A big hoorah for Mark for being a Larry Carlton fan (see yesterday's comments box).
There are too few of us, so to help redress that balance, here's a quick filler post of Larry's "Song For Katie" (Hi, Katie) which came up as a result of Neetzy's guitar question yesterday.
Like all of Larry's best playing (some of you will know him from his work with Steely Dan … Kid Charlemagne, Don't Take Me Alive, etc), the little solo in the middle of this song is elegant, beautiful, full of melodic shifts and surprises and a total bastard to play.
Enjoy.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
Answer Time
Well, what inquisitive and pointy minds you folk have.
I have had a great time watching your questions come in and giggling at them.
Now I suppose I have to sit down and answer them.
I will answer truthfully and damn the embarrassment.
Oh, by the way, if any of you haven't asked anything yet or would like to ask some more, I am enjoying this so thoroughly that you are more than welcome to pop more questions into the comment box.
Here goes with this set of questions:
First up was our lovely Nathalie:
1. Why do you live so far from work?
A: I don't; I work a long way from where I live.
I love my job, but it is a unique one, only available at one office in Westminster. I love spending time in London, walking along the river and through the parks, visiting galleries and museums, shopping and eating weird things in odd places.
I also love where I live.
I am on the edge of a pretty little village in the beautiful Norfolk Broads, surrounded by lakes and rivers and close to the sea. When I get home after a bustling day it is perfectly quiet and peaceful. No cars, people, dogs, planes or any other noise except birdsong and the rustling of the trees.
It is just my dumb luck that those things are three-and-a-half hours apart.
I have come to need both extremes; living in London would drive me crazy and working in the wilds of Norfolk would turn me into something from Deliverance.
Ergo: I commute.
2. Why spend so many hours commuting?
A: It takes around three and a half hours to get from home to the office; if I commuted less hours I would have to get off the train well short of London, which would mean taking even longer to get to work.
3. How come no one at work has uncovered your blog yet?
A: They have. Donna in HR monitors it for content (Hi, Donna; I am SO glad you have a warped sense of humour) and the guys in the office (including Amanda) take a peek from time to time, but they've actually got their own lives (in Amanda's case, rather a startling one when she can remember any of it) and so Blogville doesn't really bother them; it's only saddoes like us who blog; real people have real lives, so they tell me.
4. Would you like me to let them know about it?
A: They already know; they just don't care that much. Though they did all fall over laughing at my Bad Hair Day post, the bastards.
5: If not, how much are you prepared to give me?
A: Er … not a lot.
6. Why do you wear a Santa outfit to hop on the train throughout the month of December but aren't game enough to wear it at work? I think you ought to be brave enough to go all the way?
A: I wear a what? Nathalie, I only don a Santa outfit when I am in the mood to entice girls to sit on my lap and tell them I have something in my sack for them … er.
Katie:
1. What's in your fridge?
A: Sheesh! You want an inventory?
Hokay; here goes:
- An airtight tub with a rapidly disappearing hunk of organic Parmesan inside it;
- About a third of a jar of home-made pesto;
- Most of a pint of organic local semi-skimmed milk (I don't drink milk but Phil popped in for coffee at the weekend and he likes his white with sugar … Eww).
- Some rather anally neat packets of greaseproof paper containing divers cheeses: cheddar, brie, stilton et al.
- Five out of a carton of six large, local organic free-range eggies;
- A shapeless blob of yummy farmhouse butter;
- An almost empty jar of Bonne Maman bitter orange marmalade;
- Divers jars containing such delights as home-made chili sauce, mum's piccalilli, mango chutney, mayonnaise, etc.
- A couple of large cartons of Innocent mixed berry smoothie;
- Most of a carton of tomato juice;
- About a third of a bottle (Vac-u-vin'ed) of French chardonnay;
- A paper bag with field mushrooms in it;
- Assorted salad leaves, tomatoes and cucumber;
- A head of celery;
- A quantity of yeast;
- A tub of Greek sheep's yoghurt;
- A tub of home-made chicken stock, defrosting for tomorrow;
- A squeezy tube of (to my shame) Heinz low sugar and salt tomato ketchup;
- A tube of sun-dried tomato purée;
- Some Japanese "Minty" eye drops for when I get monitor-eye.
Yes, you read that right; they are eye drops and they are minty.
You know that icky taste you get in your throat a couple of minutes after using normal eye drops? Well the Japanese think of everything. Flavoured eye drops … You can get coffee ones, too! Yay!
2. What's tacked up on your fridge (or are you one of those neat freaks who prefers a pristine surface)?
A: I am indeed a "neat freak" and adore a tabula rasa, Katie, but regrettably, these things appear to have adhered their asses to my fridge door"
Robyn:
Q: Was there ever a time when you really liked Christmas, or have you always been a curmudgeon?
A: I loved Christmas when I was a little kid.
Even back at Sunday School, Christmas was a time for "getting" (what little kid genuinely gives a toss about "giving"?). I was just as greedy and inconsiderate as any other kid and I loved every minute.
However, like so many of the innocent joys of life, all things Christmassy got seared from my soul as soon as I was old enough to realise what was going on around me.
Anonymous:
Q: Do you have a sport training? If answer"yes": what sport? If answer"no": why haven't you?
A: Anonymous, I am a fifty-year-old man with a bad back. I wish I could do now what I could when I was younger.
However, I still do two brisk five-mile walks a day as part of my commute and I have a decent home gym. I confess to being addicted to my exercise bike. I have my old PS2 and a crappy portable TV in front of it. The bike is set up in front of a window so I can get a nice breeze while I cycle and can play stupid old GTA San Andreas at the same time.
I still swim a lot, too, when I can.
Back in the day, I ran, jumped and hurdled for the school, plus I played tennis and badminton and a whole lot of other stuff pretty well; I did a lot of competitive cycling time trials and some canoeing, too.
I was pretty fit; now I'm just pretty fat.
And my bad back stops me doing a lot of stuff I want to do …
Sigh.
Shazza:
Q: What is your real name?
A: My real name is my family name preceded by a couple of Christian names.
Unless you're asking Dive, whose real name is Dive.
Shan:
Q: In high school and college were you always one of those gifted kids that had to look extra hard to find something interesting to do to keep from being bored? Do you have a hard time dating for that same reason? Why don't you want to do anything the "easy" way?
A: Nope. I was never bored, not even in Latin. As you can glean from my answer to Anonymous I was both a "jock" and a "nerd"; great at physics and pretty whizzy on the sports field, the chess and debating teams and on stage with my rock band. I also spent a whole lot of time in the art department (and walked off with the school art prize) and I am still somewhat smug about the fact that I enjoyed a long and intensely physical relationship with the hottest girl in school (Hi, Judith)!
What a let-down I have become.
I still don't get bored, though. I don't have the time.
Hey ho.
And where's the fun in doing something the easy way?
Rich:
Q: Do you have any warts anywhere on your body?
A: Ah, a medical question from our medical man. Excellent! No, Rich; I'm afraid not. Those things are a bugger to grow and believe me I've tried, but with no success.
At least not so far. My quest continues.
Lynn:
1. Though you complain about being single a lot, I sense you dread being part of a couple. Am I right?
A: Not at all. I love being part of a couple and I miss it more than I can say without making some kind of noise like a wolf with tummy-ache.
I so need hugs.
2. Take the nearest book to you right now. What does the third sentence of the book say?
"The register of his burial was signed by the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner."
The preceding two sentences read:
"Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that."
'Tis the season and I am two-thirds of the way through my annual winter reading of the complete Dickens and about to break off between Little Dorrit and A Tale of Two Cities to get all Scroogey for Christmas so it's sitting here on the table beside my keyboard.
3. Why has your speech gone all American?
A: It has? Scrivens! My dear young lady I was not aware my standards had sunk so low. I shall of course endeavour to improve matters forthwith!
Unless of course you mean yesterday's post. That was written by Maria, who is afflicted by Americanism, being somewhat American.
4. What colour are your underpants. Please don't say you have none. I might have to heave.
A: Black. M&S boxers. Boring but true. I would no more wear "designer" underwear than I would eat a McD.
5. If you saw your friend's wife out, cheating, how would you deal with it?
A: I would confront her and - if her paramour was older and smaller than me - I would beat the crap out of him. If not, I would maybe just glare a lot.
6. Look to the right - what are you looking at?
A: The living room. It is rather messy in that today's post is unopened on the coffee table.
Extra 5. If you checked your numbers, and you won £8m, what would be the very first two things you would do. Don't say you don't buy lottery tickets (yes I pre-empt you) - it's hypothetical. LOL.
A: I don't buy lottery tickets, but with my hypothetical £8m I would buy a new jar of marmalade (see above) and I'd probably spend the rest on riotous living, debauching myself with coked-up whores and z-list celebrities.
Yeah, right.
I'd buy the marmalade, anyway.
I'll pop across to Things and post a question when I have some time at home to think of one worthy enough.
Savannah:
Q: Why don't you have a passport?
A: It lapsed sometime around 2000 but as I've not been anywhere since the mid nineties I never bothered to renew it.
Mark:
Q: What would your favorite gourmet dinner menu consist of?
A: Sheesh! That would change virtually by the hour; I'm a fickle old bugger.
When I eat out, however, I like to have things I don't make at home, either because they're too much trouble or they're difficult to make for only one person.
Favourites are sashimi (okay, so I have that at home a lot, but I love it), bouillabaise (impossible to make for one and pretty difficult to spell, too), things involving truffles and mad Portuguese banquet dishes featuring alarming parts of animals.
I don't enjoy those tiny, pretentiously presented amuse bouche twatteries that a lot of restaurants seem to think are terribly clever.
I also don't eat desserts. Instead I'll have a glass of noble rot riesling or some green tea, depending on the restaurant.
I never could figure dessert … I mean, if you've just paid half a week's wages for something heartbreakingly truffly, the last thing you want to do is ruin the aftertaste with sugary crap.
Boy, howdy, this one is going to keep me awake and running downstairs to the fridge all night!
Jules:
1. What is your name? First will do.
A: In which case my name is First.
2. Are you a bath or a shower man?
A: Because I am forced by my commute to have a rushed shower every working morning I no longer enjoy them and I crave long, hot soaks in the bath.
I like Japanese bathing. You get clean with a good scrub in the shower, then run a really hot bath and simply lay in it and luxuriate.
3. Do you wear boxers or budgie-smugglers?
A: Budgie smugglers? Hee hee. And "Eww", Jules! I'm an old man; I wear boxers. As some of you know I iron them, too; there's nothing worse than putting on wrinkly boxers. Ick!
4. Do you need reading glasses or is your eye-sight perfect and what are you reading at the moment?
A: I'm reading your question. With my varifocals as I have crappy old eyes.
5. What is your screen saver?
A: Er … Is this a Windoze question? I don't have one.
Nathalie again:
6. Why aren't you answering me?
A: Sorry, I was asleep.
7. Don't you love me any more?
A: Of course; with the kind of creepy devotion you can only get from a lonely middle-aged man over the internet.
Bettie Page: (so nice to see you up and about so soon, Bettie)
Q: When will we get to see bondage and spanking Dive photos from the naught years?
A: I never took photos. Sorry.
Terroni:
Q: How much would I have to give you NOT to answer Rich's question?
A: Too late!
Neetzy:
1. Who are your favourite guitarists? Please list them in order with a brief explanation. (This could be the subject for a future post)
A: I very rarely listen to guitar players so I'll list the solos I can still bear to listen to and you can glean what you will from that:
- My favourite guitar solo of all time is by Dean Smith and it is the one on "Further Than We've Gone" off Captain Beefheart's "Bluejeans and Moonbeams" album.
It's not flash, it has all sorts of cock-ups in it but it is played straight from the heart.
- I also love Danny Mc.Cullough's heartbreaker of a solo in Wings' (yes, you heard) "My Love", George Harrison's lovely solo in "Something", together with his solos on Lennon's "Gimme Some Truth" and "How Do You Sleep?", which - for a man of peace - were pure, distilled evil. Other fave's are Ry Cooder's sublime solo on John Hiatt's "Lipstick Sunset", from the "Bring The Family" album, Larry Carlton's solo in his own "Song For Katie" off "Sleepwalk" and of course all of Jeff Beck's "Blow By Blow" album, especially "Diamond Dust".
I loathe flashy, vacuous "virtuoso" playing as I know just how piss-easy that is to do. All it takes is practice; you don't need a soul to play that crap and boy, does it show!
If I listen to guitar players at all I listen to slow, considered players who play exactly what is right for the song and nothing more … a lesson I've never learned myself as you know.
2. Who is your favorite Painter and why?
A: You, of course. Because I am a creep. Hee hee. Honestly, your paintings blow me away, Neetzy. I love them, as you well know.
But as for a favourite; that changes through the years. I have been through so many phases since I was a kid and I like just about everyone.
The last painting that got me excited was Rothko's 1964, No.1 - Black on maroon, which I saw a few weeks back with Katie. She can vouch for my excited state … er.
3. You are a man of many talents. How and why did you get into architecture?
A: How: Through the lobby, stopping to say "Hi" to Fernando the security guy, then up four flights of stairs, through the beepy security thang along the corridor and into the architects' department.
Why: Because it's better than working for a living.
Lupine Lady:
Q: Here's another question: would you like to read the article about Carter in the New York Times? If yes, then try this link: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/12/arts/music/12carter.html?ref=music
A: Heck, yes! Thank you.
Kate:
Q: Well, I would attempt a question, but I am too shy (you know me, such a wallflower); and I"m still laughing too hard at "budgie-smuggler"
A: Me too, Kate. Hee hee.
And lastly (at least for today) Nathalie again!
Q: Yes Kate, budgie smuggler is a wonderful expression. I discovered it in Australia - is it a specifically Aussie saying, Dive, or is it something people also say in the UK?
So there you are, that's my question number nine.
A: Er … Until today, Nathalie, it was specifically Aussie, but I have a feeling it shall be spreading out from this office pretty fast.
Gosh, that was fun!
If anyone wants to ask more, fire away. And please try this yourselves; it is silly, embarrassing and puerile, all the things we love about blogging!
I have had a great time watching your questions come in and giggling at them.
Now I suppose I have to sit down and answer them.
I will answer truthfully and damn the embarrassment.
Oh, by the way, if any of you haven't asked anything yet or would like to ask some more, I am enjoying this so thoroughly that you are more than welcome to pop more questions into the comment box.
Here goes with this set of questions:
First up was our lovely Nathalie:
1. Why do you live so far from work?
A: I don't; I work a long way from where I live.
I love my job, but it is a unique one, only available at one office in Westminster. I love spending time in London, walking along the river and through the parks, visiting galleries and museums, shopping and eating weird things in odd places.
I also love where I live.
I am on the edge of a pretty little village in the beautiful Norfolk Broads, surrounded by lakes and rivers and close to the sea. When I get home after a bustling day it is perfectly quiet and peaceful. No cars, people, dogs, planes or any other noise except birdsong and the rustling of the trees.
It is just my dumb luck that those things are three-and-a-half hours apart.
I have come to need both extremes; living in London would drive me crazy and working in the wilds of Norfolk would turn me into something from Deliverance.
Ergo: I commute.
2. Why spend so many hours commuting?
A: It takes around three and a half hours to get from home to the office; if I commuted less hours I would have to get off the train well short of London, which would mean taking even longer to get to work.
3. How come no one at work has uncovered your blog yet?
A: They have. Donna in HR monitors it for content (Hi, Donna; I am SO glad you have a warped sense of humour) and the guys in the office (including Amanda) take a peek from time to time, but they've actually got their own lives (in Amanda's case, rather a startling one when she can remember any of it) and so Blogville doesn't really bother them; it's only saddoes like us who blog; real people have real lives, so they tell me.
4. Would you like me to let them know about it?
A: They already know; they just don't care that much. Though they did all fall over laughing at my Bad Hair Day post, the bastards.
5: If not, how much are you prepared to give me?
A: Er … not a lot.
6. Why do you wear a Santa outfit to hop on the train throughout the month of December but aren't game enough to wear it at work? I think you ought to be brave enough to go all the way?
A: I wear a what? Nathalie, I only don a Santa outfit when I am in the mood to entice girls to sit on my lap and tell them I have something in my sack for them … er.
Katie:
1. What's in your fridge?
A: Sheesh! You want an inventory?
Hokay; here goes:
- An airtight tub with a rapidly disappearing hunk of organic Parmesan inside it;
- About a third of a jar of home-made pesto;
- Most of a pint of organic local semi-skimmed milk (I don't drink milk but Phil popped in for coffee at the weekend and he likes his white with sugar … Eww).
- Some rather anally neat packets of greaseproof paper containing divers cheeses: cheddar, brie, stilton et al.
- Five out of a carton of six large, local organic free-range eggies;
- A shapeless blob of yummy farmhouse butter;
- An almost empty jar of Bonne Maman bitter orange marmalade;
- Divers jars containing such delights as home-made chili sauce, mum's piccalilli, mango chutney, mayonnaise, etc.
- A couple of large cartons of Innocent mixed berry smoothie;
- Most of a carton of tomato juice;
- About a third of a bottle (Vac-u-vin'ed) of French chardonnay;
- A paper bag with field mushrooms in it;
- Assorted salad leaves, tomatoes and cucumber;
- A head of celery;
- A quantity of yeast;
- A tub of Greek sheep's yoghurt;
- A tub of home-made chicken stock, defrosting for tomorrow;
- A squeezy tube of (to my shame) Heinz low sugar and salt tomato ketchup;
- A tube of sun-dried tomato purée;
- Some Japanese "Minty" eye drops for when I get monitor-eye.
Yes, you read that right; they are eye drops and they are minty.
You know that icky taste you get in your throat a couple of minutes after using normal eye drops? Well the Japanese think of everything. Flavoured eye drops … You can get coffee ones, too! Yay!
2. What's tacked up on your fridge (or are you one of those neat freaks who prefers a pristine surface)?
A: I am indeed a "neat freak" and adore a tabula rasa, Katie, but regrettably, these things appear to have adhered their asses to my fridge door"
Robyn:Q: Was there ever a time when you really liked Christmas, or have you always been a curmudgeon?
A: I loved Christmas when I was a little kid.
Even back at Sunday School, Christmas was a time for "getting" (what little kid genuinely gives a toss about "giving"?). I was just as greedy and inconsiderate as any other kid and I loved every minute.
However, like so many of the innocent joys of life, all things Christmassy got seared from my soul as soon as I was old enough to realise what was going on around me.
Anonymous:
Q: Do you have a sport training? If answer"yes": what sport? If answer"no": why haven't you?
A: Anonymous, I am a fifty-year-old man with a bad back. I wish I could do now what I could when I was younger.
However, I still do two brisk five-mile walks a day as part of my commute and I have a decent home gym. I confess to being addicted to my exercise bike. I have my old PS2 and a crappy portable TV in front of it. The bike is set up in front of a window so I can get a nice breeze while I cycle and can play stupid old GTA San Andreas at the same time.
I still swim a lot, too, when I can.
Back in the day, I ran, jumped and hurdled for the school, plus I played tennis and badminton and a whole lot of other stuff pretty well; I did a lot of competitive cycling time trials and some canoeing, too.
I was pretty fit; now I'm just pretty fat.
And my bad back stops me doing a lot of stuff I want to do …
Sigh.
Shazza:
Q: What is your real name?
A: My real name is my family name preceded by a couple of Christian names.
Unless you're asking Dive, whose real name is Dive.
Shan:
Q: In high school and college were you always one of those gifted kids that had to look extra hard to find something interesting to do to keep from being bored? Do you have a hard time dating for that same reason? Why don't you want to do anything the "easy" way?
A: Nope. I was never bored, not even in Latin. As you can glean from my answer to Anonymous I was both a "jock" and a "nerd"; great at physics and pretty whizzy on the sports field, the chess and debating teams and on stage with my rock band. I also spent a whole lot of time in the art department (and walked off with the school art prize) and I am still somewhat smug about the fact that I enjoyed a long and intensely physical relationship with the hottest girl in school (Hi, Judith)!
What a let-down I have become.
I still don't get bored, though. I don't have the time.
Hey ho.
And where's the fun in doing something the easy way?
Rich:
Q: Do you have any warts anywhere on your body?
A: Ah, a medical question from our medical man. Excellent! No, Rich; I'm afraid not. Those things are a bugger to grow and believe me I've tried, but with no success.
At least not so far. My quest continues.
Lynn:
1. Though you complain about being single a lot, I sense you dread being part of a couple. Am I right?
A: Not at all. I love being part of a couple and I miss it more than I can say without making some kind of noise like a wolf with tummy-ache.
I so need hugs.
2. Take the nearest book to you right now. What does the third sentence of the book say?
"The register of his burial was signed by the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner."
The preceding two sentences read:
"Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that."
'Tis the season and I am two-thirds of the way through my annual winter reading of the complete Dickens and about to break off between Little Dorrit and A Tale of Two Cities to get all Scroogey for Christmas so it's sitting here on the table beside my keyboard.
3. Why has your speech gone all American?
A: It has? Scrivens! My dear young lady I was not aware my standards had sunk so low. I shall of course endeavour to improve matters forthwith!
Unless of course you mean yesterday's post. That was written by Maria, who is afflicted by Americanism, being somewhat American.
4. What colour are your underpants. Please don't say you have none. I might have to heave.
A: Black. M&S boxers. Boring but true. I would no more wear "designer" underwear than I would eat a McD.
5. If you saw your friend's wife out, cheating, how would you deal with it?
A: I would confront her and - if her paramour was older and smaller than me - I would beat the crap out of him. If not, I would maybe just glare a lot.
6. Look to the right - what are you looking at?
A: The living room. It is rather messy in that today's post is unopened on the coffee table.
Extra 5. If you checked your numbers, and you won £8m, what would be the very first two things you would do. Don't say you don't buy lottery tickets (yes I pre-empt you) - it's hypothetical. LOL.
A: I don't buy lottery tickets, but with my hypothetical £8m I would buy a new jar of marmalade (see above) and I'd probably spend the rest on riotous living, debauching myself with coked-up whores and z-list celebrities.
Yeah, right.
I'd buy the marmalade, anyway.
I'll pop across to Things and post a question when I have some time at home to think of one worthy enough.
Savannah:
Q: Why don't you have a passport?
A: It lapsed sometime around 2000 but as I've not been anywhere since the mid nineties I never bothered to renew it.
Mark:
Q: What would your favorite gourmet dinner menu consist of?
A: Sheesh! That would change virtually by the hour; I'm a fickle old bugger.
When I eat out, however, I like to have things I don't make at home, either because they're too much trouble or they're difficult to make for only one person.
Favourites are sashimi (okay, so I have that at home a lot, but I love it), bouillabaise (impossible to make for one and pretty difficult to spell, too), things involving truffles and mad Portuguese banquet dishes featuring alarming parts of animals.
I don't enjoy those tiny, pretentiously presented amuse bouche twatteries that a lot of restaurants seem to think are terribly clever.
I also don't eat desserts. Instead I'll have a glass of noble rot riesling or some green tea, depending on the restaurant.
I never could figure dessert … I mean, if you've just paid half a week's wages for something heartbreakingly truffly, the last thing you want to do is ruin the aftertaste with sugary crap.
Boy, howdy, this one is going to keep me awake and running downstairs to the fridge all night!
Jules:
1. What is your name? First will do.
A: In which case my name is First.
2. Are you a bath or a shower man?
A: Because I am forced by my commute to have a rushed shower every working morning I no longer enjoy them and I crave long, hot soaks in the bath.
I like Japanese bathing. You get clean with a good scrub in the shower, then run a really hot bath and simply lay in it and luxuriate.
3. Do you wear boxers or budgie-smugglers?
A: Budgie smugglers? Hee hee. And "Eww", Jules! I'm an old man; I wear boxers. As some of you know I iron them, too; there's nothing worse than putting on wrinkly boxers. Ick!
4. Do you need reading glasses or is your eye-sight perfect and what are you reading at the moment?
A: I'm reading your question. With my varifocals as I have crappy old eyes.
5. What is your screen saver?
A: Er … Is this a Windoze question? I don't have one.
Nathalie again:
6. Why aren't you answering me?
A: Sorry, I was asleep.
7. Don't you love me any more?
A: Of course; with the kind of creepy devotion you can only get from a lonely middle-aged man over the internet.
Bettie Page: (so nice to see you up and about so soon, Bettie)
Q: When will we get to see bondage and spanking Dive photos from the naught years?
A: I never took photos. Sorry.
Terroni:
Q: How much would I have to give you NOT to answer Rich's question?
A: Too late!
Neetzy:
1. Who are your favourite guitarists? Please list them in order with a brief explanation. (This could be the subject for a future post)
A: I very rarely listen to guitar players so I'll list the solos I can still bear to listen to and you can glean what you will from that:
- My favourite guitar solo of all time is by Dean Smith and it is the one on "Further Than We've Gone" off Captain Beefheart's "Bluejeans and Moonbeams" album.
It's not flash, it has all sorts of cock-ups in it but it is played straight from the heart.
- I also love Danny Mc.Cullough's heartbreaker of a solo in Wings' (yes, you heard) "My Love", George Harrison's lovely solo in "Something", together with his solos on Lennon's "Gimme Some Truth" and "How Do You Sleep?", which - for a man of peace - were pure, distilled evil. Other fave's are Ry Cooder's sublime solo on John Hiatt's "Lipstick Sunset", from the "Bring The Family" album, Larry Carlton's solo in his own "Song For Katie" off "Sleepwalk" and of course all of Jeff Beck's "Blow By Blow" album, especially "Diamond Dust".
I loathe flashy, vacuous "virtuoso" playing as I know just how piss-easy that is to do. All it takes is practice; you don't need a soul to play that crap and boy, does it show!
If I listen to guitar players at all I listen to slow, considered players who play exactly what is right for the song and nothing more … a lesson I've never learned myself as you know.
2. Who is your favorite Painter and why?
A: You, of course. Because I am a creep. Hee hee. Honestly, your paintings blow me away, Neetzy. I love them, as you well know.
But as for a favourite; that changes through the years. I have been through so many phases since I was a kid and I like just about everyone.
The last painting that got me excited was Rothko's 1964, No.1 - Black on maroon, which I saw a few weeks back with Katie. She can vouch for my excited state … er.
3. You are a man of many talents. How and why did you get into architecture?
A: How: Through the lobby, stopping to say "Hi" to Fernando the security guy, then up four flights of stairs, through the beepy security thang along the corridor and into the architects' department.
Why: Because it's better than working for a living.
Lupine Lady:
Q: Here's another question: would you like to read the article about Carter in the New York Times? If yes, then try this link: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/12/arts/music/12carter.html?ref=music
A: Heck, yes! Thank you.
Kate:
Q: Well, I would attempt a question, but I am too shy (you know me, such a wallflower); and I"m still laughing too hard at "budgie-smuggler"
A: Me too, Kate. Hee hee.
And lastly (at least for today) Nathalie again!
Q: Yes Kate, budgie smuggler is a wonderful expression. I discovered it in Australia - is it a specifically Aussie saying, Dive, or is it something people also say in the UK?
So there you are, that's my question number nine.
A: Er … Until today, Nathalie, it was specifically Aussie, but I have a feeling it shall be spreading out from this office pretty fast.
Gosh, that was fun!
If anyone wants to ask more, fire away. And please try this yourselves; it is silly, embarrassing and puerile, all the things we love about blogging!
Question Time
Sheesh!
Back to London today and playing catch-up. I'm going to be way too busy to blog so instead I'll do what I normally do when I'm busy and steal an idea from Maria.
She said:
"Ask me any question you wish, and if I don't feel too shy, I will answer it. I will stop at # 30.
And, by the way...why don't some of you take this idea from me, because there are some good questions I will love to ask y'all.... "
I very much doubt I'll get thirty questions but I'll have a go at answering any you ask.
Have fun!
Back to London today and playing catch-up. I'm going to be way too busy to blog so instead I'll do what I normally do when I'm busy and steal an idea from Maria.
She said:
"Ask me any question you wish, and if I don't feel too shy, I will answer it. I will stop at # 30.
And, by the way...why don't some of you take this idea from me, because there are some good questions I will love to ask y'all.... "
I very much doubt I'll get thirty questions but I'll have a go at answering any you ask.
Have fun!
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Chocolate Jesus: Tacky, Yet Tempting
Hey, kids! Jesus has got another birthday coming up.
Which kinda begs the question: what on earth do you get someone who has already had well over two thousand birthdays?
More socks?
A CD compilation of cheesy, Christmas songs?
I can't really see Him sitting in front of the telly after Christmas dinner in a crappy Santa sweater.
And gift certificates are a bit of a cop out for the son of God.
A nice beard trimmer, perhaps?
Well, that's one dilemma I no longer have to worry about as I already know what I'm getting Him.
And don't you go copying me!
I found this in Barcelona's chocolate museum (oh, yes! There really is such a place):
A chocolate pieta!
Yay!
Tasteless, yet tasty.
How could He not love that?
Sing along, y'all …
"Don't go to church on Sunday
Don't get on my knees to pray
Don't memorize the books of the Bible
I got my own special way
I know Jesus loves me
Maybe just a little bit more
I fall on my knees every Sunday
At Zerelda Lee's candy store
Well it's got to be a chocolate Jesus
Make me feel good inside
Got to be a chocolate Jesus
Keep me satisfied
Well I don't want no Anna Zabba
Don't want no Almond Joy
There ain't nothing better
Suitable for this boy
Well it's the only thing
That can pick me up
Better than a cup of gold
See only a chocolate Jesus
Can satisfy my soul
(Solo)
When the weather gets rough
And it's whiskey in the shade
It's best to wrap your savior
Up in cellophane
He flows like the big muddy
But that's ok
Pour him over ice cream
For a nice parfait
Well it's got to be a chocolate Jesus
Good enough for me
Got to be a chocolate Jesus
Good enough for me
Well it's got to be a chocolate Jesus
Make me feel good inside
Got to be a chocolate Jesus
Keep me satisfied"
Which kinda begs the question: what on earth do you get someone who has already had well over two thousand birthdays?
More socks?
A CD compilation of cheesy, Christmas songs?
I can't really see Him sitting in front of the telly after Christmas dinner in a crappy Santa sweater.
And gift certificates are a bit of a cop out for the son of God.
A nice beard trimmer, perhaps?
Well, that's one dilemma I no longer have to worry about as I already know what I'm getting Him.
And don't you go copying me!
I found this in Barcelona's chocolate museum (oh, yes! There really is such a place):
A chocolate pieta!Yay!
Tasteless, yet tasty.
How could He not love that?
So … that's my present sorted; what are YOU going to buy Jesus for His birthday?
Sing along, y'all …
"Don't go to church on Sunday
Don't get on my knees to pray
Don't memorize the books of the Bible
I got my own special way
I know Jesus loves me
Maybe just a little bit more
I fall on my knees every Sunday
At Zerelda Lee's candy store
Well it's got to be a chocolate Jesus
Make me feel good inside
Got to be a chocolate Jesus
Keep me satisfied
Well I don't want no Anna Zabba
Don't want no Almond Joy
There ain't nothing better
Suitable for this boy
Well it's the only thing
That can pick me up
Better than a cup of gold
See only a chocolate Jesus
Can satisfy my soul
(Solo)
When the weather gets rough
And it's whiskey in the shade
It's best to wrap your savior
Up in cellophane
He flows like the big muddy
But that's ok
Pour him over ice cream
For a nice parfait
Well it's got to be a chocolate Jesus
Good enough for me
Got to be a chocolate Jesus
Good enough for me
Well it's got to be a chocolate Jesus
Make me feel good inside
Got to be a chocolate Jesus
Keep me satisfied"
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Drive In Saturday
Fuck flu!
Thanks to the snot monster I've missed Louisa's craft fair, my Japanese lesson, Tony's gig and my yummy Saturday breakfast in the city.
Oh, and some crappy commuting, so perhaps it's not all bad.
Here are a couple of things that are truly bad:
As Robyn and Lucio kindly informed me yesterday, the world is a slightly less knotty and red-assed place today after the sad death at 85 of everybody's favourite 1950s bondage and spanking queen and born again Christian, Bettie Page.
What an alluring …er … haircut that gal had.
To help all of us bereaved Bettie fans mourn in our own … ahem … private way, here are some classic Bettie shots:
And to make your day even worse, Mikey sent me an unnecessarily festive little gem which I just sat and giggled my way through.
I confess to an addiction to crap B-movies, and B-movies don't come much crappier than this one.
Yay!
Santa Claus Conquers The Martians.
If you have the time, please make yourself a coffee and a bite to eat (popcorn would be good), click on the link and settle in to enjoy a truly strange and horrifyingly festive Christmas crapfest.
If you don't have the time, make it. Watching this tosh is well worth sacrificing something like the ironing or cleaning the bathroom (actually that's a pretty close call).
For those who share my predilection (or are just morbidly curious and have way more time than taste), check out:
Classic Cinema Online, home of Tod Browning's Freaks, The Day The Earth Stood Still, The Giant Gila Monster, Night of the Living Dead, Creature with the Atom Brain, It! Terror From Beyond Space and way too many more.
… and America Free TV, replete with Roger Corman classics like Little Shop of Horrors, Swamp Women and such wonders as Teenage Zombies, The Wasp Woman, Attack of the Monsters, Mesa of Lost Women et al.
It's all free and it's all complete trash.
What's not to love.
I'm off to continue my own personal B-movie, Dive vs. The Snot Monster.
Happy Saturday, earthlings.
Thanks to the snot monster I've missed Louisa's craft fair, my Japanese lesson, Tony's gig and my yummy Saturday breakfast in the city.
Oh, and some crappy commuting, so perhaps it's not all bad.
Here are a couple of things that are truly bad:
As Robyn and Lucio kindly informed me yesterday, the world is a slightly less knotty and red-assed place today after the sad death at 85 of everybody's favourite 1950s bondage and spanking queen and born again Christian, Bettie Page.
What an alluring …er … haircut that gal had.
To help all of us bereaved Bettie fans mourn in our own … ahem … private way, here are some classic Bettie shots:
And to make your day even worse, Mikey sent me an unnecessarily festive little gem which I just sat and giggled my way through.I confess to an addiction to crap B-movies, and B-movies don't come much crappier than this one.
Yay!
Santa Claus Conquers The Martians.
If you have the time, please make yourself a coffee and a bite to eat (popcorn would be good), click on the link and settle in to enjoy a truly strange and horrifyingly festive Christmas crapfest.
If you don't have the time, make it. Watching this tosh is well worth sacrificing something like the ironing or cleaning the bathroom (actually that's a pretty close call).
For those who share my predilection (or are just morbidly curious and have way more time than taste), check out:
Classic Cinema Online, home of Tod Browning's Freaks, The Day The Earth Stood Still, The Giant Gila Monster, Night of the Living Dead, Creature with the Atom Brain, It! Terror From Beyond Space and way too many more.
… and America Free TV, replete with Roger Corman classics like Little Shop of Horrors, Swamp Women and such wonders as Teenage Zombies, The Wasp Woman, Attack of the Monsters, Mesa of Lost Women et al.
It's all free and it's all complete trash.
What's not to love.
I'm off to continue my own personal B-movie, Dive vs. The Snot Monster.
Happy Saturday, earthlings.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Wrestling The Snot Monster
Man-flu sucks.
Yeah, yeah, I know: weemen shrug off this thing with a petite sneezette and carry on giving birth while they cook or whatever and even the slightest breeze can knock a man flat for a week.
But it still sucks.
I've been fighting this thing off since Tuesday but late yesterday the fucker crept up on me and hit me with a truck. Holy crap!
"BAM!" … "KAPOW!" All that stuff.
So I've been trying to sweat off the stupid fever since yesterday teatime but the "aches and shakes" are even worse (so's the vom-fest: I hate that) this morning and somebody's been kicking me in the kidneys all night so I'm taking my kettle, my pile of lemons and my jar of honey upstairs to bed and I'm going to do my best to leap on the flu and rip the smegger's balls off.
It's a toe-to-toe stand-up slug-fest with hot lemon, honey and - if things don't improve - chilis taking on six foot of phlegm, vomit, shakes, aches and general crappiness.
Or - if you're a woman - it's a touch of fluey cold.
Yeah, yeah, I know: weemen shrug off this thing with a petite sneezette and carry on giving birth while they cook or whatever and even the slightest breeze can knock a man flat for a week.
But it still sucks.
I've been fighting this thing off since Tuesday but late yesterday the fucker crept up on me and hit me with a truck. Holy crap!
"BAM!" … "KAPOW!" All that stuff.
So I've been trying to sweat off the stupid fever since yesterday teatime but the "aches and shakes" are even worse (so's the vom-fest: I hate that) this morning and somebody's been kicking me in the kidneys all night so I'm taking my kettle, my pile of lemons and my jar of honey upstairs to bed and I'm going to do my best to leap on the flu and rip the smegger's balls off.
It's a toe-to-toe stand-up slug-fest with hot lemon, honey and - if things don't improve - chilis taking on six foot of phlegm, vomit, shakes, aches and general crappiness.
Or - if you're a woman - it's a touch of fluey cold.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
One Hundred Years Of Elliott Carter
Woohoo!
Today sees the one hundredth birthday of the intercoursingly splendid Mister Elliott Carter, double Pulitzer Prize-winning composer of the kind of music that thrills me to the core and that sends braindead Daily Mail readers into apoplectic spasms.
Meredith_Heuer_2000.jpg)
Here he is. I'm sure you'll join me in wishing him a very happy birthday.
There's lots more about Carter and his centenary on his own site so go take a look and see what he's been up to for the past century, from his early days with Charles Ives and Aaron Copland through to the astonishing heights he has been scaling in his later years.
One thing's for certain: age certainly hasn't slowed the old bugger down. He composed nine new pieces last year and has another eight scheduled for this one.
This is a man who wrote his first opera in his nineties. Sheesh!
He's all over good old highbrow BBC Radio 3 this week (though I seriously doubt "Classic FM" or any of those other cultural deserts that play "one hundred best tunes from TV ads" or " your favourite elevator muzak" will air any of his work) and I've been happily playing through my massive stack of Carter CDs for days now.
Thanks in most part to champions of modern music such as Radio 3 he has a massive following over here and we tend think of him as an honorary European; most of his centenary concerts will be in London, Rome and Paris, though New York is joining in, too.
As he says himself: "I get about 13 times more royalties from Europe than I do from America.
I mean the public likes it more in Europe than they do here because the state supported organizations have felt that playing contemporary music was part of the education of the public."
Darn tootin'!
Anyhoo … Let's hear some Carter.
I do hope any Carter-virgins and the faint-hearted among you will listen right through and give yourselves a chance to appreciate such exciting and inspiring music.
This is a favourite piece he wrote in his eighty-ninth year.
"Quintet For Piano And Strings" .
The pianist is the wonderful Ursula Oppens and she's playing with the incomparably brilliant and uncompromisingly hardcore Arditti Quartet (Yay), whom I follow with a slavish teeny-bopper devotion.
They fucking rule!
Happy birthday, Elliott! Thank you for the first hundred years. Here's to many more years to come.
Today sees the one hundredth birthday of the intercoursingly splendid Mister Elliott Carter, double Pulitzer Prize-winning composer of the kind of music that thrills me to the core and that sends braindead Daily Mail readers into apoplectic spasms.
Meredith_Heuer_2000.jpg)
Here he is. I'm sure you'll join me in wishing him a very happy birthday.There's lots more about Carter and his centenary on his own site so go take a look and see what he's been up to for the past century, from his early days with Charles Ives and Aaron Copland through to the astonishing heights he has been scaling in his later years.
One thing's for certain: age certainly hasn't slowed the old bugger down. He composed nine new pieces last year and has another eight scheduled for this one.
This is a man who wrote his first opera in his nineties. Sheesh!
He's all over good old highbrow BBC Radio 3 this week (though I seriously doubt "Classic FM" or any of those other cultural deserts that play "one hundred best tunes from TV ads" or " your favourite elevator muzak" will air any of his work) and I've been happily playing through my massive stack of Carter CDs for days now.
Thanks in most part to champions of modern music such as Radio 3 he has a massive following over here and we tend think of him as an honorary European; most of his centenary concerts will be in London, Rome and Paris, though New York is joining in, too.
As he says himself: "I get about 13 times more royalties from Europe than I do from America.
I mean the public likes it more in Europe than they do here because the state supported organizations have felt that playing contemporary music was part of the education of the public."
Darn tootin'!
Anyhoo … Let's hear some Carter.
I do hope any Carter-virgins and the faint-hearted among you will listen right through and give yourselves a chance to appreciate such exciting and inspiring music.
This is a favourite piece he wrote in his eighty-ninth year.
"Quintet For Piano And Strings" .
The pianist is the wonderful Ursula Oppens and she's playing with the incomparably brilliant and uncompromisingly hardcore Arditti Quartet (Yay), whom I follow with a slavish teeny-bopper devotion.
They fucking rule!
Happy birthday, Elliott! Thank you for the first hundred years. Here's to many more years to come.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Ah, Misery
For those foreign devils amongst you who are not used to the golden crowns that adorn us English folk at Christmastide (and who giggled at the hats in the last post), here's my festive Christmas photo from last year to show that I too can enter into the spirit of things.
Yay.
Yay.The Horror … The Horror
This is why I don't go to office Christmas parties: a small selection of Gen's photos from the departmental Christmas party, concentrating mostly on the people I have sitting beside me driving me crazy every day.
My department … mercifully minus me.
Steve and Gayle Get Happy
Still sober; Amanda and the famous CB
Donna, who sits beside me at the office and fills my ears with Kiwi gibberish
CB demonstrates how intelligent alcohol makes you look
CJ (the boss) does the same
Genevieve aussi
Hey ho
Hic
Amandurr
These are not the worst of the photos by any means, but I have to work with these people for fuck's sake.
My department … mercifully minus me.
Steve and Gayle Get Happy
Still sober; Amanda and the famous CB
Donna, who sits beside me at the office and fills my ears with Kiwi gibberish
CB demonstrates how intelligent alcohol makes you look
CJ (the boss) does the same
Genevieve aussi
Hey ho
Hic
AmandurrThese are not the worst of the photos by any means, but I have to work with these people for fuck's sake.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Not Pretty
One down; one to go …
Christmas fucking parties, that is.
Yesterday evening witnessed that copious vom-fest of abhorrence; that suppurating hæmorrhoid on Satan's festering arse; the Office Departmental Christmas Party …
Which I totally avoided by the simple application of the words "Fuck off!" to CJ when he came shuffling round the office with the menu.
Some of you might remember that he was also carrying a sheet of paper on which the senior management team had run a sweepstake on which particular swearwords I would use when invited.
Every office has to have a token curmudgeon and they are used to me now.
I hate Christmas.
I hate parties.
I especially hate Christmas parties.
I reserve an extra special loathing for office Christmas parties.
Don't get me wrong; I actually quite (I suppose "like" is too strong a word) … er … tolerate some of the people I work with but the prospect of actually "socialising" with them is slightly further down my "boy howdy, I'd sure love to do that" list than lining up the world's population of incontinent over-eighties and licking their bodies clean.
As I've said before:
The people in my office talk of happy families and babies, babies, babies.
I hate their simpering, cretinous partners and their ugly, shrieking, puking, shitty little brats.
They talk of football.
I hate football.
They talk of television soaps and "reality shows".
I hate dumb-fuck television.
They talk of fuck-all else.
I hate bores.
You can see where this is going, can't you?
The main office party is yet to come and attendance is compulsory at that one, though I usually manage to duck out while people are still arriving; but last night witnessed the departmental office party (as with departmental meetings, you enter sane and depart mental, though in this case you can add inadvisable levels of drunkenness and unfortunate sexual advances to the mix).
And I successfully avoided it (Yay), extending my unbroken run of party-pooping grumpiness to seven years.
But …
Gen took her camera and was foolish enough to post the photos on the departmental drive this morning.
Holy crap, what a festival of ugliness.
As people started drifting in this morning (at least half the room is "off sick" today … ha!), they checked out the photos and filled the air with wailing and lamentations.
The result of which is that Gen has now been persuaded to remove the photos lest they "go public" …
But not before Old Dive burned the whole lot to DVD and popped them in my bag (do I hear "heheheheheh")?
This evening or tomorrow I may post some of the appalling results to justify my Christmas party curmudgeonliness to the more festively inclined among you.
I won't do it here at the office because I want to live until dinner time.
What - if anything - gets posted depends on how sadistic I feel when I get home.
Christmas fucking parties, that is.
Yesterday evening witnessed that copious vom-fest of abhorrence; that suppurating hæmorrhoid on Satan's festering arse; the Office Departmental Christmas Party …
Which I totally avoided by the simple application of the words "Fuck off!" to CJ when he came shuffling round the office with the menu.
Some of you might remember that he was also carrying a sheet of paper on which the senior management team had run a sweepstake on which particular swearwords I would use when invited.
Every office has to have a token curmudgeon and they are used to me now.
I hate Christmas.
I hate parties.
I especially hate Christmas parties.
I reserve an extra special loathing for office Christmas parties.
Don't get me wrong; I actually quite (I suppose "like" is too strong a word) … er … tolerate some of the people I work with but the prospect of actually "socialising" with them is slightly further down my "boy howdy, I'd sure love to do that" list than lining up the world's population of incontinent over-eighties and licking their bodies clean.
As I've said before:
The people in my office talk of happy families and babies, babies, babies.
I hate their simpering, cretinous partners and their ugly, shrieking, puking, shitty little brats.
They talk of football.
I hate football.
They talk of television soaps and "reality shows".
I hate dumb-fuck television.
They talk of fuck-all else.
I hate bores.
You can see where this is going, can't you?
The main office party is yet to come and attendance is compulsory at that one, though I usually manage to duck out while people are still arriving; but last night witnessed the departmental office party (as with departmental meetings, you enter sane and depart mental, though in this case you can add inadvisable levels of drunkenness and unfortunate sexual advances to the mix).
And I successfully avoided it (Yay), extending my unbroken run of party-pooping grumpiness to seven years.
But …
Gen took her camera and was foolish enough to post the photos on the departmental drive this morning.
Holy crap, what a festival of ugliness.
As people started drifting in this morning (at least half the room is "off sick" today … ha!), they checked out the photos and filled the air with wailing and lamentations.
The result of which is that Gen has now been persuaded to remove the photos lest they "go public" …
But not before Old Dive burned the whole lot to DVD and popped them in my bag (do I hear "heheheheheh")?
This evening or tomorrow I may post some of the appalling results to justify my Christmas party curmudgeonliness to the more festively inclined among you.
I won't do it here at the office because I want to live until dinner time.
What - if anything - gets posted depends on how sadistic I feel when I get home.
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