Showing posts with label Amy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Amy. Show all posts

Monday, July 14, 2008

Music, man.

Amy and I indulged in a bit of cultural whiplash on Saturday evening. First, we took her young’uns to “The Music Man” at Pinewood Bowl. I’m not a fan of the theater … especially local productions … most especially musicals … and “The Music Man” is right at the bottom of the genre, as far as I’m concerned.

But we had such a great time. In my 20 years in Lincoln, I’ve never done the Pinewood Bowl thing, so it was nice to cross that off my life list before I leave. It’s a gorgeous setting, everyone’s friendly and laid-back, and the company couldn’t be beat.

We ducked out as the actors were taking their bows, rushed the kids off to a sleepover, and Amy and I managed to get down to the Zoo Bar’s outdoor anniversary block party in time to hear half a dozen of the Self-Righteous Brothers’ greatest hits. They still put on a kick-ass show … their classic cover of “She’s a Lady,” the originals “Candy” and “Have Fun With Your Penis,” and a thumping version of “Billie Jean.” I want Mr. Righteous and Sonny Righteous to teach me how to dance. I want the band to get back together.



Books, not bombs.

Nicholas Kristof’s oped column Sunday referenced Greg Mortenson, subject of the book I just finished (see my Goodreads review), “Three Cups of Tea: One Man's Mission to Fight Terrorism and Build Nations ... One School at a Time.” It’s a pretty startling juxtaposition: Bush promises $10 billion (so far) to Pakistan so its military will stay friends with our military, so we can keep bombing the hell out of families, schools and communities in the name of “fighting terror.” Mortenson hasn’t a fraction of the military complex budget, yet he’s well on his way to transforming society in rural Pakistan by building schools so everyone can get an education and not feel the need to resort to terror.

Who would you rather have in charge?


He's not really a girl, and he doesn't really talk. Well, he kind of raps.

My new summer soundtrack is “Feed the Animals” by Girl Talk, aka Gregg Gillis. He’s like the William Rice Burroughs of mixmasters, pouring out a plethora of pop favorites from the ‘60s through the aughts, cutting them up and mashing them back together into something brilliant. If you think Salt N’ Pepa, Deee-Lite, the Traveling Wilburys, Nirvana, Earth Wind and Fire and the Beach Boys (and more) can’t be combined into a brilliantly danceable new single, then you haven’t heard Girl Talk.

Quote of the week:

"Goodbye from the world's biggest polluter!"
-- "President" George Bush on leaving the G8 summit where next to no agreement was reached on the need to adapt to the climate change crisis.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/2277298/President-George-Bush-'Goodbye-from-the-world's-biggest-polluter'.html#continue

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Good chick, bad chick.

Our favorite local ice-cream goddess Miz Amy made NPR's "Weekend Edition" !!! You can read/listen to her here:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=11980712

The gist of the story is how dairy prices (among many other things) are going up because the demand for ethanol is driving up grain prices. Corn is far from the most efficient way to make ethanol, anyway.

Every time I drive (or, this morning, bike) past a cornfield, I wonder how many people we could be feeding if we weren't concentrating on ethanol and animal feed.

Go give Amy some love and treat yourelf to Ivanna Cone today!

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Thanks to yesterday's venture outside my natural habitat (I got groceries at the HyVee in the Stepfordurbia that is Williamsburg), I now have a terrible, terrible noise stuck inside my head.

If I were to make a mix list titled Songs That Have No Business Existing, "My Baby Takes the Morning Train" would be the intro, and maybe the outro as well. Bad enough that this pablum of a melody ever passed for popular music in the first place, but have you ever listened to the damn message? I remember when this stupid song came out ... even then, my barely pubescent self found it ridiculous to celebrate seeing your man off to work so he can buy you pretty baubles and take you dancing, while you just daydream about him all day. Snap out of the daydream, Sheena -- get a job and buy your own damn baubles!

This wasn't back in the 1950s, btw. This was the '80s! We were still hearing these messages when I was growing up, in the supposed heyday of feminism. (Today, of course, is so much better. Women of song lyrics no longer lie around waiting for their men to bring home the bacon ... their men are pimping them out as ho's and beeyotches ... )

Ugh! I can't get it out of my head! Damn you, HyVee and Sheena Easton! Damn your bland pop sensibilities!

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