the way you think about reading, and about the power of words.

Dixie Chicks: Taking the Long Way

I am approaching this review with dread.
I have to do my first "bad" review. I refuse to just skip over this one. Why? Because I'm rather irritated by this album. It could have, no, it SHOULD have been so much better.

I'm also dreading this because I'm going to break some of my unspoken rules:
-Don't compare an album to a predecessor
-Don't lean too heavily on what my professional recording engineer husband says
and most of all...
-Don't talk about politics. Ever.

Here goes...

I bought this album as soon after its release as my budget would allow. Not only have I totally appreciated the Dixie Chicks in the past, but I knew that this was a Rick Rubin production, and he is one of my heroes. He has consistently brought out the best on the artists he's worked with. He is responsible for bringing Johnny Cash back into the recognition that he so very much deserved. I couldn't wait to see what he could do with an act as talented as the Chicks.

Boy was I wrong.

People, I don't know what your opinion of the Dixie Chicks are. Chances are you either love them or hate them because at this point I don't think there is much middle ground. But none of that matters now, because this album is lame.

I should have guessed from the packaging. The three women look beautiful, if perhaps a little too thin. They've always been presented glamourously but they're pictured here in as urban as setting as you could find. Dark, harsh lighting, posed in front of some very expensive black car, looking like Julia Roberts in movie star mode.

I should have known from the press before the release. "It's a rockier sound." Whenever I hear "rockier" used to describe something, I know, without a doubt, that it will not rock at all.

I knew it when I played it for the first time in my dining room...and turned it down. That's not a good sign. I turned it back up again. I got bored. I turned it back down. It failed the dining room test.

We took it on a car ride of over an hour. It sounded terrible. Even I, with my non-professional ears, could tell that the recording is a mush of noise. It's like every single track had to have each instrument and each vocal as loud as possible. It isn't that it's just not a pleasant listen. It's a painful listen. It failed the Jethro-Jetta test. Spectacularly, fully failed.

This album lasted the entire drive. There are 14 songs, each about four minutes long. It was torture. When would it end already??

While my husband was deeply offended by the careless handling of the entire recording process, we were both horrified by the complete lack of what made this act so great, and that would be MUSIC. It's not a very musical piece of work! Where are the melodies? Where are the banjo and violin and mandolin? Where, oh where, are the HARMONIES? Where is the complexity and the sensitivity?

Natalie's voice is a force to be reckoned with, and here it's treated like a weapon- it's a vocal assault. In some places the Autotune is so strong it could be a Cher track.

Lyrically it's bland. There is not much poetry here in any sense. The title track is basically a repeat of "Long Time Gone" from their excellent 2002 release, Home. Only this song doesn't have any of the previous song's cleverness or humour. My least favourite lyric is from a song called "So Hard" which contains the lyric, "It's so hard when it doesn't come easy." Oh dear.

A big deal is being made that each song was co-written by the Chicks. All I'm going to say about that is this: Writing songs is something to be proud of, but performing other people's well-written songs is nothing to be ashamed of.









The Dixie Chicks couldn't make another country record. They have lost their conservative Christian type patriotic audience, and they know it. After Natalie's public crack against The Prez, and the ensuing CD smashing parties and yes, the death threats, they are going for a different audience. Somehow, an idea has come up that moving away from country and into pop is a sophisticated career move. I see it as a totally commercial career move. By taking the risk of alienating part of the audience, an artist attempts to gain a wider audience. With some of theirs already done, this, as far as I can tell, is an attempt at a crossover.

It's so boring though, they might as well have hired Mutt Lange and done another boring Shania Leppard album. At least that way they would have had some catchy, scientifically developed hit songs.

This hurts me people. I really wanted to love this album.










I wanted them to be able to rise above the scandal. I wanted them to prove that America is a country built on freedom, like everybody says it is, and that you can criticize your elected leader and not be put to death.

It's much deeper than that though. Nobody is publicly put to death, but an artist can be commercially put to death. They can be frozen out by radio stations and record stores.

I have to say, yes, it was disrespectful and even rude for them to state that they were ashamed that Bush is from Texas. But that did not deserve death threats.



Just an extra note concerning Rick Rubin: What the hell happened???? Just week before, another of his projects, Stadium Arcadium by Red Hot Chili Peppers, was released, and it's brilliant. I'm not the only one who thinks so, it turns out. I can't figure out how he could go so terribly wrong with the Chicks. I don't believe it's because he's not familiar with country music. I'd like to once again point out the work he did with Johnny Cash, which was, for the most part, perfectly stripped down and essential.

Did he phone it in? Did he put an underling on it? Was he sick with a terrible head cold?

It's hard to say what caused this underwhelming, uninteresting, unlistenable disaster. I just feel that this is not the record I hoped the Dixie Chicks would come back with.

The Raconteurs: Broken Boy Soldiers

Raconteur, (rak' on-ter) n, person clever in telling stories, anecdotes, etc.

Remember a time
when all was not fine
and up from the dingy sewers
came four lousy thieves
who flourished like trees
behold The Raconteurs...





I was anticipating this one with great interest and I'm pleased that my man Jack White has not let me down. Unless you're new here, you'll already know that I adore Jack. Here he is one quarter of a band which includes singer-songwriter guitarist (and adorably cheekboned scruffy guy) Brendon Benson, as well as drummer Patrick Keeler and bassist Jack Lawrence of the Greenhornes.

Jethro couldn't wait to hear what ol' Jack could do with another guitarist, and --gasp--a bass player! and --gasp-- a REAL DRUMMER! (I do like Meg. I think she's unique but most drummers I know don't get her thing. Y'know.)

I regret not getting to last September's White Stripes concert on time to see the Greenhornes. (Something about waiting in an unnamed studio waiting for a certain engineer to finish editing something...story of my life...)

These four guys mesh like this is the third album, rather than first. White and Benson trade vocals seamlessly. They also take on the production roles. Not everybody should take the do-it-yourself approach, but they can get away with it successfully.

This album is short and sweet and slightly mysterious. My first impression on listening to it is the timelessness. What era is this? These guys all favour vintage gear and analog tape. I'd also guess that Jack White's spent some time listening to Robert Plant.

All the elements of a Beautiful Mess are there: the tape hiss, the glorious amplifier buzz, the count-ins, the murmured snippets of conversation before songs. Don't kid yourself though. Everything is intentional. I listened to it in the family room in surround. There's a lot of detail.

I put it through a few tests:
The dining room test: Passed. It's groovy enough to enjoy while dining with the kids. It's not so dark and down that it'll turn you off your food.
The rainy day test: Passed. Oh yeah. For real.
The Jethro/Jetta test: PASSED! Yay! When he could no longer deal with the hot mastering on the Chili Peppers record, he put this in and said something like, "There. Hear that? That doesn't hurt. I can turn it up and it doesn't hurt me. Can you get that?"
Plus, he's pleased with the songwriting. Those are his sticking points. And yes, it's pretty good highway music.
Family room stereo test: I put this on downstairs and sat on the couch, directly in front of the speakers on the front wall and between the surround speakers. I turned it up to 40. Wow. Just, wow. What a production. It all sounds so simple at low volume but there is so much going on!

(I love this. I wish I could get paid to listen to music and be wowed.)

The songs, all written by Benson and White, are solid and memorable. The standout tracks are; Steady, As She Goes, which is the first single; Intimate Secretary; Store Bought Bones; and the stunning, and lovingly Zeppelinesque, Blue Veins. It stands up as a whole complete album, rather than a collection of singles.

The packaging adds to the era-confusion. With earth tones, gilded details, and calligraphy, it has an old look to it. You'll know by looking that this isn't a happy sunshiney fun times party record. My only complaint is the lack of lyrics. Having said that, it's not hard to hear the words, and I suspect that these story tellers are forcing us to listen.

This record is cool, moody, and dark. It makes me want to walk around barefoot in jeans and a corduroy shirt, with my hair centre parted and hanging in waves over my cheekbones. It makes me wish my truck was twenty years older.

Red Hot Chili Peppers STADIUM ARCADIUM

I love Red Hot Chili Peppers. However I do not personally know or am related to anybody in this band, so this will be a reasonably unbiased review. Other than, that I dig them. But if you've been here before you'll know what a breathless fan I am.

Here are the facts: It's been four years since the last album.
They spent almost two years on this one.
Rick Rubin was involved. (We heroize Rick Rubin here.)
Nobody is on drugs anymore! Yay!
This is not just an album. This is TWO ALBUMS. Two discs. Fourteen songs each. Twenty eight songs in total.

With a quantity like that, the potential for suckitude rises substantially. However, these guys have done the improbable: they have just put out a double album with twenty eight songs and NONE OF THEM SUCK.

I got my hands on this piece of work on Thursday and I'm writing this review on Monday evening; it's been spinning steadily. I've put it through its paces. Here are the results:

The Discman Test: Passed. I liked Dani California real good on my one-speakered clock radio but through the phones I heard very interesting things.
The Dining Room Test: Passed. It sounds good on my daughter's little player sitting on the extra chair.
The Road Test: Passed. There's a good mixture of vibey grooves and rockin gas pedal pushers.
The Jethro-Jetta Test: Failed. That's right. Sadly, failed. Something about the pre-amps in the VW car stereo and how Damn Frickin Loud The Mastering is, and that all the high notes are distorting and causing his golden ears agony.
I'm not being sarcastic here, because Jethro really does have golden ears, which provide us with our living, and we protect his ears. The thing is, deep down, Jethro is a headbanger, and he likes it loud. He's totally bummed out that this Rick Rubin production, with his carefully chosen engineers, got sent off to the mastering studio and got pushed all the way up as loud as it could go and now this disc is punishing him.
It's not even the mastering engineer's fault. Everybody's doing it. This is how discs are mastered these days. This was recorded on analog and it still distorts in the top end.
The Gramma Test: Passed. She didn't mind it in her car or her living room.
The Strict Mommy Test: Passed. Can you believe it??? I have listened to it repeatedly, I've scoured the lyric sheets, and there is no swearing. Did you hear me? This Red Hot Chili Peppers record has no swearing. My daughter is thrilled. Okay, there are a few uh, references that I hope will sail over their innocent heads. But there's no swearing!
The Sex Appeal Test: Passed. Duh.

Now let me tell you about the packaging. It's excellent. It's all done in contrasts of hot and cool colours. The two discs are called Jupiter and Mars, which is appropriate since the whole project is rather spacey looking. All the lyrics are included, so that you can examine all the crazy rhymes. There are individual photos of each guy and a group shot amidst the fiery remains of an apparently hot rehearsal.

The music! This is perfect, classic Chili Peppers. There is a maturity here, but these boys have not forgotten that they are a funk band. The Chad Smith & Flea rhythm section is smokin. Listen to Flea; you must. Guitarist John Frusciante is still the master of the spidery riffs but can pull out a heavy squawk of power chords. While Flea plays the melodies, and Chad sets down the killer beats, John vibes out the riffs from outer space, over which Anthony shouts and sings the perfectly sensical nonsense.

The biggest pleasant surprise would be the vocal confidence in frontman Anthony Kiedis. He didn't start off as a singer. He was the shirtless rapping crazy frontman who kind of learned to sing out of necessity. He's still not ranking among the most technically skilled singers, but he is singing! He's developed a nice little vibrato and is using it sparingly. He sounds strong, and keeps his unique sound. (I didn't ask Jethro if he'd been Autotuned to death. I can't tell and I don't wanna have the bubble burst.)

If I may quote myself here: He's putting some effort into it instead of just lying on his back with his hands behind his head, grinning. (That's a good one eh? Mental image alert!!!)




There are so many standout songs. Dani California, the catchy first single, stays true to Anthony's favourite subject of the troubled sexy young woman. This song has the rapid rhyme verses, singalong chorus, and funky bridge. They ended it with a guitar solo- with a flange effect on it!- and a bass climb. Genius. It's followed up by the vibey Snow ((Hey oh)) which lopes along smoothly. The title track is trippy and mellow, but is then followed by the perfectly funky Hump de Bump which MUST be played at your next party.

Slow Cheetah is hypnotically sad. Especially In Michigan is big and rolling. I don't know why there are lions and tigers in Michigan but what a cool tune. The Mars disc has, in my opinion, the best marriage proposal song I've ever heard, Hard to Concentrate. (If you can't give it a listen, go read the lyrics on the website.) It also has the grinding Readymade and Storm In A Teacup. Desecration Smile will have you singing along and waving your lighter or cellphone, depending on your age and bad habit preference. The whole thing ends with the grand Death of a Martian.

I think this is the grooviest I've ever heard them. And, it's the most varied.

Many of the songs aren't arranged in a traditional verse-chorus-verse form but they work. These guys know how to push and pull a beat.

A large cast of guest musicians rounds out the huge production, including guitarist Omar Rodriguez, a choir, percussionists, and a cellist. Don't be alarmed. They are not in a Power Ballad With Strings phase. I doubt they ever will; they're too naturally cool.

I also have to note that I'm really falling in love with John Frusciante. He's contributing backup vox, something he took on with 2002's By The Way. He looks content, healthy, dare I say, beatific! His brain fascinates me. Interviews with him are incomprehensible (I assume, for most people). He tells SPIN that he resents being told what to do by his brain. I know, John!! I know!! It's really a good thing he didn't have to have an arm amputated a few years back when he had that little dirty needle abcess problem. Geez. Rock stars.

Speaking of looking good...Check out this magazine cover photo. I have to call attention to Flea. How fit is this guy? Is that what surfing and bass playing can do for the physique? Anthony looks good. Of course. And Chad looks...happy! He has discovered smiling!

This one has always been an interesting band. They have never sounded like anyone else. They've kept doing what they're good at, and not content to cruise effortlessly, have pushed themselves.

Should you spend your hard-earneds on this record? Heck yes. From a purely dollar per song basis, you win. And it rocks.
And finally, I just want to say...

FLEA AND JOHN, IF BY SOME FREAKY CHANCE OF COSMIC COINCIDENCE YOU ARE READING THIS...

I did not illegally download your record. I drove to the store and bought it. I'm glad I did. I would never break your sweet precious hearts by stealing your music. Thanks for another great album.

Lemony Snicket: The Penultimate Peril

(Note: If I had extra cash I would have a copy of Stadium Arcadium in my hands last week already, and as of today I'd have grabbed up Broken Boy Soldiers, but that is not the case. No new music for me yet. So I'll happily gleefully review a book I finished last week. Out of rockin mode, into Snicket mode...)

If you're not familiar with Lemony Snicket's Series of Unfortunate Events, heed the warnings. These stories really are too terrible to read, and you'd be better off finding something more pleasant to occupy your time. There is little joy in the sad tale of the Baudelaire orphans, whose parents perished in a Terrible Fire. Since then they have been placed in the not-so-caring care of many inept adults, all the while thwarting the Nefarious Count Olaf, "nefarious" here meaning, "a very greedy dirty man who schemes elaborately to destroy the children in order to acquire their fortunes."

I own every book in this series including the Unauthorized Autobiography. What does this say about me? That I have a dark side...


Let me start with the packaging. In this case, it's above the bar of excellence. There is something distincly old fashioned about the look of the books but it's from a time that may not have existed. The paper is thick and each edge is carefully frayed. The spines have a canvas bound appearance, the font does not have a modern look, and most of the pages have some form of decoration on them.

Illustrator Brett Helquist, a talented artist, has given life to the stories perfectly. The Baudelaire's world is shifty and timeless; partly seedy and grimy, but at times brilliantly bright and sharp. It's a time period when people live in gothic mansions and wear spats on their shoes. It's a country where people have every accent and style of dress. It's a place where adults are stupid and children try their best to be respectful but are constantly told how little they know. The sadness and futility come through in the spooky, elegant pictures.


By this point in the story, the orphans have gotten free from their string of awful guardians and have been on their own, trying to unravel the mysteries about their lives and the deaths of their parents. Book the Twelfth now finds them hiding out in the Hotel Denouement, undercover, trying to decide who they can trust. Apparently, nobody. This is especially frightening since every nasty character they've come across has gathered here for a very important meeting.

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'll let you in on something significant: EVERYTHING in this series is significant. Every book has thirteen chapters. This being the "penultimate" book, you know it'll go to thirteen books. Each book has been a little bit thicker than the one before it. If I wasn't so lazy, I could go right now to my bookshelf and most likely find that each one is thirteen pages longer than the one before.

This importance of detail is why my only complaint about this book, is that I could barely keep track of what had happened before!

Small complaint. The writing is as perfect as ever. When you read this (and you will, despite the warnings not to, because you are a curious beast) bring a dictionary! It's worth it! Mr Snicket uses his usual gimmicks and repetitions and alliterations to move us through the story. Be on your toes for literary references too. I just found another one, just now. ("be on your toes" here meaning "Mr Snicket brilliantly borrows things from previously written works")

He's true to his characters. The children are growing up, and this is one of the most heartbreaking aspects: they don't stay young forever. Violet and Klaus are teenagers now, each with an endangered love interest. Sunny now speaks in phrases several words long and has become a good cook. Meanwhile, Count Olaf has a new dramatic affectation. The nefarious ex-girlfriend Esme Squalor is as IN as ever.

And true to form, there is betrayal, despair, mystery and confusion. There is invention. There is a library. And there is food. And of course, somebody has to die!

This truly is a sad book. It really is Quite Awful. But you know what? Your life won't be as despondent as those of the Baudlaire children, but you could still be the victim of misfortune. Parents sometimes die, and children face a very different life in the aftermath. There are times when you don't want to be told that things could be worse. There are times when you need to be told that Yes, This Is Very Bad.

The saddest part for me is that there will only be one more.

Sarah McCully: Virtue

Straight up, this is a biased review. I know Sarah McCully and I appreciate her as a person as well as an artist. But at times, someone I know and like makes a record that rocks my world, and this is one of those times!

"Virtue" is that rare album that delivers the whole package, combining solid writing, brilliant musicianship, talent, and craft. This album sounds good. And you know I'm a sucker for the visuals: the artwork and photography are excellent.

I've been road testing this one since it landed in my hands a couple of months ago. My friend who likes Sheryl Crow and Led Zeppelin and Dixie Chicks likes it. My sister who listens to all the mono-monikered divas thinks it's good. My daughter who digs Gwen and the White Stripes and Audioslave likes it. My son who is into Audioslave and Soundgarden and Audioslave, even he likes it. My husband who listens to everything for a living likes it. My mom likes it!

This album has passed the dinner party test. Played on a low volume, it incited someone to ask who we were listening to.

I've taken it on several car rides. It works in town. It absolutely soars on a tar & chip road with hills dropping away from the ditches.

So what's it all about? I hate to label it. It's not country, but it's not pop. It's a damn fine singer backed up by a great band. Producer Justin Abedin does an amazing job of handling all guitars as well as banjo, resonator, & mandolin. How can you not love banjo? Banjo rocks!!!

Sarah has a laid back, sexy, drawling approach to the vocals, but there's nothing slovenly about it; every note lands precisely where she intended it to. As a singer she has a full tool box. Sometimes breathy, at times growling, and just the right amount of vibrato in only the right places. Her voice is beautiful, clear and passionate.

There's a good mix of uptempo songs (Mistake, Conquered, Hardest Thing) and ballads (Beautiful, Holding On, Take With You). At times this record goes downright haunting, such as in Never Wanted You More and especially Old Wounds, which goes rather Zeppelinesque in its climax. The title track, as well as the closer, Man of Me, are both jaunty and totally sassy.

This album, to me, is very womanly. It's got all of the love and hate and guts and questions and desires. It's a totally cool record but there's nothing cold about it; there's a lot of heat generated. If you are a woman you'll like it. If you like women you'll like it.
Whether you're into country, pop, folk or rock, there's something for you here. Go over to Sarah McCully.com and take a look and a listen.

Will the Red Hot Chili Peppers wait for me?

I refuse to break John Frusciante's sweet little heart by downloading it illegally. I'm going to go buy it next week when I got some cash in my hands. Don't they look awesome? They all look healthy. I hope I love this album as much as I want to...

100 hits!

It's not a classic rock compilation album. I got a 100 hits on this blog! Mind you most of them were from me, checking, like an impatient child. But hey, I'll take what I get.

coming up:
Virtue by Sarah McCully
She Got Up Off the Couch...by Haven Kimmel
The Penultimate Peril by Lemony Snicket

and of course, I'll be buying a some CDs in the next few weeks. I might even sit down long enough to watch a movie. Thanks for coming over to visit and come back again!

"Falcon" by Helen Macdonald

How would I have known about this gem of a book if I hadn't been reading Fretmarks? I strongly suggest you head over there and have a little read. Don't just read what's there; go back and read a few postings as well. This is good writing. It's interesting, funny, moving and very different. There's even a good chance that at Fretmarks you might-gasp- learn something!

When our girl Pluvialis announced the release of her book I was so gripped with curiosity I had to buy it. I'm glad I did. It wasn't a risky purchase since I already knew how much I enjoyed her style. I was not disappointed!

"Falcon" is part of the Animal Series published by Reaktion Books. Other books have titles such as Dog, Bear, and Cockroach. Shudder. I think I'll pass on the Cockroach one...At 208 pages, this is a dense, satisfying read. The presentation of the book itself is excellent, with quality paper, elegant font, and amazing pictures. I can't help it, I fall for the packaging easily. If you want to keep me interested, I need my visual and tactile rewards! (In more simple terms, I likes my books with a few pictures in 'em.)

The book is set up in six chapters, all of which smoothly segue into the next; it doesn't read like a dry information lesson. At first, we learn about the falcons themselves, free of all the cultural and historical weight we have put on them. Helen shows us what the bird is, pure and simple. Species are discussed as well as anatomy and flight mechanics. In any other hands this could be just another science text book but Helen draws us in- Yes! I want to know what it's like to be a falcon!

The book covers Mythical falcons, Trained falcons, Threatened falcons, Military falcons, and Urban falcons.

I'm so tempted to say that this book is as much about us as it is about our feathered, elegant, fierce friends, but that wouldn't be fair to the falcons. This book is about them. But we can't learn about them without learning about how humans have interacted with them.

As humans, we see everything through the eyes of our own experience, and it appears that falcons have suffered or thrived because of this. Throughout history they have been revered or reviled, depending on what people need them for.

For example, it had never occurred to me that falconry had once been a sport of kings, but once wealthy men began hunting with rifles, those birds of prey became the competition.

Reading this was a fascinating look into a culture -falconry- that I wasn't familiar with. I couldn't help but think about horses as I read this. I really do believe that although our creatures are different, falconers and horse people share a kind of obsessiveness.

The most amazing thing about this book is the way the author pulls in the unexpected. Nothing gets past her. Pages are decorated with photos, diagrams, advertisements, rock band logos, movie publicity shots, old paintings and cartoons. Culture, pop culture and art coexist beautifully. She's got the hawk eyes (geddit?) to find all these connections and pull them together in a way that makes perfect sense. If you're sharp enough you might even find some sly humour!

I especially love the way the story ends. It's tempting to think that wild animals simply don't live in cities. But they do. Once you've read your way this far, it will make perfect sense that a falcon would be very comfortable nesting on a high rise building. We may think we rule the world or ruin the world; either way, the falcons don't care. They will keep doing what they do.

I gained a new appreciation for the falcon after reading this book. I found myself daydreaming about a perfect grey sky and a big haughty eye blinking at me.

Should you read this book? Yes. I suggest bringing a dictionary along. She's a sharp woman who uses words that I wasn't clear on; once I looked them up I realized that it truly was the best word for what she was telling us. Don't fear the big words! Embrace them! Let them love you!

It's not a light fluffy read. It's an involving, interesting read. This one, you soak up slowly.

Should you buy this book? Yes. If you love animals, nature, science, art, and history, you should own it, because you'll want to read it more than once.

Saturday Night at the Pool Hall: "My Dad Rocks Harder than Your Dad!"

Sometimes a group of us neighbours walk down to the pool hall, the local dive, the hole in the wall, for a beer and some funny conversation. This is one of the huge advantages of townie life: you can walk home after a beer. Especially if you're me, and one beer renders you unable to open car doors let alone drive home.

This weekend was special because one of our guys got his buddies together for some intensive rehearsals a few months ago, and the brilliant idea was hatched to put on a benefit concert, raising money for the Multiple Sclerosis foundation. Personally, I think any reason to put on a concert is a good reason, but it feels extra good to know that the money dropped into the box will help somebody.

So, how was it? It was great! The band consists of four guys who are 40 or so, all have salesman-type jobs, and all have young kids. They're dads, and they rock.

Aren't they smart? Think about it. They've got the day job, the wife, the kids, the house, and they do not need to get on a stinky bus to play music for an adoring crowd. They simply booked the pool hall down the road and invited everybody they know. Brilliant.

The set list was basically your classic rock that everybody loves, with some newer stuff thrown in to keep things exciting. Some Black Sabbath, some Van Halen, some AC/DC and of course, of course, some Led Zeppelin. The first set started off with "Suck my Kiss" by Red Hot Chili Peppers, which made one of my neighbours lean over to ask exactly what the lyrics were. Later on they played "By the Way" which is not an easy song, simply because we're not sure exactly what the lyrics are!

"Hot for Teacher" was dedicated to the frontman's lovely wife! They even played one of my favourite dance songs: "Bullet in the Head" by Rage Against the Machine. I was frantically dancing and therefore didn't notice the general crowd reaction. Jethro told me afterwards that the place lit up for that one. Us parents, we rock. Totally.

Of course the night wouldn't be complete without two essential ingredients:
1) Wah wah. "Doesn't Remind Me" by Audioslave
2) Cowbell. "Hair of the Dog" by Nazareth.

And the Zeppelin requirement? "The Ocean"

The guys traded instruments at one point as well as pulling a few more buddies up to the mic for fun.

A good night was had, and the walk home in the drizzle was worth it.

A night at the OPERA???!!!!

Grandmar & Grandpar are back from Florider, and had 2 extra tickets for the opera in Toronto. We figured we'd take up the offer. Why not; it's a night out, and we haven't seen Jethro's folks in a few months.

This isn't the first time we've done this, believe it or not. It's the third time.I don't know if there'll be a fourth time.

So far, here's my unsophisticated take on Opera: It is veddy veddy serious. The lighting and the sets are perfect. There is the thrill of live entertainment, of this moment happening right now, that will never happen exactly this way again. And, it is completely, to me anyways, incomprehensible. Oh, and somebody has to die at the end.

So on Saturday morning I was in my coveralls and rubber boots, standing in three inches of mud+manure, covered in horsehair. Several hours and a trip down the 401 later I was giving the parentals the studio tour, because Jethro had to show them the studio before anything else. We stopped for supper in a restaurant that gave me a bucket of beer. Hoegaarden, on tap, in a glass as big as a bucket. That way I figured I could handle sitting through an opera.

When travelling with these parentals, one must deal with their hyper-punctuality in order to appease Grandpar's anxiety. Having to deal with my own anxiety issues, I will do anything to keep this man calm. If that means arriving at the Hummingbird Centre an HOUR before the show starts, then that's what we do.

If anything this gives me time to do some people watching. Being completely uneducated in the culture of opera-going, I am fascinated by the wide range of personal presentation. In other words, most opera-goers are very tacky. Lots of poorly matched items and bad synthetic fabric. Way too much make-up. As Grandpar commented frequently, "Mutton dressed up as lamb." Jethro particularly found the Leather Pants Cougars amusing.

The Outfit of Horror: black velvet dress, sheer sleeves and chest, sheer black hose, top of dress and hose MATCH. Spindly black strappy shoes with some kind of white stones on front. Rhinestone V necklace. Bleached yellow hair. Everything too tight. Fascinating. Awful.

And I just have to say, if you can't walk in heels, don't wear them. I myself am in either running shoes or boots, and if I choose to put on the heels, it's because I can walk in them. Hell I can dance in them. If you can't, wear flats. So what was I wearing? A pink stretch top, black ruffled skirt and my black leather platform boots. Was it appropriate for the occasion? Who friggin' knows. The folks just put on something clean and called it a day.

This was the last performance of the Canadian Opera Company at the Hummingbird Centre, after which they will have their own building in September. I didn't see any sentimental tears. These opera people are a cold bunch, I guess.

There are rituals involved with being an opera watcher that confound me. When does everybody know when to clap? Does one start, then all others in order to not look like a fool? The musicians are doing their little warmup noises in the pit. The conductor walks into the spotlight with waving hands and of course we clap for him. Obviously.

The show was NORMA by a man whose last name was BELLINI. It was written in 1831 and set in 50 BC, in Gaul. It's about a Gaul Druidess, a Priestess, who has defiled herself by having an affair with the Roman Important Soldier Guy aka Bad Boyfriend, with whom she has had two sons, both of whom have been kept secret from her father and her followers.

Apparently Norma needs to kill Pollione. I believe she needs to kill him because of his announcement that he has fallen in love with someone else. Norma is now aka Old Girlfriend. Bad Boyfriend has put Old Girlfriend's job and her honour in jeopardy, because he's bored with her and has traded her in for the younger model. We soon figure out that he's the kind of guy who will say anything to get into a Gaul Priestess's skirts.

Her young protegee, Adalgisa, aka New Girlfriend, asks Norma to release her from her Priestess vows because she has fallen in love. Norma lets her go because she knows the heartache. New Girlfriend has no clue that her boss's unfaithful lover is her New Bad Boyfriend, but the two women figure it out.

Tragedy ensues!!! And that's the end of Act 1. That took about six hours. Honestly, I dozed off for awhile with my head on Jethro's shoulder- luckily he did not snore- and I still got that much of it. Opera is not good for people with short attention spans. And crazy legs. Sometimes I get the crazy legs. And scoliosis. My crooked spine can't deal with sitting like a good girl for two hours. And an anxiety disorder; got a bit of a chest pain. I'm not really cut out for this opera thing.

It never fails that Jethro and his old man put their heads together during intermission and discuss whose pitch was the worst.

Now Norma can't decide if she should kill him, herself, or the two children, since they will be rejected in Gaul or tortured in Rome. Oh the drama. Oh the wild desperate gesturing of the arms. Oh the back of the hand pressed to the forehead.

Eventually after another four hours or so, Norma decides that the only solution is for she and Pollione to die together on the funeral pyre. I cannot remember what the heck happens to the two secretive children. But Opera did not disappoint me: somebody's always gotta die at the end.

According to Grandmar, "Soap opera plotlines haven't changed much since 1830."

Because the whole thing was in Italian--and I must specify, everything was sung TWICE in Italian--there was a strip above the stage with "surtitles" in English. This is one of my favourite things. The translations are a blast. Here are my favourites, which I either memorized or scribbled into my notebook in the dark.

"I resolve to remove myself from the air that I desecrate with my presence."

"An abyss has opened at my feet. I wish to fall in."

"It is my fate to love you and leave her."

Did I not say that this guy would say anything to get into a Druidess's skirts? Seriously.

"I realize too late what a sublime woman I have rejected."

"With my remorse my love is reborn. My dying words will be that I love you."

Right up to the bitter end, he's still lookin' for some skirt.

MORAL OF THE STORY (as far as I could see): Don't jilt a Gaul Priestess. She will order your fiery and bloody death by singing at you in a piercing soprano.


Other than the brilliant quotes above, I really appreciated the stage sets. Because this was set in the forest, there were stumps and very stylized backdrops of sharp wooden planks. The lighting was amazing. I honestly believe, after three of these shows, that the lighting guys are the real stars. And of course the orchestra is perfect.

As my final observation, I am puzzled by the lack of goths in the audience. Aside from the Tacky Clueless Wealthy, the Tacky Nouveau Riche, the Flaunting Nouveau Riche, the Bearded BackPack Students Who Got Cheap Tickets, and the Pair of Hicks Who Are Only There Because The Folks Gave Us Free Tickets And Jethro Got To Drive The Old Man's Passat To Get There...I saw no Goths.

Come on! Are you kidding? It's all there. It's dark. It's dramatic. It's tragic. There's always some kind of dagger or sword, there's always a threatened murder or suicide, and often BOTH! Other than not having anything to do with Trent Reznor, it's perfect.

On me, it may have been wasted. There was much to be enjoyed, but opera is a demanding entertainment. I wasn't allowed to get up and scream and throw the old horns at any point. I guess I could have, and after being escorted out of the theatre, just sit outside chatting with the guy on the sidewalk with the money in his hat until my companions came out after the show.

But after all, it was an excuse to get out and visit with the folks for an evening. And, I managed to find some comedic gems in there, although I'm sure that wasn't the intended result. So, a good time was had. No regrets.

Entertainment from the Hick's Eye View

I like entertainment. Before I started Blogging...actually before I knew what the hell "blogging" was, I used to do "Mommy's Movie Night." The kids had to go to bed and shut their pretty little eyes and not get up and bug me because I was on the couch watching MY video.

Because I have a bizarre need to document everything, I wrote up a review of each movie, including best scenes, what I Iiked, what I didn't like, and whether or not I would recommend anybody else spend their money to see it.

I think so highly of my reviewing skills that I'm about to inflict them on you. Movies, music, books, and whatever else I get my eyes and ears on; it'll all be here. I'm not big on computers but, I think thishere fancy "Inter Net" is great for those who live outside of the big city. You don't have to drive anywhere to get your entertainment fix.

You just have to come here!