Blog number 106 July 27, 2007
I was always fascinated by the Spanish language, so when I heard a Mexican I worked with use what I thought was the word, "spera," I asked him, in Spanish, "Que es spera?" (What is "spera"?) He pointed to a fellow worker.
So I asked again, "Que es spera?" He thumbed toward the fellow worker and said, "Him." I didn't understand at all, so I asked the Mexican, "What did I say?" He said, "You asked me what I was waiting for."
I told this to my lovely wife of a little under three years of marriage, and I didn't get any response. She didn't think it funny, I thought, because she didn't understand Spanish and I tried to explain it to her but got nowhere, so I just forget about it.
Later that year her sister came to visit and lo and behold, they batted away in Spanish constantly. I confronted her with why I was so ignorant of her knowledge of the Spanish language and she told me she didn't want me to know she spoke Spanish, since she went through a lot of discrimination while living in Texas and Denver because of it and she thought I would react the same way.
I asked her why she didn't laugh at the Spanish story I told her and she said she had laughed inside.
Once several years later I commented upon her Mexican heritage and she blew her stack. We had a big fight. She declares she is Tewa Indian and Spanish (from Spain} although sometimes she is Tewa Indian and Jewish, so I really don't know.
Not much later we ate in a Mexican restaurant that played marachi music and I commented that I didn't like Mexican music and once again, stack blowing and big fighting.
So. She gets angry if I suggest she is associated with anything Mexican. She also gets angry if I suggest there is something wrong with anything Mexican. Mixed message? I think so.
I guess those early bad times stick with one forever. I was just making comments concerning something else both times, we were both in good moods before these incidents. Strange, huh?
If she reads this, I might be in trouble again, but trouble is my middle name anyhow. Donald Trouble Reynolds.
I just sent this to Teresa to see if she minded it going on my blog. The only objection she had - and it was a strong one, was that I had to say we had been married only one year, not three years.
Funny lady.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
MOMMY, TELL ME A STORY
Blog number 105 July 26, 2007
I am into titles of movies or books and poignant or poetic first sentences of stories. I simply love them.
That last sentence reads like that because I have just put down a novel concerning a sixty year old English woman and she talks like this.
Many, many years ago, while reading "Shogun," sitting on a park bench in my beloved Sacramento, I suddenly realized that I was thinking as if I was a character in that book. I have since found that without fail, I always do that. Horrible sentence, that last one. But what's a Mother to do?
Anyhow, back to titles and first sentences. What made me think of this is that while in Barnes and Nobles a few days ago, going to the loo, I passed a shelve of books, one of which had the title, "The Nymphos of Castle Rock." What a phrase. Brings up all kinds of visions, doesn't it? Does the title infer that in the Western desert town of Castle Rock, there inhabits a bevy of nymphos? Or is it that there are only five nymphos (three wouldn't work as well). And the story is about their lives? Or are there only two and the story is about their trials and tribulations as they try to cope with what is mainly a masculine trait?
I had a dear neighbor once tell me that women enjoy sex just as much as men do. I didn't say anything, but I thought, "Well..., NO!"
Curious thing. While spell checking, my computer wanted me to capitalize "nymphos." It doesn't give me a chance to teach the spell checker to spell it the way I want to. So I overruled it. Hope I'm right.
"Shogun" was fun to read, but right in the middle, before the terrific end, the protagonist goes through a love thing. Totally unnecessary and distracting. In fact, Kavi - my AKA second son, once told me that he didn't finish Shogun because they started getting all lovey dovey. I told him it gets through that, to just pass it by without reading it, but I don't think he ever did.
And this reminds me of a great novel concerning the Vietnam war that had a political message every other chapter, without fail. "The Thirteenth Valley."
The main story was engrossing. The political stuff was like being in a political science class room listing to a droning teacher on a warm spring day. I finished that book by not even looking at every other chapter and I missed nothing.
Same thing happens with the Jane Roberts' Seth books. When Seth is writing, the information is fascinating and straight forward, but when Jane is writing, it comes through like nonsense. Uninformative and nonsequitur. Fortunately, when Jane is writing, it is in italics, so it is rather easy to just skip over those parts even though occasionally it looks like you may be losing something. But don't worry, you never are.
It used to be when I was young, all movies had what was then called. "the obligatory love scene." They were totally unnecessary and boring. We all knew they were in there to attract women to the movie, or rather because movie producers thought women so shallow as not to find the plot interesting, so they thought a love scene would satisfy them.
Nowadays we have the obligatory sex scene, which doesn't advance any plot in any way, but still, every movie must have them. For the same reason we used to have love scenes.
I once saw a movie starring Frank Sinatra about a war going on in an Asian country. First he would fight ferociously and then on the weekend, he would be with his lover in a hotel away from the fighting. Time!
I was watching a boxing match on the telly one afternoon and as an experiment they put microphones on the referee. At one time, one of the fighters put his gloved hand over his right eye and turned sideways, saying, "Time out. Time out." The other fighter actually backed away, but the ref said, "There is no time out."
I guess that when in sparring, they can do that. The fact that the other boxer responded to it shows that it is pretty ingrained.
I am into titles of movies or books and poignant or poetic first sentences of stories. I simply love them.
That last sentence reads like that because I have just put down a novel concerning a sixty year old English woman and she talks like this.
Many, many years ago, while reading "Shogun," sitting on a park bench in my beloved Sacramento, I suddenly realized that I was thinking as if I was a character in that book. I have since found that without fail, I always do that. Horrible sentence, that last one. But what's a Mother to do?
Anyhow, back to titles and first sentences. What made me think of this is that while in Barnes and Nobles a few days ago, going to the loo, I passed a shelve of books, one of which had the title, "The Nymphos of Castle Rock." What a phrase. Brings up all kinds of visions, doesn't it? Does the title infer that in the Western desert town of Castle Rock, there inhabits a bevy of nymphos? Or is it that there are only five nymphos (three wouldn't work as well). And the story is about their lives? Or are there only two and the story is about their trials and tribulations as they try to cope with what is mainly a masculine trait?
I had a dear neighbor once tell me that women enjoy sex just as much as men do. I didn't say anything, but I thought, "Well..., NO!"
Curious thing. While spell checking, my computer wanted me to capitalize "nymphos." It doesn't give me a chance to teach the spell checker to spell it the way I want to. So I overruled it. Hope I'm right.
"Shogun" was fun to read, but right in the middle, before the terrific end, the protagonist goes through a love thing. Totally unnecessary and distracting. In fact, Kavi - my AKA second son, once told me that he didn't finish Shogun because they started getting all lovey dovey. I told him it gets through that, to just pass it by without reading it, but I don't think he ever did.
And this reminds me of a great novel concerning the Vietnam war that had a political message every other chapter, without fail. "The Thirteenth Valley."
The main story was engrossing. The political stuff was like being in a political science class room listing to a droning teacher on a warm spring day. I finished that book by not even looking at every other chapter and I missed nothing.
Same thing happens with the Jane Roberts' Seth books. When Seth is writing, the information is fascinating and straight forward, but when Jane is writing, it comes through like nonsense. Uninformative and nonsequitur. Fortunately, when Jane is writing, it is in italics, so it is rather easy to just skip over those parts even though occasionally it looks like you may be losing something. But don't worry, you never are.
It used to be when I was young, all movies had what was then called. "the obligatory love scene." They were totally unnecessary and boring. We all knew they were in there to attract women to the movie, or rather because movie producers thought women so shallow as not to find the plot interesting, so they thought a love scene would satisfy them.
Nowadays we have the obligatory sex scene, which doesn't advance any plot in any way, but still, every movie must have them. For the same reason we used to have love scenes.
I once saw a movie starring Frank Sinatra about a war going on in an Asian country. First he would fight ferociously and then on the weekend, he would be with his lover in a hotel away from the fighting. Time!
I was watching a boxing match on the telly one afternoon and as an experiment they put microphones on the referee. At one time, one of the fighters put his gloved hand over his right eye and turned sideways, saying, "Time out. Time out." The other fighter actually backed away, but the ref said, "There is no time out."
I guess that when in sparring, they can do that. The fact that the other boxer responded to it shows that it is pretty ingrained.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
ONE ODDS, ONE ENDS
Blog number 104 July 22, 2007
I just erased a long bit of writing because I am pretty sure people would misunderstand what I was doing. I have changed so much from what I was like forty years ago that to me it is like I can see that person from the inside. Like he is different from me and thus I can look at him and his thoughts and his behavior from the inside, as different from my thoughts and behavior.
If that makes sense.
The writing involved anecdotal tales of my unusual behavior and thoughts about money.
When I started making these extreme changes, I used to tell my friends of some behavior I just did, believing unconsciously that they would understand that I was speaking of a new and unusual event. Like doing something with complete confidence instead of as my usual meek, shy, "of no consequence" person. They would interpret my report as bragging.
What I just erased would probably be interpreted like that, but if I told it about another person, people would probably find it interesting. Maybe not, but I think they would. Anyhow, that's why I erased it.
I really wish there was no such thing as "big ego" so people could talk straight about their lives. Explain what they are about.
I thought for a long while I could at least talk straight to Teresa my wife, but alas, she interprets things like that as due to my big ego more than any other person. I don't mind being thought of as having a big ego, but I do object to having my actions dismissed as due to some self-promotion. What's the use of saying anything about some unusual or ludicrous action if it will be thrown out as made up to prove that I am a great guy. Huh?
**********************
We went to Mimi's today, and as we walked in, a little three year old girl smiled gleefully and said, "HI!" After we sat down, I went out to get a pack of crayons for her and when I asked the mother if I could give them to her, before the mother could say anything, the little girl reached out her hand to them and said, "Please? Please?"
Her mother spoke a few words and in a voice I have learned is used by deaf people. At the same time she signed at the little girl, holding her palm to her chest and waving away. This caused the little girl to say, "Thank you, thank you," to me.
When the waitress brought their food, I heard the tot say, "Thank you, thank you." Seemingly, she loved to say thank you. I think she just picked it up that strongly just at that time.
When I came back from washing my hands in the rest room, I noticed the little girl signing to her mother. Three years old!
Her voice was so sweet - like silver bells.
*************
At another time, at Mimi's, we talked to a girl baby and when we left, her siblings all said "bye," and then the little girl said it and all the children were excited. "The baby said, 'Hi.' The baby said 'Hi.' "
I guess Teresa and I were fortunate to have been there at such an auspicious occasion.
I felt that way anyhow.
I just erased a long bit of writing because I am pretty sure people would misunderstand what I was doing. I have changed so much from what I was like forty years ago that to me it is like I can see that person from the inside. Like he is different from me and thus I can look at him and his thoughts and his behavior from the inside, as different from my thoughts and behavior.
If that makes sense.
The writing involved anecdotal tales of my unusual behavior and thoughts about money.
When I started making these extreme changes, I used to tell my friends of some behavior I just did, believing unconsciously that they would understand that I was speaking of a new and unusual event. Like doing something with complete confidence instead of as my usual meek, shy, "of no consequence" person. They would interpret my report as bragging.
What I just erased would probably be interpreted like that, but if I told it about another person, people would probably find it interesting. Maybe not, but I think they would. Anyhow, that's why I erased it.
I really wish there was no such thing as "big ego" so people could talk straight about their lives. Explain what they are about.
I thought for a long while I could at least talk straight to Teresa my wife, but alas, she interprets things like that as due to my big ego more than any other person. I don't mind being thought of as having a big ego, but I do object to having my actions dismissed as due to some self-promotion. What's the use of saying anything about some unusual or ludicrous action if it will be thrown out as made up to prove that I am a great guy. Huh?
**********************
We went to Mimi's today, and as we walked in, a little three year old girl smiled gleefully and said, "HI!" After we sat down, I went out to get a pack of crayons for her and when I asked the mother if I could give them to her, before the mother could say anything, the little girl reached out her hand to them and said, "Please? Please?"
Her mother spoke a few words and in a voice I have learned is used by deaf people. At the same time she signed at the little girl, holding her palm to her chest and waving away. This caused the little girl to say, "Thank you, thank you," to me.
When the waitress brought their food, I heard the tot say, "Thank you, thank you." Seemingly, she loved to say thank you. I think she just picked it up that strongly just at that time.
When I came back from washing my hands in the rest room, I noticed the little girl signing to her mother. Three years old!
Her voice was so sweet - like silver bells.
*************
At another time, at Mimi's, we talked to a girl baby and when we left, her siblings all said "bye," and then the little girl said it and all the children were excited. "The baby said, 'Hi.' The baby said 'Hi.' "
I guess Teresa and I were fortunate to have been there at such an auspicious occasion.
I felt that way anyhow.
HISTORY BELONGS IN THE PAST
Blog number 102 July 24, 2007
When I get an idea for something to write in my blog, I talk into my recorder, but I usually only say the topic. When I listen to what I recorded, ready to put it into my blog, the one or two word hints don't sound very interesting or funny, so I pass.
Yesterday I got to thinking that maybe if I spoke the whole thought and THEN heard it played back, it would remain as interesting or funny as when the event happened or I thought of it.
I recorded this that I just wrote, but I didn't listen to it. I just remembered it and wrote it, so I still don't know if that's going to work, or maybe it already is and this is a result of the full speech.
I just read that Starbucks is going to raise prices because of the raise in THEIR prices. I have been watching this phenomena for a while, since it is a repeat of something that happened back it the sixties or seventies and that's one advantage of getting old. You get to watch history happening all over again.
The phenomena is that inflation is now going on, but nobody says anything about it, not even using the "I" word. They just say, "So and so is going up in price, but that's because ..." Back in the sixties or seventies, every day the newspaper would say the same thing - something like, "The cost of living increased, but that's because doctor's fees went up," or some such thing. Always a reason why things cost more then they used to. Then after about a year of this, they started really talking about INFLATION. And talked and talked. Same thing is going to happen this time - you watch.
Which reminds me - back when stocks were a big item (And they will be again), this one columnist, every day, would write, "Stocks hit a record high." So I wrote to him and explained that, since stock prices had never before been this high, doesn't it make sense that ANY increase would be a new, "Record high?" Why declare something so obvious?
I really didn't expect it to make any difference in his "reporting," but by golly, he never used that phrase again.
And listen to this. "Dear Abby" was going on and on about sending thank you notes for gifts received and I wrote her and said that a gift is given without any expectation of receiving ANYTHING in return. I said that if you expected something in return for a gift, it wasn't a gift, it was a barter.
She printed what I wrote and responded with, "Only a saint could do something like that." That reply blew my mind. Why is it that only special people can do logical things? Why is not the ordinary man on the street logical enough to give gifts like that? Huh? Isn't that a stupid thing to say? Yes, of course it is.
When I get an idea for something to write in my blog, I talk into my recorder, but I usually only say the topic. When I listen to what I recorded, ready to put it into my blog, the one or two word hints don't sound very interesting or funny, so I pass.
Yesterday I got to thinking that maybe if I spoke the whole thought and THEN heard it played back, it would remain as interesting or funny as when the event happened or I thought of it.
I recorded this that I just wrote, but I didn't listen to it. I just remembered it and wrote it, so I still don't know if that's going to work, or maybe it already is and this is a result of the full speech.
I just read that Starbucks is going to raise prices because of the raise in THEIR prices. I have been watching this phenomena for a while, since it is a repeat of something that happened back it the sixties or seventies and that's one advantage of getting old. You get to watch history happening all over again.
The phenomena is that inflation is now going on, but nobody says anything about it, not even using the "I" word. They just say, "So and so is going up in price, but that's because ..." Back in the sixties or seventies, every day the newspaper would say the same thing - something like, "The cost of living increased, but that's because doctor's fees went up," or some such thing. Always a reason why things cost more then they used to. Then after about a year of this, they started really talking about INFLATION. And talked and talked. Same thing is going to happen this time - you watch.
Which reminds me - back when stocks were a big item (And they will be again), this one columnist, every day, would write, "Stocks hit a record high." So I wrote to him and explained that, since stock prices had never before been this high, doesn't it make sense that ANY increase would be a new, "Record high?" Why declare something so obvious?
I really didn't expect it to make any difference in his "reporting," but by golly, he never used that phrase again.
And listen to this. "Dear Abby" was going on and on about sending thank you notes for gifts received and I wrote her and said that a gift is given without any expectation of receiving ANYTHING in return. I said that if you expected something in return for a gift, it wasn't a gift, it was a barter.
She printed what I wrote and responded with, "Only a saint could do something like that." That reply blew my mind. Why is it that only special people can do logical things? Why is not the ordinary man on the street logical enough to give gifts like that? Huh? Isn't that a stupid thing to say? Yes, of course it is.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
YUMMY YUMMY!
Blog number 101 July 22, 2007
A few years back I was walking down J. Street in Sacramento and I happened to look up into the top of one of the elms that lined the street. There, on an uppermost branch, I saw a red tailed hawk with his beak stretched skyward, a bony hair covered squirrel tail disappearing down his outstretched throat.
What did that piece of hair and bones taste like? Why would ANYTHING eat something like that? Did it taste good to him? I couldn't believe that. I got to wondering if some animals ate due to something besides taste.
Yesterday I was thinking something about humans being a pattern of patterns in relation to my reading habits and my walking habits. I can't remember the exact trail that my mind took, and I didn't have my recorder with me, so that part is probably lost to posterity. Anyway, this led me to thinking about that hawk and his squirrel lunch - or was it brunch? It was about ten thirty in the AM. Brunch. Yes?
I then thought about snakes eating eggs, which I have thought about periodically ever since I first heard they did that, and once again, I wondered why it tasted good to them. I mean, all they could taste would be calcium minerals. Right? But then, in this train of thought about patterns of patterns, I thought, "maybe it is the heat of the food that they like. Snakes don't eat food they find - only fresh killed.
Maybe it is the warmth of the eggs from the mother bird sitting on them that peaks his epicurean taste and allows him to also swallow a dead rat, tasting nothing but hair and crap all the way to the gizzard."
I wish I had thought of this back when I was taking Experimental Psychology.
Do hawks eat found food?
A few years back I was walking down J. Street in Sacramento and I happened to look up into the top of one of the elms that lined the street. There, on an uppermost branch, I saw a red tailed hawk with his beak stretched skyward, a bony hair covered squirrel tail disappearing down his outstretched throat.
What did that piece of hair and bones taste like? Why would ANYTHING eat something like that? Did it taste good to him? I couldn't believe that. I got to wondering if some animals ate due to something besides taste.
Yesterday I was thinking something about humans being a pattern of patterns in relation to my reading habits and my walking habits. I can't remember the exact trail that my mind took, and I didn't have my recorder with me, so that part is probably lost to posterity. Anyway, this led me to thinking about that hawk and his squirrel lunch - or was it brunch? It was about ten thirty in the AM. Brunch. Yes?
I then thought about snakes eating eggs, which I have thought about periodically ever since I first heard they did that, and once again, I wondered why it tasted good to them. I mean, all they could taste would be calcium minerals. Right? But then, in this train of thought about patterns of patterns, I thought, "maybe it is the heat of the food that they like. Snakes don't eat food they find - only fresh killed.
Maybe it is the warmth of the eggs from the mother bird sitting on them that peaks his epicurean taste and allows him to also swallow a dead rat, tasting nothing but hair and crap all the way to the gizzard."
I wish I had thought of this back when I was taking Experimental Psychology.
Do hawks eat found food?
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Did it happen or did it not?
Blog number ONE HUNDRED! July 21, 2007
I think I got stung by a scorpion yesterday, maybe by two. I reached into a patch of dichondra (a lawn "grass"), pulling long stemmed thistles, and I felt two sharp "zings" on my thumb. Both zings occurred at the same time.
The stings were not from the thistles, as I was pulling them with my bare hands, so I know what those felt like. I always just ignore them. They are like a rough patch of wood or something. These were more like a bee sting, only very much less pain - which is exactly the description I once read of a scorpion sting years ago. Now, there is a scorpion, the "Black Scorpion," I think it is called, that emits a much more powerful hurt. But most species give this low-powered "bee sting."
I had two tiny red dots on my thumb, spaced like a rattlesnake bite. So maybe it was that. Just kidding.
I think I got stung by a scorpion yesterday, maybe by two. I reached into a patch of dichondra (a lawn "grass"), pulling long stemmed thistles, and I felt two sharp "zings" on my thumb. Both zings occurred at the same time.
The stings were not from the thistles, as I was pulling them with my bare hands, so I know what those felt like. I always just ignore them. They are like a rough patch of wood or something. These were more like a bee sting, only very much less pain - which is exactly the description I once read of a scorpion sting years ago. Now, there is a scorpion, the "Black Scorpion," I think it is called, that emits a much more powerful hurt. But most species give this low-powered "bee sting."
I had two tiny red dots on my thumb, spaced like a rattlesnake bite. So maybe it was that. Just kidding.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
AND...?
Blog number ninety-nine July 12, 2007
Went with Teresa to the dentist, while there I was reading an article in the National Geographic. It was about regeneration of tissues. Supposedly scientists had caused a chicken to regenerate the tip of a wing.
The last sentence in the article went something like wasn't it wonderful that we are now able to regenerate blood, veins, all the organs. And then the very last sentence of the whole article contained two words. They were, "Except lips."
Why, of ALL the organs, were lips exempted? And why, in this "scientific" article in a "scientific" magazine, was not the exemption elaborated upon? Explained? Huh?
Do I expect too much? Is that it?
Went with Teresa to the dentist, while there I was reading an article in the National Geographic. It was about regeneration of tissues. Supposedly scientists had caused a chicken to regenerate the tip of a wing.
The last sentence in the article went something like wasn't it wonderful that we are now able to regenerate blood, veins, all the organs. And then the very last sentence of the whole article contained two words. They were, "Except lips."
Why, of ALL the organs, were lips exempted? And why, in this "scientific" article in a "scientific" magazine, was not the exemption elaborated upon? Explained? Huh?
Do I expect too much? Is that it?
Thursday, July 12, 2007
THINGS YOU MIGHT NOT CARE TO KNOW
Blog number ninety-eight July 12, 2007
My roving reporter informs me that in the Sacramento yellow pages, there is an ad for psychics on page 666. Coincidence? Synchronicity? Conspiracy? We will determine which and let readers know the results as soon as possible, if not sooner.
In this month's New Yorker magazine, there is a cartoon of a clown at a circus that has a tattooed teardrop by his eye. A little girl is standing by him, pointing to her eye, obviously asking about the tattoo.
The caption reads, "I'm not a sad clown. I killed a guy in prison."
In this month's Discover magazine is a cartoon by Gary Larson of a caveman pointing to the three sharp points on the end of a dinosaur's tail, telling his audience, "Now, this end is called the thagomizer after the late Thag Simmons."
"Thagomizer" is what those things are now called in reference books and museum exhibits. Neat, huh?
Remember, work hard. Keep America strong.
My roving reporter informs me that in the Sacramento yellow pages, there is an ad for psychics on page 666. Coincidence? Synchronicity? Conspiracy? We will determine which and let readers know the results as soon as possible, if not sooner.
In this month's New Yorker magazine, there is a cartoon of a clown at a circus that has a tattooed teardrop by his eye. A little girl is standing by him, pointing to her eye, obviously asking about the tattoo.
The caption reads, "I'm not a sad clown. I killed a guy in prison."
In this month's Discover magazine is a cartoon by Gary Larson of a caveman pointing to the three sharp points on the end of a dinosaur's tail, telling his audience, "Now, this end is called the thagomizer after the late Thag Simmons."
"Thagomizer" is what those things are now called in reference books and museum exhibits. Neat, huh?
Remember, work hard. Keep America strong.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
SOMETHING ABOUT NOTHING
Blog number ninety-seven July 03, 2007
We just finished watching the movie, "The Prairie Home Companion." I liked it. Which reminds me that we saw a movie last night that I had never heard of before called, "Idlewild."
That movie was a very pleasant surprise - a Negro (Black) musical. I didn't think I was going to like it because, well you know - the culture difference. In fact, early on they started what seemed like it was going to be rap - and it might have been, but it evolved into a mesmerizing song and dance number. I have never seen people dance like that. Wow!
The camera work was very creative. The little "side work" was very creative. That whole movie was very creative. I'm glad I got to see it.
This movie tonight - the Prairie Home Companion, brought back memories from my childhood - back when I was about ten years old.
We used to listen to the radio because you know - no TV? One night we were listening to Grand Old Opry and they said that since it was their last show that night, anyone could come and get in free. I told my dad what they said and asked if we could go - not really believing we could, but he said yes, and the whole family - Mom, Dad, Bill, Me, John, Pat and Mardene all piled in the car and went downtown and got in.
The first surprise was that the show was broadcast on this huge stage. I expected a small stage with a microphone or two like I had seen in the movies when they portrayed a radio program. The second surprise was when I saw a fellow classmate as one of the performers. He played the violin. I knew he played that thing from seeing him at school
A young teenage girl sang and people threw pennies to her. One hit her in the eye. She left the stage after her song, not picking up any of the pennies, but my classmate went out there, violin in one hand, picking up pennies with the other.
I could tell the girl hated the penny throwing and even at that young age, I felt something wrong about people doing that - like she was some trained monkey or seal or something.
The whole show was a special treat.
So why'd I tell this story? I really don't know. Doesn't seem to be a point to it, nor any instructional or educational benefit. Just an old man running off at the mouth again.
Hell, that's justification enough, Yes?
We just finished watching the movie, "The Prairie Home Companion." I liked it. Which reminds me that we saw a movie last night that I had never heard of before called, "Idlewild."
That movie was a very pleasant surprise - a Negro (Black) musical. I didn't think I was going to like it because, well you know - the culture difference. In fact, early on they started what seemed like it was going to be rap - and it might have been, but it evolved into a mesmerizing song and dance number. I have never seen people dance like that. Wow!
The camera work was very creative. The little "side work" was very creative. That whole movie was very creative. I'm glad I got to see it.
This movie tonight - the Prairie Home Companion, brought back memories from my childhood - back when I was about ten years old.
We used to listen to the radio because you know - no TV? One night we were listening to Grand Old Opry and they said that since it was their last show that night, anyone could come and get in free. I told my dad what they said and asked if we could go - not really believing we could, but he said yes, and the whole family - Mom, Dad, Bill, Me, John, Pat and Mardene all piled in the car and went downtown and got in.
The first surprise was that the show was broadcast on this huge stage. I expected a small stage with a microphone or two like I had seen in the movies when they portrayed a radio program. The second surprise was when I saw a fellow classmate as one of the performers. He played the violin. I knew he played that thing from seeing him at school
A young teenage girl sang and people threw pennies to her. One hit her in the eye. She left the stage after her song, not picking up any of the pennies, but my classmate went out there, violin in one hand, picking up pennies with the other.
I could tell the girl hated the penny throwing and even at that young age, I felt something wrong about people doing that - like she was some trained monkey or seal or something.
The whole show was a special treat.
So why'd I tell this story? I really don't know. Doesn't seem to be a point to it, nor any instructional or educational benefit. Just an old man running off at the mouth again.
Hell, that's justification enough, Yes?
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