Well, I have been officially 'outed' as a ‘hypocrite’ by my family.

Years ago, (and even now) I really enjoyed the look of toe rings. A lovely ring on a nicely pedicured foot was very attractive. The problem was, I can’t stand the feeling of something on my toe. I finally decided that I would tattoo a toe ring onto my right foot. I thought long and hard and then decided upon inking the initials of my loved ones into a band encircling my toe (simple black design). I went to a well-reputed tattoo parlour and had it done. Voilá, and to this day I still love it. (I always tell my hubby that if we were to ever (God forbid) split up, I’d have to find myself another ‘P’ named hubby, lol.)

Is the sin of omission a terrible thing? I just didn’t think it was necessary to tell the boys that Mom got inked, and they are generally not in the habit of looking at my feet.

Take two - my left leg received a serious tibia/fibula fracture due to a fluke - slipping on black ice. Several surgeries later, I was left sporting a couple of unattractive scars. However, the scars did not bother me as much as this strange indentation above my ankle. I often had people asking me what was ‘wrong’ with my shin/ankle (mostly children, of course, as they are so refreshingly honest).

After a year of mulling it over, drawing and redrawing several designs, I decided to ink a tattoo over the scar/indentation. I designed three wolves howling at a full moon with the word ‘Wisdom’ written in the moon (The moon is positioned where the strange indentation is.) I inscribed ‘wisdom’ with the hope that I would acquire some insight as to the reason for my involuntary withdrawal from my usual activities - running, squash, etc.

I returned to Laurie (yes, we are now on a first name basis) and she inked the tattoo. The design turned out beautiful, and I still have children remarking on my ankle/shin, but now the questions are about this intricate design and its meaning (I have entitled the tattoo, ‘Three Sisters’).

Take three - I was in a terrible car accident in April, and according to those who arrived at the scene, I should have been dead. I sustained a broken wrist (left hand) and a concussion. When my wrist was set, it was done poorly and the alignment of my wrist to hand is a tad ‘wonky’, for lack of a better word. The car accident, along with other/past trials and tribulations in my life has always made me think, why? I’ve always believed that things happen for a reason, so why have I always been granted 2nd, 3rd, 4th, etc. chances?

December 27th, I went for another tattoo; this one was placed on the inside of my (formerly broken) wrist. The lettering is actually smaller than what is shown here. It contains the initials T B F T G O G G I, an initialism for the phrase, There but for the grace of God, go I.. (A phrase I learned from my Grandmother.)

I do believe the last tattoo discussion with my son ended with me saying, ‘31?... I thought the agreement was age 40?’ And now you have received a confession from a hypocritical Mother.

I had a discussion with a friend tonight and we were discussing morals, knowing right from wrong, etc. He made the statement that people are born knowing right from wrong whereas I vehemently argued that it is a learned and/or environmental condition.

He responded, How is it that a child from alcoholic, abusive parents can grow up to be a responsible person who knows the difference between right and wrong?

Anyway, the argument arrive at an 'agree to disagree' stage.

So, my wonderfully intelligent tbloggers, are morals and the ability to know the difference between right and wrong, genetic or environmental? (Nature vs Nuture?)

(An aside - we were discussing children between the ages of 1 - 8)

I was going to write about my top eleven CD picks of 2006 and attach the necessary pithy comments to justify/explain my choices. Then I thought, nope - not gonna happen. This time I am just putting out my top eleven choices (eleven because, well just anything to be different) and I will leave you to come to your own conclusions regarding my choices. After all, when all is said and done... I really don’t care if you agree with my choices or not.

Happy New Year everyone.

Top 11 Cds of 2006

11. The Decemberists - The Crane Wife

10 AFI - Decemberunderground

9 Regina Spektor - Begin to Hope

8 Arctic Monkeys - Whatever People Say I Am

7 Marianas Trench - Fix Me

6 The Eagles of Death Metal -Death by Sexy

5 Billy Talent - II

4 Placebo - Meds

3 Beck -The Information 

2 Tv on the Radio - Return To Cookie Mountain

1 Wolfmother - Wolfmother

All Images from Amazon.com

One weird thing I remember about that night is that the washrooms were so small people were peeing in the sinks...

Image from maxwebster.ca

Posted : http://www.swanktrendz.com/ph...

Image From http://www.zappa.com/zpz/fzot...

Napoleon Murphy Brock and Dweezil Zappa, Soundcheck - Dallas, TX. December 16, 2006

First let me explain that I’m a fan of Frank Zappa. Not a crazy fan of Frank Zappa, mind you. I only have about forty of his albums. And believe me, that’s not even half of what’s out there. (If you collect bootlegs…oy vey!)

I must admit that I approached the concert with some trepidation. Zappa wrote some of the most invidiously complicated and challenging music in “rock” – even his “dumb” songs are incredibly difficult to play. Would the junior Zappas be able to bring out Frank’s rigourous demands for perfection and musicianship from a fresh set of young performers, I wondered. I shuddered at the idea that the music would be dumbed down, its kinks smoothed out to facilitate a rather hastily put-together tour.

The staging was rock’n’roll simple: a large riser for the stationary instruments like drums and keyboards and mic stands set out for the roving axe-wielders. Stage right was a large drum kit that was hard not to gaze at in rapt awe. Consisting of three bass drums (“tuned a fifth note apart,” my friend informed me – I think), a variety of toms and an eccentric metal bar covered with a rainbow of cymbals that twisted snake-like over the drum kit. The drum set sat there throughout the show, like the proverbial elephant in the room – uncommented on, but so very, very there.

Apparently some concerts had a video screen playing footage of Zappa performing “Montana”. The omission at the QE was perhaps due to the late arrival of the gear, which necessitated a late soundcheck and a later start. “A bridge-related problem,” Dweezil explained. No apologies were needed though, as a typically late Vancouver audience was still filing into the venue twenty minutes after the projected start time. The audience was pretty much what I expected: hippie throwbacks from the last century and reconstituted hippies who cut off the old grey hair (which ain’t what it used to be) – many had probably seen Zappa himself perform at one of his many concerts here in Vancouver (in fact, Zappa had performed at the Queen E in 1984. There was a youngish crowd too, who, like me, had migrated to Zappa’s music in our restless flight from the boring mainstream.

Sweeping all my misgivings aside, the show opened with a Zappa-esque improvisation, Dweezil, in his father’s role as conductor, leading the band with a series of hand gestures as they grunted and squawked at his command before rolling into “Andy” – one of those complicated Zappa pieces that would test the mettle of any musician. Zappa loved a tight band and encouraged a togetherness that would have shamed Siamese twins. As he toured through the Seventies, his songs became aural steeplechases. His musicians chasing each other through lurching octave leaps, sudden starts and stops, bizarre time signatures, mind-bending polyrhythms and all his other moustachioed trademarks. The musicians chosen by Dweezil handled the enormous challenge with aplomb.

Dweezil has stated in interviews that he chose to use younger musicians to help younger members of the audience connect to the music, so it seemed attainable rather than an inaccessible occult science practised by paunchy old men with pony tails and awesome chops. The band (Joe Travers on drums, Pete Griffin on bass, Aaron Arntz on keyboards, trumpet & vocals, Scheila Gonzales on saxophone, flute, trumpet, keyboards & vocals, Billy Hulting on percussion and Jamie Kime on rhythm guitar) were more that up to the challenge. And their youth gave them an exuberance that a collection of seasoned old pros would have lacked. Fittingly, Dweezil did play Zappa, acting as compère, guiding the band, doing a little singing and playing the majority of the lead guitar.

Musically, the show was very much the way Zappa might program a live show: most of the songs were from the mid- to late-Seventies (“Pygmy Twylyte”, “Cheepnis” “Inca Roads” “Florentine Pogen”) with a couple of Sixties classics thrown in (“Call Any Vegetable”, “Who Are the Brain Police?” “The Idiot Bastard Son”), and even then they mostly followed arrangements Zappa used in the Seventies. You almost felt like you were live at the Roxy (and elsewhere).

Of the guest performers, Napoleon Murphy Brock was the most ubiquitous, playing with the band through the entire show. An accomplished saxophonist, flautist and one helluva singer, Brock is also a master showman (=ham) whose wild gesticulations and even wilder dancing gave the audience a focal point as the band tackled Zappa père’s massive legacy. He gave you a connection to the early seventies bands which can be heard to such great effect in the Helsinki concert (You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore Vol. 2). About halfway through the show, the purpose of the gi-normous drum kit became apparent when one-time Zappa drummer Terry Bozzio emerged and crawled into the drum kit like an astronaut entering a space capsule. Amusingly, the first two songs (“I’m So Cute” and “Trying to Grow a Chin”) were punkish thrashers that could have been played on a toy drum kit, let alone on Bozzio’s history of the drums museum. After a zesty “Punky’s Whips”, the full range of the drum set was reached on the amazingly intricate “The Black Page Part One”, a percussive piece that is not a drum solo, but a fully composed work that nods heavily to one of Zappa’s heroes, composer Edgar Varèse. Joining the band for “The Black Page Part Two”, was guitar ace Steve Vai who demonstrated why he became “stunt guitarist” for Zappa in the eighties. His complete mastery of all the tricks of modern guitarists, his use of sustain, his use of the whammy bar are mind-blowing. With Vai, the band ran through “Regyptian Strut,” “Peaches En Regalia,” “Montana” (with he and Dweezil playing dual, duelling guitars), “Village of the Sun” and “Zombie Wolf”, where Vai attempted to sonically burn down the QE Theatre. The concert ended with a medley of “Oh No”, “Orange County Lumber Truck” (or maybe “Son of Orange County”) and “More Trouble Every Day” with Vai and Bozzio re-joining the band on stage before ending the show with a burning “A Token of My Extreme”.

The show was a real testament to the Zappa fils love for their father and their admiration for his achievements. It is also a continuation of Zappa’s final projects with the Ensemble Modern as his great compositional legacy is carried on by his children. At the end of the concert, Dweezil said they hoped to make it a yearly event. I will most certainly be there.

My favourite Zappa record: Burnt Weeny Sandwich

**Warning: There were drum solos during the show (although apparently some people enjoy these things).

I miss her - I miss her so badly that my stomach literally aches as if I haven’t eaten for days. She’s been gone for years, and yes, died in her mid eighties, but I ache nonetheless. I miss Lucy - my maternal grandmother, or Grandma, Gram, Grand-Mama, depending upon my mood. Her name was Lucy, not Lucille, and she had no middle name and really didn’t need one to define her, nor her roots. She was Lucy - meaning - ‘light’, and she certainly brought light into my life. She left us on July 4th and I always felt that she went at the right time - she personified the firecracker!

I miss her tea with pound cake (solves all dilemmas), and the deep discussions on anything we wished. She was my sealed vault - all secrets were safe with her. It amazed me she didn’t explode from all that she knew, especially with every other person confiding in her. I miss her frank discussions. Sex, childbirth, recent titillating news? - bring it on. She often joked in her latter years that she had a man stashed under her bed, ‘just in case he was needed’. We’d laugh that he was choking from being so dusty. My poor father would leave the dinner table, shaking his head, ‘Bloody women’.

I miss her voracious appetite for reading, her crossword expertise, and her appreciation of any meal placed before her. I miss her True Detective magazines,which were always well hidden in case the young ’uns got to them. If she were here now, she would be a rabid follower of Cold Case Files, City Confidential, and CSI. I first learned of the Black Daliah case from her and always wondered - who did it? Still wonder, for that matter.

I miss the stories of her youth - hiding in the British subways during the bombings, her deeply religious father calling her a ‘Jezebel’ when she cut her waist length hair into a fashionable bob. (By the way - that bob got her a full page picture in the Toronto Star with a simple statement, somewhere along the lines (memory is hazy) that she was more beautiful than the recently awarded Miss Toronto. (Here she was, a waitress at Murray’s and had no idea why the photographer wanted to take her picture). Her father, naturally, was horrified at the newspaper attention - modesty and humility comes first, you know.

She had me laughing when she discussed her sister, Mabel, and their antics - flapper dresses, binding their chests to be ‘fashionable’, doing the charleston on tabletops and generally having fun. Her tales of being in grade school and having her knuckles rapped with a ruler because she had the misfortune(?) to be left-handed was always shocking to me.

I miss her chocolate brown eyes that, I swear, twinkled, when she made her stories ’come alive’. Those stories transported me to a place I’d never know due to my youth, simply because of her excellent, descriptive ability. All senses were covered - sight, smell, sound, kinaesthetic, and emotional. I swear, for that moment during her story, I was there! I was there when the streetcar hit her mother, permanently damaging her leg. I was there for the death of her beloved sister, Mabel, at the tender age of 17.

I miss her laugh, hand covering her mouth to stop any loud guffaw, and body literally shaking with mirth. I miss her standing in the greeting card corner, at the local pharmacy, giggling so hard at the humorous cards, that the pharmacist would even start to laugh. She was always known by her first name there.

I miss that when we went into stores - she bought top ten contemporary, and I bought Billie Holiday. Her grandchildren sent her tapes of music which she listened to over and over again. She did have a thing for George Michael. She felt ‘Careless Whisper’ was brilliant, along with Idle Eyes’ ‘Tokyo Rose’.

I even miss her pat responses - ‘I’m not surprised’, which would drive me nuts. I always wanted her to be shocked at some bit of news I brought, but it was always, ‘I’m not surprised’.

I miss her roundabout comments that would put me in my place if I was too cocky, too arrogant or too critical. She chastised me, without raising her voice or pointing out my specific error. Quietly she would make a general statement about peoples’ critical comments, and I would feel the shame wash over me as I realized what I had just been guilty of. Lucy taught me the true meaning of the expression - ‘There, but for the grace of God, go I’.

I miss walking down the street with her, arm in arm, proud that she was my Grandma. I miss her magnetic quality with children. She had them laughing and following her like the Pied Piper. Even whilst dying, when she noticed that her great grandson was fearful of her uncontrollable shaking, she calmly assured him that she was simply dancing the shimmy, which put him at ease immediately.

I miss her talks of the movie star greats: the death of Valentino; the gossip of Greta Garbo, Theda Bara, and Mary Pickford. I had several school teachers raise their eyebrows with my wealth of knowledge of the silent screen stars and the early talkie movies.

Most of all, I miss her love, affirmation, validation and constant reassurance that I was ‘going places’. She believed in her grandchildren, and great grandchildren, and believed them all to be brilliant, clever, creative, talented, etc.

Oh, how I miss her - time has not healed this wound, and I wonder when it will. I just hope she made Dad’s transition into the hereafter as comfortable as possible. After all - he lost two mothers by 30, and Lucy was his only constant. Hopefully, she’s taught him how to look back, and laugh.

Oh, Luuucy, I’m home - But where are you?

Broken Social Scene

- this show was in Halifax during the hooplah-cane of Canadian musicality that is known as Juno weekend. Which meant that pretty much the entire BSS super team were on-hand to crowd the stage; even whats-her-Feist. They played a pretty long set, including just about every song from their latest album. About halfway through I started playing a little song-by-song tally game. (Okay... 3 guitars, 2 trumpets, 4 vocals, 2 drummers, etc. etc. etc.). It was a big show in every sense of the word. Towards the end I really had to pee but was afraid I'd miss my song so I stayed and squirmed and prayed. This gave new meaning to the words "It's All Gonna Break".

Chad Vangaalen

- the first time I saw CVG was at the Pop Explosion 2 years ago; which I assume I enjoyed but barely remember due to excessive consumption. This time I was a little more sensible and it was a slightly more intimate venue. This guy is fucking awesome. strumming and shrieking and harmonica-ing and foot pedal drumming his weirdly catchy little songs all by himself. (Towards the end he was joined by some other players, but it was his stage, his law). An excellent show with plenty of babes who wouldn't talk to me. (Warning!! to the shitbag scene kids who'd rather stand up front horsing around to get seen than actually watch this guy perform his songs... I remember your stupid haircuts and I will make our next meeting impossibly uncomfortable and morbidly embarrassing. for you.)

TV On The Radio

- these guys were great. Packed house, lots of energy, great musicianship, interesting banter, catchy songs and even a shout out to Hall and Oates. One of those shows where you leave feeling totally fucking juiced. A++.

The Freaky Blind Guy

who was singing., "Hard To Say I'm Sorry" by Chicago in the Guy-Concordia Metro station - absolutely mind blowing.

Dinosaur Jr.

(picture by Kevin Scanlon) - I was half drunk, half running, and all the way stoked-as-hell; just minutes from the Marquee Club and Dinosaur Fucking Junior; when I reached in my pocket and realized that I forgot my fucking earplugs. I could see them, sitting on my desk (well not MY desk really because I was staying at someone's place because I was kind of in-between homes at the moment, but anyway). I stopped for a second and weighed my options. Go to the show and guarantee myself semi-permanent ear damage? Or not go to the show and wake up every morning in a sea of bile and spew and preventable self-hatred for the rest of my days. So I did the responsible thing and stood a foot and a half away from the stage and got my ears reamed by all the songs that my ears have been begging to get reamed by since before I could sprout facial hair. It was fierce. the noise was punching my organs. J looked like a cross between Gandalf the Grey and a guitar with legs. Fucking perfect. Also, the ringing is starting to fade a little. Check out Mike's home at Sneakinout

Recently, Regina Spektor gained a huge media buzz when her video for ‘Fidelity’ was viewed over 200,000 times in two days on the YouTube website. Being an avid ‘Youtuber’, I was pleased to see an artist, whom I have been listening to for years, finally coming into her own.

Regina has been a prolific song writer who’s been on the music scene since 2001. What first drew me to Regina was her similarity to Lesley Feist (whom I enjoy immensely) as well as to Ani Defranco. As well as the Youtube phenomena, Regina went through a fast-paced circuit of the late night shows in 2003, from Jimmy Kimmel to Jay Leno.

I especially enjoy Regina’s video, ‘Fidelity’, for its arty black and white linear set design with the occasional splash of colour, such a red and yellow, to deliver an even more pleasing contrast.

However, I have to confess I was one of those anonymous Youtube critics who dared to criticise the song ‘Fidelity’ for its annoying staccato refrain during the drawn out singing of the word ‘Heart’. Imagine my surprise when, several weeks after posting that critique, I found myself humming along with the, ‘ha,ha, har har har heart’ I earlier despised. Aside from that sort-lived refrain blip (which does grow on you - and not like fungus) this may well be Regina’s crowning achievement.

Visit Youtube's video at Fidelity

I have been avoiding writing about the very theme that I implored others to share with Swanktrendz - The best concert ever attended. When I first posed the question, I had two concerts immediately spring to mind, but as in my usual way, I didn’t want to commit. A month later, I still have the same two concerts springing to mind - neck in neck, and a third concert came out of nowhere and reminded me how I felt during the performance.

I judge a concert by a number of criteria. 1) Does the performance make the hair on my arms stand on end? (Bizarre, I know, but very true when I have been overwhelmed by someone’s voice). 2) Do I find myself dancing like a madwoman, not caring how silly I look? 3) Am I mesmerised by the performance enough that if nature calls, I ignore it to the detriment of my bladder? 4) Do I look for hidden or obvious equipment that implies lip synching or auto tuning because the sound is so crisp? 5) Do I speak nonstop of the concert for days after the event? and finally, 6) Do I feel on the verge of tears because the music and concert’s ambience has somehow touched me?

With these criteria in mind, here are the best concerts I have ever attended in my life (and believe me, I have attended a lot of concerts).

Number 1 (actually it is tied with Number 2)

Sinéad O’Connor (Vancouver) - This was shortly after the release of her album, ‘The Lion & the Cobra’ and after the birth of her son. Sinéad was touring the requisite crap clubs as every new singer must do in order to ‘pay their dues’. Her hit, Nothing Compares 2 U, was years away and this tiny, stark, bald figure came onto the stage and began strumming and singing. I was not overly familiar with her album, having purchased it only the day before the concert. However, after the concert, I played that album to its demise. Nothing prepared me for her voice. The friend who had purchased me the ticket stood beside me, and for once, we were speechless. I barely remember the crowd around me, and I do not recall anything about the venue. I was focused on Sinéad, her expressions, her ability to become lost in the song, then coming around to introduce another song before she ‘left’ us again. The concert ended with an acoustic version of Troy and I actually cried. What’s more, I wasn’t even embarrassed. Here was this little waif who gave me goose bumps, rendered me speechless, and made me cry. She also did another song from her ‘upcoming album’ (I believe it was I am stretched on your grave, and then that was it, a quiet thank-you and off she went.

Number 2 (tied with 1)

Placebo (Commodore, Vancouver) - Again, I had jumped on the Placebo bandwagon a year late, but I loved their music, forcing every and any one to listen to their music, full blast in my car. (There’s nothing better than a captive audience.) I would discuss what I felt the songs were referring to and found the songs appealed to that inner teenaged angst that never really leaves us (but, hey - don’t tell the teens, they might be forced to believe we actually understand them.) When I heard Placebo was coming to Vancouver, I was quick to purchase the tickets. After anxiously waiting for the day to arrive, I arrived at the Commodore in time to listen to the opening act, Eagles of Death Metal. I remember liking them at the time, but thinking their music was incongruent with Placebo’s. When Brian Molko et el took the stage, a dancing heathen invaded my body. I sang loudly (and badly) to every song (faves being) Nancy Boy, Pure Morning, Special K, Every You Every Me, Commercial For Levi Lyrics - luckily I was not heard above the massive noise. I laughed, I danced, I laughed and I dripped with dancing sweat. Every part of my being was tingling with excitement - the excitement that only a roller coaster and a good live band can give you. My only regret was that I wasn’t 19, as every song they sang related to my life at that time (you know, that whole identity crisis that accompanies youth). Where the heck were Placebo when I was young? Oh right, they weren’t born. After repeated, captive car Placebo torture, my first-born teenaged son decided Placebo were 'good'. Yes, he lied out of self preservation, but I was happy.

Number 3

Concrete Blonde (Commodore, Vancouver)- Unless Johnette (lead singer) gets going soon, I have a feeling I was privy to her last Concrete Blonde Concert. I even flew to Toronto (after the gig I saw) to see the CB show, only to find out that the band cancelled due to the SARS outbreak. I have seen Concrete Blonde many times over the years - some concerts were good, some were ... well perhaps the band over indulged prior to playing. This concert, as usual, was packed and I was ready for anything. Johnette came out and from the first couple of vocal notes, I realized that this would be history in the making. She was in top form and the concert curiously did not plug a specific album. If anything, it was a ‘greatest hits’ type of performance. Also, I was amazed that she played every song that I could ever hope to hear. It was as if she took my own personal playlist from my imagination and followed it verbatim. She spoke between songs, she joked, she cajoled, and she was hilarious. Tomorrow, Wendy had me crying (as did When I was a Fool and Roxy) Seriously, look up some of the lyrics for these songs - amazing stuff. Then came the feelings of anger with God is a bullet and Jenny. Concrete Blonde effectively led me through a range of emotions that I was not even expecting to encounter. Sad note, my present husband and I share an affinity for Walking in Londonwhich was not played. Another odd thing, my ex husband, whom I managed to spot across the room (despite the packed to the rafters audience) spotted me at the same time. After 14 years of being apart and never speaking, we merely hugged, and said nothing more, silent in our appreciation of good music. Concrete Blonde meant something to the both of us and it highlighted a time in my life that I had shared with this now stranger. As certain songs were sung, we merely looked at each other and I felt that sorrow that one feels when they see someone who had so much charismatic potential, yet not enough chutzpah to pull it off. If you ever get a chance, listen to the song Little Conversations as it sums up my first marriage (ha - along with Eurythmics’ Thorn in my Side). Concrete Blonde has not returned to Vancouver since, and I have not felt that onslaught speed-dial of emotions since. Thank you Johnette.

So there you have it - I finally committed.

Freak folk? Weird folk? Psych folk? Avant folk? Anti folk? Whatever you want to call it, indie pop goddess/Celtic harpist Joanna Newsom played to an adoring (and sold out)crowd on Monday night.

I had heard Newsom's 2004 single 'Sprout and the Bean'; in fact, it's in Mary's top ten. So on the strength of that, we went to the show at the very well chosen venue, St. Andrews Wesley Cathedral. This is the second show I've seen here (the other being Sufjan Stevens back in October); it's also been the site of a few other outside-the-mainstream acts such as Antony. And really, it's a fantastic venue. I've never heard better sound; the church has got that old church smell (not a bad thing!) - and not surprising, seeing that it's one of the oldest buildings in Vancouver; and more than anything, it's just so very full of atmosphere.

Like the Sufjan Stevens show, the line stretched a whole block by the time we got there; fortunately, it didn't take quite so long for the doors to open. Once again we got great seats up in the balcony, and between you and me, the crowd-watching almost rivalled the actual show. There was all sorts of get-ups there, from a bearded guy in a huge bearskin coat to Vancouver's uber hip to a Squeaky From look-alike, complete with shaved head to guys in lumber jack shirts over their Star Trek t-shirts to hippy-looking folk. Among women, the hairstyle that seemed to be extremely popular was that late 1930s/early 1940s-influenced slightly dishevelled/ultra short bangs cut; with the guys it seemed that they were trying to make their fashion statements with their choice of eyewear (heavy and oversized frames were popular). Also in evidence: lots and lots of scarves, and hats of all sizes, shapes and colours. Over-all, about 90% of the crowd appeared to be in their 20s, and of those, I'd estimate that about 60%+ of those fans were male.

The opening act was a man - I don't think he ever introduced himself, and I don't recall seeing anyone up there introducing him. He just came up, sat down and started singing. Dave had heard that Newsom was touring with an act called 'Smog', but we have no confirmation that this guy was that act. Anyway, he sang and played the acoustic guitar with no accompaniment. He had a rich, very full voice, and sounded a bit like Michael Hurley - but I found he took a long, long time between songs, just kind of sitting there, thinking. And he played for quite a long time. But he seemed to enjoy what he was doing, and I guess that's half the fun - just watching him have fun.

Joanna Newsom came on in a very quiet, unobtrusive way - the stage was dark and she just came and sat at her harp and started playing - no introduction, no lights, no nothing. She played her new album, Yes, in its entirety, which is something you don't see very often. At times it was just her up on the stage, and at times she was joined by a small backing band. There were the usual suspects - drums, guitar - but also accordion, saw, etc. The guitar play is actually a guy we saw opening for Michael Hurley - I believe he plays under the name Currituck County. And the drumming was positively tribal. The audience itself was, in a world, reverential. They were probably the politest and quietest crowd I've ever sat amongst. And when Newsom finished her set, in unison the crowd stood and gave her a standing ovation. The ovation went on until she returned to the stage and played three more songs. Again, another standing ovation, and when the house lights went up, I know the crowd was still wanting more. But it wasn't to be.

Newsom's music is like no other out there that I know of - the 'little girl' voice she sang with on her first album, The Milk-Eyed Mender, has matured and sounds fuller. For this album, she got together with Van Dyke Parks for the orchestration and arrangements. Her allegory-laden lyrics are still as complex as before, and the many styles that have influenced her, from avant garde modernism to Celtic to African and Venezuelan harp rhythms to Appalachian folk still shine through.

I retired my blue suede shoes (with honours) after I saw Chuck Berry play, for free, in a suburban car dealership parking lot. It was a promotional gig: the guy who owned the car dealership wanted some attention, so he hired Chuck to play. Chuck'll go anywhere; just give him his fee ($60,000), and he'll grab his guitar and get on a plane. He hires local sidemen, figuring anyone who can play rock'n'roll already knows his stuff, and thus gets to keep most of that fee for himself.

So there he was: Chuck Berry with brilliantined pompadour, two-toned shoes and a paisley jacket, duck-walking across the stage in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. He was professional, delivered the goods, but he looked like he was glad the airport was nearby. He kept glaring at the bass player for missing cues, and the poor bass man (a kid really) could only shrug and keep trying. What the hell, you only get to play with a legend once, may as well make the best of it.

My blue suede shoes were falling apart at the seams anyway. There was a revolution in popular music just around the corner (well, in England really), and it didn't take long for Vancouver to become a hotbed of new wave /punk with all its furious energy. Now, that was fun: rebellious, chaotic, noisy, creative, drunk, and wildly divergent. As a friend once remarked of the Sex Pistols (who actually sucked as a band), "They opened a lot of doors."

And thus we got to see a lot of great stuff unfold here in the late 70s and early 80s, especially once the Commodore Ballroom realized that these bands could bring in large crowds. I saw a lot of great shows there, and even remember a few of them. The one that stands out the most was The Blasters, circa 1982.

The Blasters were two brothers - Phil and Dave Alvin - from Downey, California, along with some masterful sidemen (including piano and sax). Their roots ran deep into every vein of American music. Trying to describe them is like trying to describe the early Elvis - there was really nothing quite like them, before or since. Nominally, they were a rockabilly band, but they also had influences in the blues, country and western, Chicano R & B (like their friends Los Lobos), and plain old rock and roll.

And could they rock! They blew the roof off that place, and the audience kept wailing for more. And the thing I noticed most was the diversity of the crowd: leftover hippies, punkers, preppy college kids, even a table or two of greying Hells Angels, and ALL were thoroughly enjoying themselves.

This was because they had truly great songs, and were truly great musicians. The Blasters had a rule for admission in their band: everyone had to be able to play everyone else's instruments. This was so they understood how those other instruments worked alongside their own, and it showed. I've never seen a band play better live.

They were also dedicated to keeping it real: no computers, synthesizers, or any other such digital tricks allowed. Phil Alvin, lead singer and rhythm guitarist is also a student of advanced mathematics, and he has a lot of theories(which he hopes to turn into proven formulas) about what the structure of music is, what it represents, and how it gets that way. He told an interviewer, "Give me a rock, man. I'll sit over here and bang with the rock and sing - and you play synthesizer - and I betcha I can get a bigger crowd." He concluded that conversation by saying, "Rock jazz fusion funk punk country swing blues - the names are in. Now it's technique. Now you concatenate."

It's almost a truism that a band that good can't last. Chief songwriter Dave Alvin left in 1985 or 86, and they never really recovered. But while they were active, they were untouchable. They usually ended their shows with the crowd-pleasing 'Marie Marie' - once described as the best Chuck Berry song that Chuck Berry didn't write - and just before the house lights went up, Phil would yell at the crowd, "We're the Blasters, tell yer friends..."

Yes, indeed; people still talk about that show.

http://www" title="http://www" target="_blank"http://www dot rhino dot com/store/ProductDetail dot lasso?Number=78345

Images courtesy of Kevin Statham

RIVER ROCK SHOW THEATRE

The RIVER ROCK CASINO RESORT

Richmond, Dec 16, 2006 - 90% capacity.

I have 'lived' with Joan Jett throughout her career. By lived, I am referring to Joan's role as a generational icon. However, when Terry, my co-reviewer, suggested we go to Joan's upcoming concert, my response was more apathetic than reverential. Well, thank you Terry, for reminding me how influential and important Joan Jett is to music, and to me.

As with every review I write, there are the requisite superficial observations. The audience age demographic was generally in the 30 - 50 age range with occasional children and young adults thrown in. Number of goofy hats: 2, although the men wearing them can be forgiven as they were truly avid and loyal fans of Joan. I noticed a predominance of the colour red in the audiences wardrobes - generally all in good taste save for one dreadful red plaid lumberjack coat. And of course, the all-important black leather ensembles were present.

The venue was a pleasant surprise. I have never been to a casino theatre and I have to admit that the River Rock Casino and River Rock Show Theatre was very impressive. The approximately 900 seating venue was comfortable and every seat had an excellent viewing vantage. The stage was of a good size and the acoustic/sound quality was exceptional. None of the dreaded feedback or sound delays were present. The theatre staff and ushers were professional, friendly and extremely accommodating.

The show was to begin at 8:00 and at 8:15 the lights went down and Red Robinson himself, looking ever like the 'Red' we know and love, came out to introduce Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. (An aside - does this man ever age?) The stage setup was relatively sparse, but after Joan began her set, it was obvious that she didn’t need any backdrop gimmicks. She was the show, the backdrop, and the scenery.

The pre-recorded song 'Hello I’m back' by Gary Glitter was a fitting intro to Jett's appearance onstage. The band's intro song was the rollicking Bad Reputation and it was as if time had stood still for Joan, attired in her leather pants, Dayton boots and jet black hair. Looking as toned and fit as she did at 20, it was hard to believe this sprite of a woman had just turned 48 on September 22nd. (She's utterly hot. - Terry)

When she encouraged people to leave their seats and sing and dance along with Bad Reputation ('Don't be shy!'), the audience obliged and were eating out of her hand - all this by the end of the first song!

The next tune could had been called 'Up close and interactive with Joan Jett'. Do You Want to Touch me (Oh Yeah) began with Joan insisting on a crowd vocal warmup up for their future involvement in the chorus. Sure enough, by the end of the song, the crowd was singing at the top of their lungs, with Joan not even needing to add her vocals in some areas.

Joan sang several of her new tunes from her just released album, Sinners, and I especially enjoyed Androgynous and Five.

When Joan struck the first chord of a crowd favourite, Cherry Bomb, a girl from the audience ran forward and threw something onstage that appeared to be a black feathered boa, or a scarf (we hope it wasn't panties, since it was huge).

Viewing the band was like a step back in time. No keyboards or backing vocals were needed. Just three guitars and a drumset, and of course some outstanding vocals, and frenzied playing a la The Ramones.

When she sang the chorus of Love is Pain

We are not to blame

For seeing love is pain

And we are not ashamed

To say that love is pain

An' we'll do it again

from the album, Fetish, many of the fans were singing along. That’s when I noted that these were not just casual fans.

Joan Jett has been in the business for 30 years, and she and long-time musical partner, collaborator and friend, Kenny Laguna, have been together for 25 of those years. Quite the feat in a business as fickle as the music industry. Joan launched into her self-described introspective song, Naked, from Sinner, and I found her voice had matured to a new level. Her tone and pitch were excellent and, I think, far better than when she first started out back in the days of the Runaways. When she spoke of being in Vancouver a lot writing songs with Jim Vallance (Canada’s golden son of song writing), the audience again showed their appreciation.

Her song Riddle was memorable for the backgound taped political talking-heads, and the last sentence was a typical George Bush gaffe. (One really has to feel embarrassed for the people of America to have this fellow in power.)

My generally indifferent (to new music that is) co-reviewer was having a great time and I recall him only cringing once. That's right, when the lights went on and Joan held out the mike for the audience to sing

I love rock n' roll

So put another dime in the jukebox, baby

I love rock n' roll

So come an' take your time an' dance with me

Well, I may have been too far away to be heard, but dammit, I was going to sing, and sing I did, right into Terry's ear. (It still hurts. -T)

She did some surprising covers. In addition to her famous remake of Crimson and Clover, she also did Love Is All Around, the theme song from the old 'Mary Tyler Moore' TV show, and she made it work.

After singing one of her best selling hits, I Hate Myself for Loving You, she left the stage at 9:15, but soon returned for an encore of AC/DC, and closed with the old Sly and the Family Stone song Everyday People.

A truly great show! Joan Jett clearly still loves rock and roll, and we love her.

Heretic’s Home

First, Don Asmussen:

Santa Claus stirs up some controversy with his "Axis of Naughty" speech whilst a pink Christmas tree testifies about its nightmares at Walmart. Senator John Kerry explains his joke to the Iranians, Syrians and Lebanese while neo-conservatives warn us that firing Miss USA would only embolden Miss Al Qaeda.

And then,

1. Dan Wasserman's December 19 cartoon on the president's mistakes in Iraq. Found in The Boston Globe.

Image by boston.com

2. Well, this isn't even a cartoon, or even current for that matter, but it will do. Don't you wish the other senators would be as vocal on issues such as: I'm Such A Shitty Senator By Sen. Max Baucus

image from theonion.com

3. Then, there is the Duke Rape Case as portrayed in The Charlotte Observer.

Image from charlotte.com

Heretic’s Home

New Jersey's gay residents may not be able to ‘marry’ yet, but their quest for equal legal recognition advanced significantly when the state's Supreme Court legislated gay unions with the same rights, privileges, and responsibilities as married heterosexual couples.

On December 21st, Governor Jon Corzine signed into law a bill establishing civil unions for gay couples, making New Jersey the third state to offer gay couples recognition via civil unions. (Vermont and Connecticut also provide gay couples the right to enter into civil unions.)

image from www.columbian.com/.

While gay couples, and the political organizations backing them, failed to win their state's recognition of gay unions as ‘marriages’, they did gain the rights, benefits, and responsibilities that go with heterosexual marriages. New Jersey's Civil Union Law grants union partners ‘the same benefits, protections and responsibilities under law, whether they derive from statute, administrative or court rule, public policy, common law or any other source of civil law, as granted to spouses in a marriage.’ All laws concerning domestic relationships, including those concerning annulments, premarital agreements, separation, divorce, child custody, and spousal support were granted to gay civil unions. The couples would also be covered by victims’ compensation benefits, laws relating to emergency and non emergency medical care, hospital visitation/notification, family leave, as well as all state benefits/deductions, and legal decisions provided to ‘married’ couples.

Just as significantly, any restrictions imposed upon married heterosexuals also apply to gay couples such as bigamy laws and the illegality of unions involving anyone who is related by full or half blood. Gay couples who had previously registered for the domestic partnership status (established by the domestic partnership act which was signed into law by former Governor James McGreevey) will now only be provided to senior citizens who do not want to marry or remarry. Gay couples applying for spousal benefits will be required to legally enter into a civil union in order to receive said benefits.

Image from state.nj.corrections

Essentially, gay couples will be required to live by the same legal standards as straight couples. They may either make the ultimate legal commitment to each other, or forego spousal benefits. There is no halfway ‘domestic partnership’ option to be granted to gay couples. The state went further by independently continuing with its ‘equal interest’ direction by enacting measures preserving gay couples' families.

Image from graphics8.nytimes.com

Some of New Jersey's gay couples were disappointed that the Supreme Court’s ruling did not recognize gay unions as ‘marriages’. Their disappointment is understandable, but progress for civil rights takes time. Many civil rights’ positions deemed ‘moderate’ today were considered ‘radical’ in the past, just as gay unions being considered as ‘marriages’ appears radical today.

By disallowing the ‘marriage’ title, the Supreme Court effectively diverted a constitutional amendment that could have been used to overturn the court's ruling (as had recently occured in ‘liberal’ Massachusetts. Within two weeks the State's legislators would, once again, be confronted with a dilemma: vote for a popular constitutional amendment overturning its court's gay rights decision, or block a vote on an issue they may constitutionally be required to enact.)

Hopefully, the present objections against allowing gay civil unions to be recognized as ‘marriages’ will wane, and New Jersey's voters will eventually allow gay couples their final legal request - to be recognized as ‘marital’ unions.

It is unusual for Rob to actually answer a meme so Swank decided to post it here. As well, we would love to read your answers to the same questions.

Christmas Meme-ories By Rob Williams

I received a meme (I'm still not sure what 'meme' means) actually forced upon me, by Ted, and here are my answers:

Eggnog or hot chocolate?

I prefer Eggnog, but only at Christmas or New Year's. Eggnog any other time is just sacrilegious!

Snow - Love it or hate it?

I love snow, but I grew up in California - Southern California. So until I moved to NYC in 1999, my experience with snow was limited to Snow World at Sea World where they would make a truckload of snow with snow cone machines and let all the kiddies play in it. I remember it was always really dirty and hard, and smelled, and it always melted too soon. I did love it when it snowed in NYC while I was there. So beautiful. But then again, I do get a chill easily. That's why I often must wear a wrap about my throat.

Can you ice skate?

I can roller skate. Backwards. Matter of fact, I can kind of ice skate backwards, too. I kind of swivel my legs and pretend I'm Lynn Holly-Johnson in "Ice Castles" - before she crashes into all the tables and goes blind. Actually, when I was younger I used to re-enact that scene on my rollerskates!!

When do you put your Christmas decorations up?

Well, usually a week or two before Christmas. This year we put them up on the 15th, the day of our holiday party (a fabulous party, by the way). But I think I was in the kitchen rolling dates in bacon, or dipping peanut butter balls in chocolate, so I only really put up one item on the tree - a little mouse made out of a half of a walnut shell. (My mom made it).

Do you remember your favourite present?

I've had a lot of favourite presents over the years (I'm old, remember), but some of the highlights: Stretch Arm Strong, the picture of Judy Garland as Dorothy that my Dad and Step-mom gave me when I was fifteen (and they didn't know then?), the Grease soundtrack, the first edition of John Cheever's Falconer (from Ted) and our wedding album (also from Ted).

I also remember the presents I didn't get. I used to go through the Sears Toy Catalogue and circle or bookmark all of the things I wanted, you know, like Easy-Bake Ovens

or the "Growing Up" Skipper doll--the one where if you twist her arm around she grows taller (at the waist).

Funny, I never got these - maybe Santa lost my list those years?

Does Santa wrap presents or just set them under the tree?

Do bears wipe their butts after they poop in the woods? Of course Santa wraps presents! And so does Rob.

Coloured lights on tree/house, or white?

I guess I should say white only on the tree (because I know Ted likes that), but I really also like coloured lights on the house outside. It just seems more festive.

I do like little accents of christmas lights throughout the house. you know, lights in a jar, lights around the bookcase, etc. and I guess those should be white, too.

Do you hang mistletoe?

What's mistletoe? Is that like Cameltoe?What is your favourite Christmas dish?

The pretty one with the little candy canes painted on the rim. Oh, wait, um my favourite dish is probably a nice glazed ham with those little clove thingies pushed into it. I used to love pushing those little clove thingies into the ham.

Favourite Christmas memory as a child?

One is sitting in front of the Christmas tree in the dark (the only lights were from the tree) in my sweater vest and toughskin pants and sneakers (I was probably eleven) and singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" to myself, wishing I were in the movie Meet Me in St. Louis.

When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?

It's a toss-up.  It's either when I heard my mom wrapping presents and cursing at an obnoxious ribbon late on Christmas Eve or when I snooped through my parents' closet and found all of our presents. In September.

What tops your tree?

That's a rather personal question. A girl never tells who tops her tree.

Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?

It used to be a tradition we did, yes, in my family. I can't remember if Ted lets me do that or not. He's usually pretty strict about things like that.

What kind of cookies does Santa get set out for him?

Santa doesn't need any more cookies - believe me.

What is the most important thing about Christmas to you?

You mean besides getting a Growing Up Skipper Doll? Okay - having family close, and having the person I love more than anything in the world close (Ted, duh). Having my kitties close. Those are the real gifts.

What is your favourite holiday dessert?

Well, it used to be buckeyes (peanut butter balls dipped in chocolate), but I made about a zillion this year and we STILL have them in the fridge and I'm sick of them.

But other than that I love pumpkin pie, those little mexican wedding cookies (powdered sugar covered balls of almond flavoured shortbread).

Favourite tradition?

Wishing for the Growing Up Skipper doll (32 years and counting!!)

What do you prefer - giving or receiving?

Well, I do love finding the most unique, special, thoughtful gift for someone (especially Ted), so I guess I'd have to say giving. Though I also really like a lot getting unique special thoughtful gifts.

What is your favourite Christmas Carol?

What's that one about Figgy Pudding? That’s the one.

Candy canes?

Isn't that the name of that psycho truck-driver killer in Joyride? (Okay, I love Candy Canes).

Visit Rob’s Site

I'm still at home in London, having been supposedly flying out with my wife to Geneva on Thursday to visit her mother for Christmas. Personally, I blame the fog, but seriously, I have been fairly unimpressed with the airline and airport integrated communications systems.

The usual procedure has airports holding rudimentary messages, pointing you to airline sites for further information. Unfortunately, Swiss (International Air) with whom we were flying, had not a single message about the fog-related cancellations on its site; no information as to whether to turn up to the airport or not, whether flights would be cancelled or not...

OK, so, time to move on to the telephone - where none of the numbers listed appeared to be in working order. So we rang numbers in Switzerland, but still could not get through. Fortunately, we were lucky, and managed to get in contact with the airline first thing the next morning.

But, what I am wondering is , "Why make it so difficult to let your customers know what is going on when there is an airline status change?".

There was chaos at Heathrow, and I'm sure some of this is due to the fact that people HAD to arrive at the airport to even get close to speaking to someone, or finding out what was going on. Our situation resulted in the Swiss airline being as helpful as one would expect, given the circumstances and time of year. However, this was only AFTER we had jumped through many hoops to get in contact with them.

If this is the service provided for a general airline scheduling request, what on earth is provided by the airline’s so-called ‘Customer Service?’

Mark’s Site

The bored bone is connected to the Inter-bone, and the Inter-bone is connected to reading random encyclopaedia-type wikis.

Because sometimes crawling deeper into the Wikipedia-hole is the only way to stave off the madness of nap time or actually doing something productive.

So, here's a brief synopsis of the character, Kelly Taylor, from the popular 90's smutfest, Beverly Hills 90210.

Kelly Taylor:

• Brenda and Donna's best friend

• Romantically linked to Steve, Brandon, Colin, Dylan, and later Matt. (And at the final show again: Dylan.)

• Mother suffered from cocaine and alcohol abuse

• Became David's stepsister

• Had cocaine and pill problems

• Was shot in a robbery at LAX and subsequently got amnesia

• Was raped in an alley when attempting to locate Dylan

• Was brainwashed and ended up joining a cult under the direction of a rogue university professor

• Was severely burned during a fire that broke out at a house party filled with lesbians

• Was on the show for its entire 10-year run.

How delightful.

They sure don't make helpless blonde female role models like they used to.

So if you're feeling down or blue this holiday season, just think of our friend, Kelly Taylor, and be glad that you weren't Brenda's best friend because Brenda was a total bitch.

Also be glad you're not being raped by a cult of burning, cocaine-addicted lesbians.

Happy amnesia everyone!

Mike’s Home

Image from fortunecity.com

...or, what I did on my vacation

As we're about to head off on our Christmas vacation, I started thinking about stars/celebs who I have encountered while away on trips.

Of course, residing here in Vancouver (or Hollywood North, as it is often called), I have plenty of opportunity to see movie and TV stars. The problem is, it never happens. Lots of people come here to film and therefore reside here for the duration; some celebs (like Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russell) even reside here on a permanent basis. But I think the only high-wattage star I've ever seen on the streets of Vancouver has been Morgan Freeman. And that, I can assure you, was but a fleeting glimpse - we were driving past a set during filming and I had a nanosecond glance.

Some of the celebs I've seen while away have ranked pretty low on the totem pole, like the bit actor we saw in Paris one time promoting a 'Police Academy' movie (I can't even recall his name, to be honest). Or the BBC kids show actress who I ran into in a quaint little church in the village of Oundle in England. Other celebs I've met have not been household names, but are still big in my books, like the time we were up at the Griffith Observatory in LA and ran into the Hernandez Brothers of 'Love and Rockets' fame (the graphic novel, not the band) - we had a brief conversation with them, and it was quite pleasant.

But the big one in my books has to be the time I was in Toronto and stayed in the same hotel (and even shared an elevator one time!) with the members of 'The Who'. I've managed to get a lot of mileage out of that one over the years, believe you me.

So I'm wondering, since we're heading down to Los Angeles and San Francisco this Christmas vacation - which famous people might we see this time? I'll keep you posted. And hey - who have you seen? I'd love to hear about it...

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I'm not usually a fan of Broadway-style musical, but when my friend bought tickets for Disney's Beauty and the Beast, I couldn't say no. 'Cuz, quite frankly, I'll try anything once.

I wasn't sure how closely this stage performance would follow the 1991 animated (and Academy Award winning) Disney version, or if instead it would favour one of the many other variations of the story that have been found in a variety of other cultures - 179 different versions, in fact, at last count.

What I found was that this stage version remains very faithful to the Disney classic. In addition to composer Alan Menken and late lyricist Howard Ashman's Best Song and Best Original Score Oscar winners, lyricist Tim Rice has contributed a number of new songs to the stage production. Other than that, the plot and set follow the animated version with little variation.

Opening on Broadway in 1994, the stage version ran at the Palace Theatre for five years, and has since gone on to be performed in 15 other countries (and seven different languages) around the world. This is the second year that Vancouver has hosted the stage version, and many people I talked to this year were their for their second time - and some had seen it even more frequently. It will likely prove to become a Christmas classic tradition in the same vein as productions like The Nutcracker has become.

And the setting doesn't hurt, either. Playing on the Stanley Industrial Alliance Stage is pretty much as good as you can get in Vancouver. It's a fantastic old building, rich in cornices and domes and all the other finery one would expect to see in an old building - and old buildings are few and far between in Vancouver, especially ones of this calibre.

Based on the book by Linda Woolverton and directed by Bill Millerd, this Arts Club Company Production starred Warren Kimmel as the Beast and Amy Wallis as Belle. Special notice must be made of the set designer, Alison Green, and costume designer Rebekkah Sorenson, for I have never seen a production of such quality in our fair city. I was originally under the impression that this production was one of those big-budget travelling road shows; when I found out that it was all local talent, well - you could have knocked me down with a feather.

There were plenty of laughs and also lots of suspenseful moments, so there was enough there in the production to please even the most testy audience member. The singing was fantastic, and again, of exceptional quality.

Overall, this is a good one, and as I said earlier - destined to become a holiday classic.

"Rocky Balboa" was a knockout with the critics, and got a head start on its competition by opening on Wednesday, when it was the No. 1 choice. The film's total stands at $22.1 million, about $2 million shy of its modest production cost.

Stallone also wrote and directed the film, the first in the series since 1990's underwhelming "Rocky V."Distributor Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer started the promotional campaign ...

Yahoo news

Normally, I wouldn’t cut and paste a Yahoo news article into my topics; however, I remember waaaay back in ‘76 visiting my extended family in Toronto, Ontario, when the first ‘Rocky’ movie debuted.

I was taken to the movie by my maternal grandparents (interesting in that they had been separated since my Grandmother turned 65, yet remained the best of friends). Of course, being a young 'un, I was mortified by going to the movies with old people, yet I figured I could withstand this torture as we were in a city far away from my friends.

My Grandmother warned me to disregard any 'potential reactions' my grandfather may exhibit during the movie. (Say what? I was thinking in my wee little brain.)

Well, during a time when family history was of no importance to a young girl, I briefly recalled beng told that my grandfather was a talented boxer when he was younger. He was a ‘lightweight’ (considering his height 6’1”, but obviously thin) and he quit boxing to provide for his new wife and soon-to-be-born daughter (my mother). My grandfather was a very attractive man as well (similar to Errol Flynn) so I am sure that vanity also played a part in his decision to no longer professionally box.

Anyway, as we watched the movie, I was surprised at how much I was enjoying the film, and as the movie advanced to the infamous finale fight scene, I caught (out of the corner of my eye) this aged man with: teeth clenched, jaw jutting forward, yet tipped downward, white knuckled fists, shoulders hunched and moving rhythmically back and forth, up and down - almost in a bob and weave fashion, and the occasional hushed grunt. My grandfather’s mirroring of the fight scene was as memorable as the movie itself. He was, essentially, shadowboxing his past.

After the movie, we exited the theatre and my grandmother turned to my grandfather and said, ‘I bet that brought back memories’. My grandfather’s forehead bore a fine mist of sweat upon it as he replied, ‘It sure did’.

I learned at a later date that my grandfather was a splendid boxer, had won one of those snazzy belts that a boxer would win (memory is hazy now), had kept his original boxing gloves and shoes, and most importantly, had a reputation as a solid, bankable fighter.

I kick myself now for not enquiring further, but as I said, I was a youngster and the world revolved around me. Despite my then lack of interest, every time a ‘Rocky’ movie, ‘Rocky’ sequel, or ‘Rocky’ whatever is announced, I am transported back to a time when I finally saw my grandfather - not as an aged relative, but as a vibrant individual whose past contained an eclectic assortment of hobbies and interests, one of which included boxing.

Merry Christmas, Shadow Boxer; I’m sorry you passed on before we could truly get to know each other.

James Brown, the dynamic, pompadoured “Godfather of Soul,” whose rasping vocals and revolutionary rhythms made him a founder of rap, funk and disco as well, died early Monday, his agent said. He was 73.

Brown was hospitalized with pneumonia at Emory Crawford Long Hospital on Sunday and died around 1:45 a.m. Monday, said his agent, Frank Copsidas of Intrigue Music. Longtime friend Charles Bobbit was by his side, he said. Copsidas said the cause of death was uncertain. “We really don’t know at this point what he died of,” he said.

Image source: concertpictures

a) prior to designing a website, I (Christine), Lezah, et el were desperate to post our articles somewhere, anywhere!

b) when I came across tblog it was easy to use and I enjoyed reading the other tblogs

c) I enjoyed the quick response/ feedback availability and

d) the people who write and respond on tblog appear quite intelligent (unlike some other scary sites where the responses put our educational systems to shame)

Then came the problem - every time I would respond to a post, the reply generally came back to poor ol' Lezah who does not tblog as avidly as I. I didn't want my views, thoughts etc. to be foisted on my beloved friend. (As well, her responses, views, etc. are far more articulate than mine!)

Then swank's other contributors were confused as to why their articles were appearing under something called 'Lezah'.

So there you have it in a nutshell. Lezah tblog shall be retired, but not really as it has always been Swanktrendz's blog.

Furthermore, I want to thank the tbloggers who have allowed me to use their posts on my main website. I certainly hope the publishing of their thoughts brings many more visitors to their site as they deserve the readership.

For those accustomed to bookmarking Lezah - I do apologize for any confusion, but the entries really do reflect Swank and I (Christine) am the main user.

So welcome, welcome to Swanktrendz!

Christine