Brown Is The New Blue

Virginia? Not so much. It's happened before. New Jersey? Seriously? Now I'm interested! Please, I beg of thee, tell me more! Massachusetts? Now see, you went & got greedy. Not a prayer! They're bluer than cheese! That would be the political equivalent of "Miracle On Ice." But alas, the people have spoken & the impossible has happened! If this isn't a wake up call to the presiding administration to alter its current trajectory, then rest assured this November will be a blood bath of Biblical proportions for the Democratic party. Fasten your seat belts people. Turbulence ahead (cues "Good Times" theme song).

The Interview

Quick, what's your favorite color? Mine is crimson, since it just happens to be the predominate color of my favorite college football program. I know. Who cares? Perhaps a more interesting question then would be "Why must we have a favorite color?" After all, yellow is choice for sports cars & ribbons, but not so much for snow. Green sits well on trendy environmentally conscious politicians, but not on bread! We can play this game all day long.

Blackened: shrimp pasta? Excellent! Toast? Bad!

Brown: Steak crust? Preferable. Baby diaper? That's a problem.

Burnt Orange: Arizona sunset? Picturesque! College Football team? Surely you jest.

The reason I entertain such thought is because last week America's rising voice for the common man, Glenn Lee Beck, devoted an entire hour of his cable television program to interviewing our nation's Heart of Freedom, & newest Fox News contributor, Governor Sarah Louise Palin.

During the course of the interview Beck asked the Governor who her favorite founding father was. Palin initially replied "All of them". To no surprise other networks with laughable ratings, bitter bloggers still living in their parent's basement & even Youtube communities were spewing their usual venom of hate, claiming "Palin doesn't know her history". Yadi-yadi-yaduh. Blah-blah-blah. Sleep, slumber, snooze, shut-eye, ZZzzzzzzzz....

But I was surprised when the bloviator himself, William James O'Reilly even weighed in on the interview stating she had "bombed" (cynical air quotes if ever there were any) that particular question.

All in the eye of the beholder Billy. For what would Montana have been without the genius of Walsh? Abbot without Costello? Peanut Butter without Grape Jelly? Truly, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. And such is the case with our founding fathers. By God's grace & providence, each brought a variety of talents, background, education & perspective to the table that produced the finest nation in human history.

Jefferson's gifted writings, Adam's formal education, Franklin's timely diplomacy, or Washington's enduring leadership. Like Nacho Cheese Doritos, hard to pick just one! All played critical roles at a pivitol time in our nation's history. Wooden shoe agree? ;0>

So..."Bombed?" Think again O'Reilly & Beck. There's a reason Scripture often paints wisdom in the feminine gender. And in this case, The Barracuda is no exception.

Cup O' Joe, Hold the Show

At one time or another we've all laid down our twelve dollars for an afternoon matinee & another forty five (after coupon has been applied) for a small coke & popcorn only to walk away dejected from yet another dismal, over hyped, Hollywood production that's long on special effects & short on substance. On a brighter note however, we can always take heart in the knowledge that it's time we'll never recover while realizing we're now 3.5 hours closer to the grave.

I recently emailed a friend about this very troublesome inconvenience. For the sake of anonymity we'll call my friend "Allen Wayne Law." I shared with "Allen Wayne Law" I must be getting older because most movies, concerts, & certainly prime time television programming just aren't doing it for me anymore.

If given the choice, I would pick a good book in a comfy couch or love seat (the over sized kind you sink down into) with a hot cup-o-joe on a quiet, overcast, late winter's eve. If that officially makes me over the hill then supply me my walker, denture adhesive, & one way ticket to beautiful sunny southern Florida.

You see, the older I've become, the more I crave knowledge. And for whatever reason, it would appear the masses don't necessarily want to explore the great mysteries of the universe in a two hour presentation over a box of teeth rotting sour gummy worms. Please don't misunderstand me, I have my brain drain movie favorites as well. I just grow tired of a steady diet of predictable plots, special effects ad nauseum, & only tall, dark & thin leading actors under the age of 25 saving the day. Why can't short, overweight, slightly balding middle aged dudes ever save the day? Huh? Or why can't the leading actress be an elderly grandmother who triumphantly rushes to the crime scene in her spotless white Cadillac to rescue her great granddaughter from the evil disorganized community college financial aid office!? I can see it now (in that over the top Super Hero narrative inflection) - "Armed with only impeccable credit, In one crushing blow, our hero (great granny) swipes her debit card destroying any hopes the institution might have of suspending her precious great granddaughter for insufficient funds!

Fade to black. Roll credits.

Now THAT'S a reality show I could support! Wooden shoe agree? So until Hollywood can return to a more enduring, artistic approach to movie making, I'll mostly be content to explore the memoirs of political figures, psychology, & complex gourmet recipes in the privacy of my home. I might have a long wait. ;0)

Pathways In The Sky

This morning the rarest of arctic fronts pushed its way far enough southward to the weather-worn doorsteps of my humble abode as the frigid, tranquil January night gave way to the hopes & dreams of a new dawn. Red neck translation: It was frickin' cold as a you know what in a brass you know what! X-Files material for south Houston I promise! I keep warning those who will lend me their ear of the dangers concerning man made, self inflicted global cooling the human populace conveniently pretends isn't a catastrophic time bomb waiting to annihilate precious life as we know it on this grand, celestial, blue marble. Be that as it may, I went outside to start my wife's aging 2000 Pontiac Grand Am. She has been away for several days in Missouri & I felt it wise to start her engine & let it run, lest we potentially face a dead battery upon her return.

Even though I was only out in the elements for a handful of seconds, I discovered yet another reason why winter is hands down my favorite time of year. All the otherwise camouflaged activity above us is completely exposed during winter months for human observation. E.G., meticulously constructed abandoned bird's nests, squirrels leaping to & fro, a plump woodpecker gearing up to peck, the next door neighbor's clogged gutter, etc., etc.,

It's a world unto it's own that most, understandably, ignore during warmer months when bazillions of leaves obstruct our view. Like pathways in the sky, fowl, squirrels, frightened (yet arrogant) house cats, tree frogs, koalas, toucans & Brasilian Spider Monkeys (if you happen to reside in Rio, New South Wales, or Kenya) to name a few, traverse from one tree to the next like you & I mosey down our block on our way to the nearest Sam's Club. Talk about same planet different worlds! Impressive to witness if you take even a moment such as I did on this rarest of mornings. Take time to smell the flowers. Better still, take time to warm your spouses car. =0)

010110

True Story. I was a total failure to my two piano teachers growing up. The first one learned early on that I played by ear. She told my mother not to worry. She would simply solve the "problem" by not giving me anything to play I had previously heard. I guess living in rural Oklahoma she didn't get the memo that there were studio musicians in L.A. making a comfortable living using their "ears" the same way I did.

The second teacher was just flat out weird. He & his wife taught out of offices in their morbidly depressing stale, dingy, dark home that smelled like an ash tray with dim lighting. What's worse, their dysfunctional teenage son raised cain to incoming students in their living room waiting for their lesson time. At one point I even remember getting in trouble by the mom for (get this) letting her simmering beans in the kitchen burn! Now how was I to know? Hey lady, if you don't know how to properly soak & simmer your beans for dinner there's not much some little insecure fourth grade dude planted on your couch waiting for musical instruction from your Frankensteinesque husband can offer!

She never picked up her feet either when she walked...which always bugged me. I half expected her to electrocute herself to oblivion every time she walked across her living room with the amount of static she had to be accumulating. Sheesh. It's like she was cross country skiing only minus the the skis, snow & country.

I started to type the words "I never practiced" but that's not entirely true. A more accurate statement would be "I seldom practiced the highly disposable compositions I was assigned". Like- "Ten Lil' Indians" (shouldn't that be "Ten Lil' Native Americans"???) or some doofus song about two dogs doing tricks, Beer Barrel Polka, astronauts descending to the surface of the moon (granted, the cover on that sheet music was cool) or some obese bullfrog perched on his frickin' Lilly pad waitin' for flies. As they say on ESPN...'Come On Man!"

I might have been in Elementary School but I wasn't that stupid! You think some lame tune about a silly Circus Calliope coming to town is going to make me the life of the party? Puh-lease!

Instead, I spent my practice time trying to recreate such enduring classical masterpieces as "Eye of the Tiger" by the world renowned late 20th century composers from the spirited ensemble "Survivor".

Okay, okay. In all fairness I did pick up a few things musical along the way about bird's eyes, whole & half rests & Every Good Boy Does Fine (updated version: Every Greedy Bad Democrat Fails).

So all was not lost.

By early Jr. High the great experiment conducted to mold me into a classically trained pianist ended abruptly one afternoon when my parents received a hand written letter in the mail from none other than Egor/The Hunchback of Notre Dame himself saying "Don't ever come back."

Don't worry!!!!

"...And there was much rejoicing!" (quietly in the confines of my back bedroom of course) ;-)

Which brings us to our little binary title of today's entry. You see, I wasn't like many a traditional music student. I approached the piano the same way I do a new year...as a fresh, blank canvas with endless possibilities. I don't oppose Structure/formal training in the least (I have a Bachelor's & a Master's to prove it). It certainly has it's place. But so does limitless, unshackled imagination. In my humble but accurate opinion the two worlds are by no means mutually exclusive. That's how light bulbs, the telephone & Beethoven's 9th ever came about.

Like Physicians, there are many different kinds of musicians. Some are superb accompanists who can virtually read fly droppings from twenty yards. Others have devoted their life's work to the complexities of the human heart. Some are double reed specialists, while others are a voice for the dead (Pathology). Still others can bang out a mean tune to boogie to on the dance floor while some go into family practice.

So not only does one size not fit all, but one size should never fit all! Our Creator embedded each of our hard drives with a slightly different skill set (& many variations there of) to cultivate & use. That's what keeps the world spinning dawg! ;-) As we've all heard before..."It takes all kinds..."

Today the old has been torn away, revealing a fresh, unused canvas with the new year upon us. What a perfect opportunity to push your confines. Choose your colours wisely.