We Three Pugs: 2009

As she does every year (she is quite predictable) Her Majesty Puggles, Queen of All Pugs and Supreme Ruler of Alaska, etc, etc. wishes to share her favorite Christmas Carol with her loyal subjects:

We Three Pugs
(To the tune of "We Three Kings")

We three Pugs of Orient are,
Shuffling low, we cannot go far.
Bellies dragging,
Tails a wagging,
Hounding the Milk Bone jar.

O! O!

We love treats and we love hugs.
We love all 'cause we are pugs.
Licking, sneezing, snoring, wheezing,
Guide us to the warmest rugs.

We wish all a Merry Christmas from Puggingham Palace
D and P

Tradtionally our last post before Christmas, we'll be back after the weekend with our annual best classical music recordings list.

Hallelujah II

Another Hallelujah!

Well, it IS Different

For the Sunday before Christmas, we offer this little snippet of a most widely performed work, the Hallelujah Chorus from "The Messiah" by Handel.



Kind of interesting in a Charles Ives way.

Auto Graveyard

It started in 2001:

Plymouth 1928-2001

Then almost unbelievable:

Oldsmobile 1897-2004

Who would have thought:

Saturn 1990-2009

and Pontiac 1926-2010

and now SAAB 1949-2010

Who's next? The bet is on Ford's medium line Mercury, but Ford keeps denying it.

GM hung on too long to its vaunted and once enormously successful strategy of a car for every pocket. You started with a Chevrolet and then moved up to Pontiac when you got to mid management. A bit older and needing more room for the family, Olds was your choice. Finally you reached the success of a Buick, or better yet hit the jackpot and got to a Cadillac.

But as car lines blurred with the advent of compacts and intermediates in the 60's the middle marques got squeezed. There was little to distinguish between them and the duplication in staff, advertising and engineering became costly.

So GM is down to Chevrolet, Buick and Cadillac for cars, GMC trucks and Opel/Vauxhall in Europe.

Sad to see so many great names go, but as we have seen with the end of Plymouth and Oldsmobile, we hardly miss them. That seemed to be the problem.

At least Buick survives. Dunbar would not want to be an orphan.

First Flight V

Damn she is beautiful in the air!

First Flight IV

She is ready to go.... taxiing to the runway. Any moment now, we sure hope!

Good Luck!

First Flight III

Engines started... woo hoo!

The Boeing webcast takes forever to load, it is likely being overwhelmed. Be patient

KIRO TV in Seattle has a live chopper cam.

First Flight II

BOE 1 just showed up on Flightaware!

BOE 1

The flight is scheduled 10:10AM PST. The Boeing 787 Dreamliner (N787BA) will take-off on runway 32L at Paine Field. The aircraft will be under the command of Boeing Chief Pilot Mike Carriker, and engineering pilot Randy Neville.

Weather looks horrible though.

First Flight

At the end of each of the Bullwinkle the moose episode, the narrator would implore us kiddies to wait for the next adventure: "Be with us next time for 'Bullwinkle's Folly' or 'As the Moose Turns', something like that.

In that spirit I title this post "First Flight" or "About Damn Time". Hopefully today, around 12noon CST, the long delayed Boeing 787 Dreamliner (or Nightmareliner as it has been called) will make its first flight, nearly 2 years off schedule.

Boeing plans on streaming the event online: Boeing's new Plane

The 787 is chock full of new technology, light weight composite construction and greater passenger room and nice big windows. A runaway seller, 840 some are scheduled to be built; alas some orders were canceled due to the delay and airline finances. We should have been able to fly on one by now, as deliveries were originally scheduled in 2008. Now, with first flight approaching, we can hope for 2010 deliveries.

I plan on watching the show at noon, provided Seattle's weather holds. Sadly right now, it looks pretty iffy and the whole show maybe postponed due to weather.

'Look Bullwinkle, a message in a bottle."
'Fan mail from some flounder?"
"No, this is what I really call a message"....

Stay tuned kiddies!

In a Bad Mood

On this 13th of December, 2009 I hereby declare I am now 100% apolitical. I hate Democrats, Republicans, independents, Joe Lieberman, Sarah Palin, the idiot mayor of Kansas City, and all others but Jolie Justus, the hard toiling but ultimately frustrated State Senator from our district.

The mere fact that the US Congress can not see the fact that people need health care and talk real reform down over what it might cost while we waste trillions of dollars and thousands of lives on war is pathetic. How do these mothers sleep at night? Oh that is right, they are taken care of and are rich and powerful. Fuck the rest.

I am glad, however, that the health care deal is going down in flames. It is worthless; forcing people to buy likely lousy insurance, making the insurance companies richer as they continue to collect premiums and still manage to deny payments. Without a public option, it is worthless crap. Come on, fellow citizens, the rest of the world takes better care of their people and they have not slid into fascist states, espouse communism or worse. Frankly, they are laughing at us, but the "leaders" still think our system is the best. The pansy Congress has not the courage to say "let's move forward", because well... the bribes were nice and I do have re-election coming up, can't do anything to piss anyone off.

Oh,by the way idiots, listen... we are already paying for insurance big time. Not through a tax, but through high prices and bankruptcies as companies struggle and fold trying to pay for health benefits.

This rudderless, sinking bulk of a country is fucked beyond all belief. Our industries are shadows of their past; no one wants to buy US autos, Boeing can't get its new plane off the ground, everything is made overseas. We are a nation consigned to selling hamburgers to each other.

Discourse is at rock bottom. Most nations would be proud to have their president receive a Nobel Peace Prize, the US thinks Obama's is silly and undeserved.

So I am just saying fuck it with the rest of you, sitting at home getting drunk and hopefully becoming a burden to you all.

I sort of agree with Obama's former pastor Jeremiah Wright, God Damn America.

I think he already has.

American Heartland Theatre: "It's A Wonderful Life"

Mention the 1940's film classic "It's a Wonderful Life" and you immediately envision happy endings, Christmas, angels, Jimmy Stewart and the sweet, simple experience of a small community.

Not to me.

"It's a Wonderful Life" is a bitter story about having your dreams shattered, being trapped, of compromising with the enemy, frustrated that friends and family get ahead and move away, living the life you dreamed. Frustration like this fills men (especially men) with rage that drives them to alcoholism, abuse, suicide. Today, George would be dead... just another casualty of the American Dream.

If you would look at Bedford Falls in 2009 you'd soon notice nothing seems to have changed from the 40s. Big Business treats people like a disposable rag as they plunder and profit for the sake of a few "stakeholders". Those few with a true concern for the disenfranchised and broken souls work with limited resources and seem to be under constant attack from the powerful. Even when caught stealing or being hypocritical, the powerful never apologize and go on Fux News to blame the victim and Obama. Remove George and we see a world starkly like the one I fear is coming soon when tea baggers and birthers reign. Yes, in the tale George wins, sort of. He doesn't defeat the evil, he just endures it one more time with the help of a few souls who are grateful.

No, I did not see a rebroadcast of the Frank Capra classic on TV or on disc, Greg and I went to the current production of "It's a Wonderful Life, A Live Radio Play" at Kansas City's best theatre venue, the American Heartland Theatre.

The whole play is pretty straight forward, a 1946 live broadcast of "It's a Wonderful Life" from WDAF radio studio 4 in Kansas City. Not only a fine retelling of the familiar story, but a fascinating glimpse behind the scenes of live radio. Even as the audience is settling in, the actors are on stage setting things up, talking to us (Greg was offered a cup of coffee from the studio's break room), the actors go on and off grabbing a close microphone when it is their turn to read, a pianist is on stage playing and occasionally taking a minor role. A child used to play George's children now and then sat at the break room table amusing herself quietly until summoned to read, just as she would in a live studio. The sound effects were as much fun to watch as to hear.

The cast, Ken Remmert, Tim Scott, Lauren Braton, Natalie Weaver, Kevin Albert, Colleen Grate and Michael Dragen were all excellent, with special kudos to Tim Scott and Kevin Albert for their dramatic and spot on readings of George and the evil Mr. Potter.

The stripped down reading and almost mechanical efficiency of the recreation of live radio were the catalyst for my darker experience of this tale. Remove the sights and sounds of 1940's films and the dramatic elements emerge, revealing "It's a Wonderful Life" as a cautioning tale for our time as well. At the American Heartland Theatre through December 27th.

Remembering Grant Gallup

I had never heard (or maybe I had and have forgotten) the late Rev. Grant Gallup was called "Sister Mary Rattlebeads". It is completely appropriate however. Grant Gallup, Episcopal Priest, teacher, humanitarian, gourmet and friend, died after a long illness in his home in Managua, Nicaragua November 26th at age 78.

Grant simply was one of the most incredible people I ever met. When he was ordained a priest, he told the Bishop to "send me where no one else wants to go." That was Grant, the true embodiment of the spirit of Christ's teachings. He loved the poor and the oppressed; marching with Martin Luther King in the South in the 60's, living and working with those embroiled in a revolution in Nicaragua, hiding Nicaraguans who were being pursued and persecuted by a corrupt government, visiting Iraq just before Bush's invasion to support Iraqi Christians in danger, visiting Cuba when it was illegal to do so, being out and proudly gay long before others tested the waters. His parish, St Andrew's in Chicago, was in a tough and poor all African American neighborhood. Some took bets on how long this white boy from the UP of Michigan would last. He stayed 30 years until he took up his final residence in a poor and tough neighborhood in Managua. No matter what trouble someone was in Grant was there to support; comforting families who had just saw a member shot, go to prison, helped those who lost a job or their home and those in need of a meal. He could be a tough love at the same time; if he respected you he demanded your respect in return. Be petty or take advantage of him and you'd be admonished and likely banished quite directly.

Grant read voraciously, his library at Casa Ave Maria, a guest house/ecumenical center founded by him in Managua, was extensive even after a fire ravaged much of it. He loved music, folk dancing, art, young men and certainly charmed the ladies. He set a magnificent table; amusingly the table cloth was a kids' "Hercules" sheet. He simply explained that he liked the cartoon figure of the buff young fellow.

Just a few days before he died on November 26th, I got a message that some friends were going to honor him at a Thanksgiving gathering in Managua. On the 25th, I sent a message to his friend Bayardo and asked him to read it to Grant. This is what I sent:

Dear Grant:

I understand your friends are honoring and giving thanks for your work and presence on this Dia de Gracia.

Querido amigo, I am grateful for all that you taught me about the wonderful country that is Nicaragua; its struggles, its beauty, its people and history. I am richer for the times spent on the patio at Casa Ave Maria listening to you interpret the mural and having the amazing opportunity to meet some of the saints enshrined therein. I give thanks for the bountiful meals and the simple ones as well, shared around your table. One of the best Thanksgiving Days of my life was spent at the Casa, sharing a turkey and all the trimmings with you and Maggie, and Greg Houston and others who had gathered there.

I came to Nicaragua as a curious tourist and reluctant pilgrim in 1999, thinking it would be my one and only trip. Although many others have broken my record, I stand at 15 times since then that I have come to the country I call my home away from home. I was happy that my son Daniel and his new wife got to experience Nicaragua on their honeymoon; they hope to return some day. I got the privilege of introducing the sights and sounds of Nicaragua to my friend Bruce, who also got to meet you at the Casa.

Each time I make rice, I do it as a Nicaraguan lady taught me and revel in its simple beauty and taste and elegance, just like Nicaragua. Thus there is a bit of Nica in my soul now, and much of it is due to you. Thank you, thanks be to God for you.

Amigos para siempre!

Don Clark

Rest in Peace dear friend, and keep rattling those beads.

Grant Gallup at Casa Ave Maria March 2008, my last visit to him:

Coupl'a Things XXIX

1) Rachel Maddow sets the record straight about the nut-case Republican "teabaggers".

Teabagging: Trouble Entendre!


Wouldn't it be hilarious to see Sarah Palin and Rush Limbaugh at a Tea Bag Party. Well...maybe not.

2) Last time I did a Puggingham Palace review of a Heartland Men's Chorus concert and didn't say that everything was fabulous-perfect, I got a slew of hate mail. So I am simply saying: I saw the HMC Christmas Concert "Fruitcake" this weekend. Leave it at that.

3) Christmas music is on full time at the Palace. HM enjoys the nice tunes and snores peacefully along. "White Christmas" accompanied by pug snores is a sound to behold, for sure.

One disc that is on frequently is:



Symphonic reworkings of familiar and some not so common carols. Cleverly and actually brilliantly arranged, well performed and several steps above the average symphonic carol arrangements that are more muzak than serious compositions. Naxos 8557099 and it is cheap too!

4) It seems the Episcopals have elected another gay bishop, this time a lesbian in Los Angeles. The conservatives are already screaming doom and the boob of an Archbishop of Canterbury is doing his usual hand wringing and sighing.

I love it.

A Christmas Joke

My friend Jerry sent me this:

Three men died on Christmas Eve and were met by Saint Peter at the pearly gates.

'In honor of this holy season' Saint Peter said, 'You must each possess something that symbolizes Christmas to get into heaven.'

The first man fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on. 'It represents a candle', he said.

'You may pass through the pearly gates' Saint Peter said.

The second man reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He shook them and said, 'They're bells.'

Saint Peter said 'You may pass through the pearly gates'.

The third man started searching desperately through his pockets and finally pulled out a pair of women's panties.

St. Peter looked at the man with a raised eyebrow and asked, 'And just what do those symbolize?'

The man replied, 'These are Carols.'

Coupl'a Things XVIII

1) I know who Tiger Woods is, hell everyone does who reads a paper or surfs on line. Just one of the many high and mighty who use their wealth and prestige to manipulate the world around them. I, for one, relish when the high and mighty get caught with their pants down, or in Tiger's case chased around by his golf club wielding wife at 2AM. Come on, who believes his story? No one. Cops show up and Tiger goes to the hospital. He stonewalls, refuses to talk. Rumors fly, affair, domestic violence, lies told. Now he gets a ticket and the case is closed. He can go back to his own personal Neverland.

He probably screwed around with the cocktail waitress lady or whoever she is, and now wifey knows. She confronted him in the middle of the night and chased him half dressed into his car. Grabbing one of his clubs, she was intent on smashing the shit out of his car. Hey, it happens.

But what burns my butt is that if it were little ol me or even you, we'd be hauled off, charged with all kinds of crap. To be sure, I would be at fault even if it was wifey going after me with a 9 iron.

So, here is some one I cared less about, and now care about even less. I hope this cuts him down a notch or two and shows him, and the rest of the privileged, that they are not above the law.

2) From Zane who sent this in an email to me. Talk about another high and mighty who is starting to look more human and fallible:

War President!
From last night's speech. Even Karl Rove was praising him on Fox afterward.

Obama: 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan

Obama: "We Did Not Ask for This Fight"
Bush: "We Did Not Seek This Conflict"

Obama: "New Attacks are Being Plotted as I Speak"
Bush: "At This Moment ... Terrorists are Planning New Attacks"

Obama: "Our Cause is Just, Our Resolve Unwavering"
Bush: "Our Cause is Just, Our Coalition [is] Determined"

Obama: "This Is No Idle Danger, No Hypothetical Threat"
Bush: "The Enemies of Freedom Are Not Idle"

Obama: "We Have No Interest in Occupying Your Country"
Bush: "I Wouldn't Be Happy if I Were Occupied Either"

All I can say is... oy.

The Woods

Thomas Wolfe was right, you really can't go home again. Nothing is quite the same, but we keep on attempting nonetheless.

But I am luckier than many, the home where I spent my youth from age 3-18 is still standing and still owned and occupied by my family. My old room is still there, full of my sister's junk (as are all the rooms), but still there. Actually lots of things are still there; while cooking this weekend I asked my sister where the hot pads were. "Where they always have been", she replied with an annoyed sneer. Yes, they were, the same ones too. How silly of me to ask.

Thankfully, among all the things laid unchanged, "the woods" is still there too. 14.5 acres of untouched woodland that wrapped around my street, shielding us from the noise of the main road leading to town. Today called officially "Sanders Park", the woods is now maintained by the city park district. But in my day I am not sure who owned it and we really didn't care. All us kids in the neighborhood, boys and girls alike, spent most of our day exploring this uncharted wonderland. To our young minds, it was akin to the jungles of Africa that we read about in Social Studies. Just as scary and full of wild animals and strange plants too.

We even had a Tarzan vine, a huge old vine that hung from a tree conveniently perched on a gentle slope. We would swing on this vine for hours, bigger boys who shed their shirts to emulate the latest Tarzan hero, little boys, girls, an even an occasional adult neighbor. Deep in the woods, a small ditch sometimes flowed with water. Fording it was a challenge and certainly led to much moaning by our mothers as we arrived home covered in mud. We named places, claimed land, looked in awe at the culverts leading under Center Street that led to someplace even more scary and unexplored. I was 12 when I first went under the culvert.... I was disappointed as it only led to the Zientara family's yard and I had been there before.

My friend Gary and I spent a lot of time there. Building forts, exploring, looking for the magic land of the May Apples, strange plants we had never seen before. We'd get lost looking for it every time. While digging around for some reason one fine summer day, we uncovered a scary bright red glowing crinkly thing. Running in fear that we had dug up the devil, we beat a retreat vowing never to return and be good boys. A dog, raccoon or someone less easily frightened later dug the scaly red object up and deposited it near by. It was the red inside tray of a package of cookies.... ah childish imaginations.

But Thomas Wolfe was correct.

This weekend, as I drove by or stood at the window and gazed at the bare, silent trees of the woods, it looked less imposing. The mystery was gone. It was smaller and I could easily rationalize that it was just a few acres not a few miles of land. The Tarzan vine has long been absorbed into the loamy soil. The ditch was full of water from recent rain, but it was just a drainage ditch taking run off from the pavement, not a roaring stream dividing my land from Gary's; I certainly felt no desire to defend it from invaders. The knot of trees that had grown in a circle are still there, although hard to find. I am sure a rare dogtooth violet still pokes its head up now and then but May apples are just common wild plants. I didn't see any evidence of Bobcats or other wild beasts, just the occasional deer.

Part of the woods has been mowed and cleared. An historical marker has been erected in the clearing at the corner of Hunt and Center. Seems the woods has a long history, part of the land first settled by Europeans in the county. Abraham Lincoln's name is on some legal land transfers, our city actually had its beginnings there, although the first buildings were built a few miles to the east. No longer just a scrap of land, but one with history and significance.

As a kid, I had always hoped that the woods would be there forever, protected for kids to always enjoy. Thankfully, the city of Decatur agreed and it was spared the fate of being plowed under for more houses or a convenience store.

So while there is much familiar at home there is much change. I can physically go home, that is not an issue. But in my mind it is so different; maybe I am the one who is different. Yeah that is it, while the land changes slowly and inevitably we plunge into adulthood and then middle age where everything once fresh, new and mysterious becomes the mundane.

I wish the Tarzan vine was still there.

Turkey Time

I have a couple days to work here at the palace, then Wednesday sneak off in Dunbar with Her Majesty and head to my sister's. She has our menu planned out for the whole time; I know as she calls me frequently to see if I want rice or potatoes for dinner on Saturday and if I want to take a break and have Mexican as we usually do. Hopefully I will survive the weekend.

Whatever you are doing or going, give thanks this week, be with (or tolerate) family and friends. As the tradition started 386 years ago decrees:

Governor William Bradford's Thanksgiving Proclamation 1623.

"Inasmuch as the great Father has given us this year an abundant harvest of Indian corn, wheat, peas, beans, squashes and garden vegetables and has made the forests to abound with game the sea with fish and clams; and inasmuch as he has protected us, has spared us from pestilence and disease, has granted us freedom to worship God according to the dictates of our own conscience; now I, do proclaim, that all Pilgrims do gather at the meeting house, on the hill, between the hours of 9 and 12 in the day time, on Thursday, November the 29th, of the year of our Lord one thousand six hundred and twenty three, and in the third year since Pilgrims landed on ye Pilgrim Rock there to listen to the pastor and render thanksgiving for all His blessings."

Happy Thanksgiving From D and P at Puggingham Palace

Kansas City Symphony: Avner Dorman Piano Concerto Premiere

It is not often an orchestra in the US hinterlands gets to play on the world stage and introduce a major new work by a rising star composer and soloist. But that is exactly what is happening this weekend with the Kansas City Symphony. Music director Michael Stern leads the orchestra in the Bartok Hungarian Sketches, conducts the world premiere of Israeli composer Avner Dorman's Piano Concerto, Alon Goldstein as soloist, and concludes with a masterpiece of late romantic symphonic works, the Symphony # 2 of Sibelius.

Bartok's Hungarian Sketches, 5 short dances and portraits of rural life in Hungary were well served by the brisk and appropriately pungent winds. "Evening in the Village" and "Melody" were atmospheric and lyrical. The concluding "Swineherds Dance" brought the short suite to a festive conclusion.

To say that Avner Dorman's new Piano Concerto, is unique among its brethren is what some refer to as an understatement. For example, the twenty minute or so tour de force for piano and large orchestra begins with a seance and ends with an exorcism. In between we have "Twilight", a ghost-fantasy concert recalling the specters of past piano masters; everyone from Art Tatum to J.S. Bach.

Theatre? Yes. The concerto begins with the soloist conspicuously absent from his piano. Among microtonal ghost music from the high strings (think Penderecki's "Threnody") the orchestra evolves into a slowly undulating fog straight from the "Housatonic At Stockbridge" from Ives' "Three Places in New England. The house goes dark and with a commanding crash of keys and sudden light, the soloist is at the piano, summoned as it were to channel the ghosts of Chopin, Messiaen, Bach, Gershwin and a heavenly host of others.

In the aforementioned "Twilight", a softer, reflective slow movement, the orchestra sits back and lets the pianist rhapsodize on all the ghostly influences the seance has conjured. Shimmering, Janissary figures from the orchestra underpin the almost improvisatory piano. Bach skirts by, a bit of Messiaen bird song, music of the future, tonal chords, cadences and soon increasingly frequent impatient rumbles from the huge percussion battery. Ivesian in a way, as the familiar figures (never quotes, but reflections) weave their way through a dense orchestral fabric.

Ok, ENOUGH! The orchestral ghosts reappear and the battle is on. If this is an Ivesian piece, then the final "Exorcism" is the "Comedy" second movement of Ives' 4th, interpreted in the jazz/rock/world music of the 21st century. The ghost hangs on bravely, as does pianist Alon Goldstein, who literally battled the keyboard and the score until he gave up in a ghost-rattle, brittle as bone trill on the highest notes. His reward? To be dispatched in darkness by a percussion blast, where upon the lights reveal an empty bench.

When have you heard a new work greeted with a few pleasant chuckles and then rapturous applause?

This is a major new work, and frankly I can see being appreciated without the theatrics. The orchestral writing is brilliant, colorful but sometimes a bit overwhelming. Huge percussion battery, full complement of brass and winds, celesta, harp and orchestral piano are frequently called upon in full force. It is jazzy-sexy in spots, sweetly tonal in others, full of simple melodies and complex rhythms (I can just see the pages teeming with notes and polyrhythms) and a rhapsodic structure, that despite few recurring themes (outside of the "ghost music") holds together. The audience held on to every note as if they were on the ride of their life. Even the friend who accompanied me, who professed to not like the piece (a traditionalist basically) had to admit he was on the edge of his seat the whole time.

After the visceral and almost exhausting Dorman, the Sibelius was almost an anti-climax. This most passionate and stirring work received a fine performance from the orchestra, with the usual fine work from the winds and some excellent brass. Unfortunately, in the second Andante movement, the orchestra's concentration, intonation and movement flagged, but recovered for a stately and satisfying finale.

But the night belonged to the Dorman Concerto. Pianist Alon Goldstein, composer Avner Dorman and Music Director Stern quite happily took in the prolonged and sincere ovation. As well they should for the piece and the performance was a major achievement.

Oh God

Recently, some group released the results of a study showing the staggeringly large number of Americans that believe in God. By God, I am assuming the Judeo-Christian God; you know the bearded Man Upstairs with lightning bolts and angels and such. Europe, on the other hand, is comparatively a godless waste land. But when you look closely at our society, I wonder how many of these "Godly" Christians following "The Way" are really better than the heathens of France or The Netherlands?

I get my daily dose of disgust with my fellow citizens by reading the comments people make about news stories in on line papers. Although it raises my blood pressure, it confirms my opinion that the God fearing USA is one seriously fucked up place.

Today I read that Alyssa Bustamante, the 15 year old girl from St Martins, MO who killed her 9 year old neighbor "to see what it felt like", has been sent to a state hospital for psychiatric care. She is severely depressed and anxious, and has been for a long time. She looks sick in the pictures released of her. She is 15, and indicted for murder as an adult. Forget the fact that if she had sex with an older person, she would be the victim, no matter how much she lied or was willing.

Where the God factor comes in is with the comments made on this story. "Fry her", "throw her away", this was my favorite:

"We wonder why there is so much crime when severe penalties are not given. Death penalty for her if found guilty of murder. What about any other persons who may be depressed or suicidal and have never tried to kill anyone? How would the defense counter that? See, I'm eliminating excuses and making people responsible for their actions. If trash is burned it can't come back. No need for taxpayers to pay for any prison or "rehab", as these don't work anyway."

Now I do not know if this person is a church going, God fearing Christian or not. But according to the study I mentioned, it is more likely than not. Is this a Christian attitude? Punish, not forgive. Are the teachings of Jesus Christ forgotten and the barbaric practices of the Old Testament given precedent?

You see, in a godless society, it would be more common that this young kid be given mental health care without question. Of course, in godless Europe and most of the godless world, she likely would have received it long before the mental illness caused her to strike out as she did. But in the Godly USA, our "best healthcare in the world" (fuck that) let her fester and languish in pain, misery, depression and sociopathic fog for her entire life.

I don't know where I am going with this, but as I read this and then went on about a few chores here at the Palace, I just felt compelled to write. You see, I am not that Godly a person, even though I am a regular church goer. The hocus-pocus, the belief in spirits and such are not that strong. But I do feel that Jesus, whoever he might have been, was the most radical and brilliant person ever to walk the earth. I believe his teachings still are relevant and still have much to be revealed. Lucky for us thousands of years later, there were people such as Peter, John, and Paul who had direct and indirect encounters with this remarkable person who may have been inspired or sired divinely, and were compelled to share what they learned and saw. But little old me, more spiritual and philosophical than mired in dogma and religion, I think I am more in line with what Jesus taught than those quoted above.

Alyssa needs help. America needs healthcare for ALL, end to aggressive war, fair justice with a radical reduction in the number of people thrown in prison (remember, we have more in prison than most of the world) and assurances that the weak and poor have dignity and basic needs. Just like I think Jesus was teaching us.

But by saying the above, the "religious" elite of the USA condemn me as a radical, misdirected communist.

Maybe I am. And so was Jesus.

Saying Good Bye

I am unashamedly stealing this quote from "Wicked" from my friend Amy, who put it in a Facebook post:

"I've heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn. And we are led to those who help us most to grow if we let them. And we help them in return. Well, I don't know if I believe that's true, but I know I'm who I am today because I knew you."

One thing I do believe is true is that it is always right and necessary to say "good bye" to someone. In this fluid world, our neighbors, co-workers and friends are all too frequently here today, gone tomorrow. In the tense and depressing world of corporate America, laid off or terminated employees are given their notice and then immediately considered persona non-grata. They can't even get their personal items or, more important to this discussion, say so long to people they saw probably more than their families each day.

But, some counter argue, with all the electronic communication devices and programs such as cell phones, Facebook or email, we can keep in touch a bit easier than ever before. Those modern wonders of communication are fine and I use them to great extent, but they do not come close to actually having the person there; to see, to touch or to call up last minute and meet for a cocktail at the pub.

Last night I got the opportunity to say good bye to someone I had known only briefly and really not all that well. A friend of sorts, someone I did not actually know a lot about, but a person who affected my life positively in the last year. He was cast out from among us for reasons still unknown; there are "official" reasons given but many of us do not believe them. Here one day, gone the next in a blaze of "we regret to inform you".

Yes this was a job related event, and handled like it was a position with a bank or an IT company. But in a church, there is more to relationships than contracts and work rules. We are supposed to be a family of sorts; or that is what they say. We speak of church family and the need to look out for and help one another, to revel in the fellowship of kindred minds, as the old hymn says. Even family members who rape, pillage or murder are allowed to say good bye before they are carted off. When we can't say good bye, there is no closure, no moving on, our mind wonders as to why things happened as they did. Did I say something wrong?

But for some reason, we were denied that. It is as if the family member died, or was marched by the Nazis or the KGB into a gulag. This was an event I will never understand.

Thus I was glad that I spent too much money and drank way too much last night at my friend's impromptu good bye. Instead of fading off into another "contact" in the cyber world, I got to look him in the eye, hug him and basically say what Glinda said so much better in the quote above.

Good bye. God be with you till we meet (or Tweet) again.

First Snow

It is 5:30 AM, a light snow is falling. It threatened to all day yesterday, but held off until the dark pre-dawn. Reports filtered in of flakes in Kansas, near the airport, rain drops with a bit of ice at their core were felt now and then. Winter was finally coming to my part of the world.

A short 24 hours ago, I had a couple of hibiscus still in the garden; not as spectacularly blooming as they were in summer, but holding on. As the snowy forecast loomed and the temperatures plummeted they, along with the cushions and umbrellas on the lawn furniture, were hastily brought inside for the winter. Dunbar got covered with a car cover, protecting the paint which is worth more than the sum of the parts in most respects. (Note to self, do NOT put the car cover on after having more than 1 vodka, you put the damn thing on backwards...)

The summer to winter transition is always a bit bittersweet. I always mark the day when I bring in all the outdoor accouterments as to me that day is the real beginning of winter. I do enjoy the summer, the sun, the outdoors, walks, flowers and the verdant green. But being Midwest born and bred, I relish the change of seasons, the rhythm, the cycle, the inevitability of it all. Those who gloat and scream about their trips or habitation in sunnier climes soon will bitch when their temps soar.

No climate is perfect. My friends in AZ tell me of the searing heat (yes it is a "dry heat" but so is my oven and I not wish to live in it either), the relentless brown and the sandstorms. Our humidity, winter blasts and chance of tornadoes are not much different from the south's stifling soup and occasional hurricane. Much of the Pacific Northwest is too drizzly and cool.

Get over it people. Snow and cold and winter is a part of life. A good snow makes us hearty, it quiets the world, cleanses the air, and blankets our ugly structures with nature's glory.

Besides, what would Christmas be with out a little snow?

Olé!

In my post of yesterday, I used the expression "olé" a couple of times. That reminded me of a funny story I heard from a friend several years ago. The story was told to me second hand, and thus I am not able to confirm its veracity 100%. But knowing both men involved, I can assume it has a modicum of truth.

The fellow involved in the story is a United Methodist clergy. As is custom with the Methodist Church, a pastor is moved from church to church in an appointment process. Usually, younger, less experienced pastors are placed in smaller churches, often in smaller towns. Thus this city reared boy found himself pastoring a church in a small town in south central Missouri.

The town boasted a spanking new and shiny Mc Donald's by the interstate exit. It was his routine to go there (about the only place in town that was clean enough to frequent, he moaned) for a morning coffee which he would take to his office. Upon approaching the counter, he was enthusiastically greeted by a "dull eyed, but eager" young lady; the type that feels a job at Mickey D's is the pinnacle of success. Our hero ordered his coffee, but in a moment of feeling superior and a bit devilish, he asked for a "café au lait". The young lady dutifully went to the coffee machine and poured the exact amount into the waiting cup, as she had likely done hundreds of times.

Slapping a lid on it, she turned and handed him the cup. Flashing a big smile and proudly holding the perfectly poured cup of coffee she exclaimed....

"Olé"!

Coupl'a Things XXVII

1) I love my series of "Coupl'a Things" of which this is the 27th entry. It allows me to ramble and to write about what is on my mind without a lot of effort. They are just short snippets of things I am thinking about, reflections on what I have seen or heard or am musing about as I go through life.

2) As I posted on this evening on Facebook, when all else fails make tacos, and be sure to have margaritas a-plenty. One of my favorite childhood evenings was taco night at home. Mom would cook ground beef and onion while the "Old El Paso" taco shells (comes complete with taco seasoning packet!) were warming and crisping to perfection in the oven. A bit of chopped lettuce, salsa, tomato and onion and it was a fiesta! So what if the average Mexican would say it was "basura" or worse "mierda", in Central Illinois it was as close to Mexico as we would get circa 1970.

I was supposed to go out to dinner tonight, but my dinner partner begged off. I lied and said I had something to fix at home. I actually did, but I was sick of the chicken and pork chops I bought in quantity on sale. It was too late to find another dinner date and after much deliberation and hand wringing, it was off in trusty Dunbar to the store to see what inspired me.

Tacos!

They called to me from the Mexican/Chinese/Spices isle at my local Gayfresh: "Estoy aqui!" Seduced me is more like it. I made a mental note: have lettuce and tomato at home, need sour cream (a must), ground beef, taco shells and shredded cheese. And as luck would have it, "Old El Paso" still makes a taco dinner kit, complete with shells, seasoning and a package of salsa! Got it.

Gomer's (despite the name, actually an excellent liquor store) had the Salvador's Margaritas at a good price so all was set.

And I just grabbed my margarita glass thinking it was the computer mouse so I know this was a successful taco nite.

OLE!

3) This is a ship rudder:



I have been thinking of rudders lately. A ship rudder steers the boat in a steady, correct direction and keeps it from tipping over. There are so many organizations that are rudderless lately; my church, the USA, the US Congress, my condo building, my life in many respects.

Where will we find the rudder we need to steer us though the stormy waters?

I have no answer, thus another margarita is in order.... olé!

Life and Health

Some are all gaga over the US House voting to approve a massive overhaul of healthcare. I applaud them and the lone Republican who decided that it was time.

But I am a realist.

I sadly think it will be for naught. The Senate will flounder as the right wings of both parties would rather spend $ on war and death than life and health so they can feel big about themselves.

Would be wonderful, but in this polarized, rudderless nation I don't think much of anything will be accomplished soon.

I would love to be proved wrong.

Kansas City Symphony: Britten's Orchestra

OK I admit I was worried over nothing.

The Kansas City Symphony and Music Director Michael Stern have been involved in 3 recordings since Stern's arrival here in 2005. The first ones were for Naxos and compositions by the heretofore unknown (at least in the USA) Taiwanese composer Gordon Chin. The second was a recording of some lesser known Arthur Sullivan and Jan Sibelius music based on Shakespeare's "The Tempest" done for Reference Recordings. Both garnered excellent reviews, but of course had little major competition.

But with the latest recording, Stern, the Orchestra and Reference Recordings plunged head first into the mainstream repertoire with some of the most popular and frequently recorded works by Benjamin Britten. The competition was formidable, including the composer's indispensable recordings, excellent readings by Britten specialist Steuart Bedford and on to Bernstein, Bolt and Handley to name a few. Frankly, I was concerned that maybe, just maybe, the orchestra was not ready for the cutthroat competition of prime time.

Shame on me.

With fabulous sonics (we used to call recordings like this "lease breakers") and impressive and quite competitive performances, this recording is a winner.

The usually excellent winds of the orchestra are captured in all their fleet glory. The strings are full and with fine intonation, the brass snarl and snap, the percussion rock the house (I think my speakers are shot from all the pounding, and this at a low volume!) and thus the ensemble comes together as a satisfying whole. Some of this is due to the incredible Reference Recording engineers who manage to tame the cavernous space of the Community of Christ Auditorium (aka the LDS Auditorium). But much is due to the excellent orchestra Stern has assembled and to his vision and leadership.

The "Variations on a Theme of Purcell" or more famous as "The Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra" featured uniformly outstanding work from the various orchestral groups, the woodwinds of special note. This was not a light, kid friendly reading but a powerful and well formed performance of this marvelous work.

One of my favorite Britten pieces, Sinfonia da Requiem, receives a lyrical, somewhat cool performance that fits the music well. The opening movement's "Lacrymosa" explosive beginning is stunningly captured as are the steady, powerful base drum beats. The crystal clear sonics and Stern's attention to detail allow you to actually hear the subtle sforzandi in each phrase near the end of the movement immediately after the big drum climax.... spectacular! The slowly fading ending of the "Requiem Aeternam" benefits from the sharp, spotlit sonics. The "Dies Irae" movement may not be a pants wetting experience (a reference from my chorus days when a choral director told us we were singing the Day of Wrath, NOT the "Dies Meh" and that he hoped that we would make the audience pee their pants in fear), but is certainly powerful and dramatic.

The 4 Sea Interludes and Passacaglia from Peter Grimes are top notch as well. From a misty, nautical tinged "Dawn", a bustling but somewhat unsettling "Sunday Morning", a dark and forbidding "Moonlight", concluding with a powerful "Storm" these "Interludes" give little away to the competition.

Stern, somewhat unusually, interpolates the "Passacaglia" from Peter Grimes between "Moonlight" and "Storm", which in my opinion works quite well.

In this case, I loved being proved wrong. This is an excellent recording and stands proudly along those mentioned above.

Reference Recordings RR120 released November 10th and available from most all the online and local retailers and direct from Reference Recordings.

Coupl'a Things XXVI

1) My friend Presten is reporting that at least 2 Kansas City radio stations have gone to an all Christmas music format as of November 1. There are likely more, but that is all he has reported for now. During my last visit to the hardware store, I noted the workers taking down the garden and patio supplies and putting up Christmas trees and such. Sadly, yours truly has also contributed to this nonsense; a couple of weeks ago I ordered the wreaths and poinsettias for the building. So far I have resisted putting up the Christmas tree.

Ho Ho Ho

2) Since we are planning for Christmas, it will soon be time to get ready for Mardi Gras. They say Halloween is the High Holy Day for gays. I missed that gene and decided Mardi Gras is much more fun. Actually that kind of fits with my penchant for doing things a little different. If everyone goes nuts for Halloween, I just find a more obscure event to celebrate. Makes life a little more interesting.

Mardi Gras is on Feb 16th in 2010, slightly towards the middle of the range of dates which can be from Feb 3 to March 9th. I hope I live 10 more years since Mardi Gras falls on my birthday in 2020. It has never been on my birthday since I was born.

I have my Mardi Gras dinner menu all set up but am still tweaking the guest list (apply here at Puggingham Place, seating is limited), looking for a new feather mask and thinking of getting a better King Cake this year.

Laissez les bons temps rouler!

3) There is a little spider crawling on my wall, if he comes any closer.... WHAP! I usually leave insects to themselves or take them out side if I can catch them. Creepy, crawly, biting, ugly monster spiders are an exception.

Deborah Voigt: From Wagner to Irving Berlin

Decisions, decisions. Friday afternoon found me with the possibility of attending two outstanding recitals featuring two of the world's most renowned sopranos. Since both were at the same time, I could do only one. Deborah Voigt was presenting a varied program of German and Italian arias plus American and European art songs; across town Dame Emma Kirkby was performing a program of songs by Dowland and Purcell accompanied by lute. The closer venue and company going with me led me to the Voigt recital.

Voigt is making a name for herself by taking challenging and varied roles in some of the world's leading opera houses. A Met Ring Cycle in 2012 will feature her as Brunnhilde and she is easily at home in Puccini, Richard Strauss and even Broadway.

Voigt showed that her big, Wagnerian voice could also tackle the intimacies of art songs. Opening the program were 3 Robert Browning songs op 44 by Amy Beach. Voigt sweetly yet clearly communicated these intimate texts, her big voice well controlled, never overwhelming. Following these were 3 songs by Respighi, "Contrasts", "Night" and "Mists", all three sung with precise Italian diction and superb vocal tone painting, deftly communicating the impressionistic texts and music. As Voigt announced her selection of "Vissi d'arte" from Tosca, a few claps dotted the auditorium, she remarked with a smile "don't get excited, I haven't sung it yet!'. But it was an exciting rendition of this popular aria, as were the two Wagner selections on the first half "Dich, teure Halle" from Tannhäuser and "Du bist der Lenz" from "Walküre".

The second half was just as thoughtfully planned, 5 Richard Strauss songs, all allowing Voigt to showcase her soaring, yet somewhat dark, soprano. These songs could have been written with her in mind, so well did her interpretation and voice match the texts. Accompanist Brian Zeger, got quite a work out in these demanding settings.

Voigt and Zeger moved effortlessly from Strauss' "Frülingsfeier"op 56 # 5 to the uniquely American works of Benjamin Moore and Leonard Bernstein, culminating in Bernstein's masterpiece "Somewhere" from "West Side Story". Unfortunately, "Somewhere" was a bit of a letdown; Voigt certainly loved and knew the piece, but just didn't communicate the wistful melancholy of the song.

The appreciative audience demanded some encores, and were granted three.

In addition to her stellar voice, Voigt has a wonderful relaxed yet always in command stage presence. She immediately relates to her audience and makes them feel a part of the performance. The highlight of the whole evening was her vampy, campy encore romp through Irving Berlin's rag "I Love the Piano". Voigt ambled over to the piano, bumped Zeger over and proceeded to improvise a honky tonk descant along with him. The immediate standing ovation garnered us "just one more", a soulful and tender "Can't Help Loving that Man of Mine".

Those hearing Dame Emma Kirkby probably heard a more "important" and unique musical event, but I bet they didn't have nearly as much fun.

Dunbar: At Home

Most people are not excited about owning a 20 year old car, but I am not "most people". I kind of enjoy cars of the recent past; usually bone simple, comfy and deliciously covered in fake wood, stripes and vinyl. In real terms, a 20 year old car is in that gray middle ground; too old to be current but not old enough to qualify for antique. Some of Dunbar the Buick's older siblings are considered antiques, they being the introductory 1982 models introduced in late 1981. But a car as ubiquitous as a 1990's Buick Century is not a sure shot for antique collectability. Of course some said the same about the Edsel or the 57 Chevrolet at one time.

I look upon 20 year old daily driver cars as survivors; some lovingly cared for, some benignly neglected, all lucky. Dunbar fits all three categories.

All of Dunbar's past owners have cared for him well with regular maintenance, kept clean and not raced or abused. My aunt bought Dunbar used in January 1996 from the Buick dealer in Clinton, IL with 66, 431 miles. As of today (after a quick run in the rain to check) Dunbar has clocked 76,452 miles. So in a bit less than 14 years, Dunbar has traveled just 10,021 miles. Most cars do that in a year. Thus Dunbar was one that was cared for and lucky to have been owned by older adults who drove him gently and sparingly.

Sadly as she got older, my aunt could not care for Dunbar as much. I did not see it, but I guess when she gave the car to my uncle a few years ago, Dunbar looked like hell. As was common of cars of that era, sun, snow and chemicals ate away at the clearcoat that made the paint appear so wet and shiny. He ran ok, just looked like a clunker. One notch in the benign neglect category.

My uncle, being a prim and proper English type gentleman, could not be seen in such a mess, especially at the Country Club. You see, Dunbar had now been relegated to golf duty. As some men buy old wagons and cars as "fishing cars", my uncle used Dunbar solely to go to the golf course and back. Again a bit of luck.

A new paint job was in order, so Howard scouted around for some bids on a paint job. One shop told him $800. Seeking a second bid, Howard took it somewhere else where they told him "I can do it for four". They got the job. Four THOUSAND dollars later (yes, $4,000 not $400), Dunbar looks fabulous. Howard learned a lesson as well, he told me. "From now on, I will be sure to ask "four what'?" Once again Dunbar gets another point in the "Lucky" column. Instead of an overspray of the existing paint, the old paint was removed, the car sanded, primed, two coats of correct color lacquer applied, a final shot of clearcoat and then restoration of the factory applied pin stripes. Probably a better paint job than when new.

Since arriving in Kansas City, Dunbar now has another lease on life; new tires and new brakes were just installed and some new hoses and such are in his future. I bought a cover to protect that $4,000 paint job from those wintry, salty days and the searing rays of hot summer sun. Just as important, Dunbar has someone who appreciates that he is a survivor. He may get to run on the road a bit more than in the past few years as I plan on taking him back to Illinois for Thanksgiving. But for the most part he goes back and forth just here in Midtown, not venturing too far from the Palace.

Dunbar, the 1990 Buick Century Limited, one of 35,248 made, hopefully will continue his string of luck for a long time to come.

What I am Listening to Today: Kansas City Symphony New Recording

The new recording of Britten Orchestral works is about to be released NOVEMBER 10th watch for it.

Reference Recordings RR120



I got an advance copy and upon first hearing it is quite impressive, especially the demo quality sound. Even on my crappy system, it sounds marvelous.

I'll post a more complete review closer to release time. Meanwhile check out your favorite retailer or Reference Recordings and get your copy reserved!

KC Symphony: Bach, Mendelssohn and Haydn Lord Nelson Mass

Part of the art of programming a symphony concert is choosing complimentary works, making the whole program a satisfying whole. On the surface, this weekend's Kansas City Symphony concert had 3 works unified only by their common origin from the Germanic musical tradition. The concert opened with the Bach Brandenburg Concerto # 3, followed by the popular Mendelssohn E minor Violin Concerto and for the last half, the Haydn D minor Mass (Lord Nelson). Music Director Michael Stern conducted.

But craftily organized was this program. If it were not for Mendelssohn championing his works in the early 1800's, would we regard Bach as just another prolific baroque composer or worse consigned his oeuvre to oblivion? It is thus fitting that a Mendelssohn masterpiece follow one by Bach to remind us to be eternally grateful.

So what of Haydn and Mendelssohn? The year 2009 links them together, 200 years since Mendelssohn was born on Feb 3rd and Haydn's death the following May. Plus, it was interesting to watch the number of performers grow from the 10 strings and harpsichord of the Bach, to the classical size orchestra of the Mendelssohn to the strings, organ, brass and chorus and soloists of the Haydn.

The Bach was well done, precise and full of energy. The 10 strings stood in a semi circle at the front of the stage with the harpsichord off to the right. The intimate scoring worked well in the theatre for the most part. Possibly due to where I was sitting, the harpsichord was sweetly inaudible, which frankly is better than some harpsichord heavy recordings and performances I have experienced.

KC Symphony Concertmistress Kanako Ito was the soloist for the Mendelssohn. Ito is an accomplished violinist, demonstrating her prowess in a sublime Scheherazade a couple of seasons back and a polished Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto last season as well. Hers was an elegant and well-crafted performance, aided by Stern's deft and perfectly balanced orchestra. Special mention to the particularly fleet woodwinds, so vital to Mendelssohn's requirements. The second movement was singing and melodic, never cloying and so sickening sweet. Ito's energy and attention to musical line and detail never faltered throughout the concerto, earning her a rare (for me) standing ovation for her sensitive, even exciting performance.

Haydn's D minor Mass from 1798 is inexorably linked to Lord Horatio Nelson, looked upon as a hero in Austria for defeat of Napoleon's navy in Egypt. Inspired by the tense times of the late 1700's (the mass is also known as "Missa in Angustiis" or "Mass in Troubled Times"), the Lord Nelson Mass is one of Haydn's most inspiring and exciting works. In this case, Stern eschewed the more elaborate later orchestration and went with the original concept of strings, organ, 3 trumpets and chorus with soloists. The big chorus looked able to overpower the smaller orchestral forces, but never carried out the threat.

I rarely read the KC Star KC Symphony review but in this case I did. The reviewer mentioned the organ "stuck out like a sore thumb". Must have been where he was sitting, for as with the harpsichord in the Bach, I could rarely hear the organ which took the parts more commonly played by winds.

The Symphony Chorus has benefited from its new leadership, Grammy award winning conductor Charles Bruffy. Diction was clearer, entrances precise and balance, as mentioned, excellent. The soloists were a mixed bag. Soprano Mary Wilson was a bit strained, but not annoyingly so. Mezzo Sasha Cook was excellent and did a fine job in the big mezzo solo in the Agnus Dei. Tenor Thomas Cooley was a bit subdued but otherwise in fine voice. Baritone Nathaniel Webster simply did not have the depths for the demanding part, probably more suited for a bass than a baritone.

Stern and the orchestra have turned in a number of excellent Haydn performances over the past few years and this one could easily be added to the list.

Coupl'a Things XXV

1) It appears that the Britten KC Symphony recording of music by Benjamin Britten has been released on Reference Recordings. When I get a copy to audition, I will post a review. The concert preceding the recording was quite good and with Reference Recordings' audiophile sound, it should be a treat!

2) My new church Country Club Congregational had a pastoral blow up, just a year after I left my old church after a pastor conflict. Sadly, the man I admired and liked as a pastor and friend is leaving. This time I was on the pastor's side, and like last time, I seem to be on the losing side. Church conflicts are some of the nastiest around. This one seems to be too, but information is sketchy.

3) Halloween is approaching, and I will this year continue my long tradition of staying inside, locking my door and ignoring the mayhem. Halloween means only one thing to me, it is that much closer to Mardi Gras!

Use It

While enjoying a vodka tonic with some of my drinking friends, I asked Rick, who owns an antique mall, if anyone was buying depression glass. He immediately dashed my hopes of making a killing by shaking his head no and basically telling me one can not give it away.

"Use it", he suggested, "at the prices it commands now, if you break a piece, a replacement is easy to find and is cheaper than buying new at Target."

Thus some of the hundred pieces of Queen Mary depression glass I got from family, bought at malls or on Ebay is seeing the light of day, freed from its wrappers and boxes after being stored in various places since 2004.

Depression glass was made in huge quantities during the 1930's and early 40's. Cheaply pressed rather than hand cut, it was literally given away in soap and cereal boxes or sold for a few cents at the local 5 and dime. It was that generation's Corelle. If you had better china or glass, the glass that came in a bag of cornmeal was rarely used for holidays or family gatherings. Some, who suffered a loss or reduction of income, were embarrassed to have the stuff, not being able to cope with the reality of buying their dishware at Woolworth's instead of Macy's. The Depression Generation is well known for keeping everything as you never knew when you were not going to have the money for new, thus surviving depression glass is relatively plentiful.

Queen Mary 6in Bowl:



In the 1990's, at the height of the collector's boom, the stuff was selling like hotcakes. I paid thousands for what I bought and also made some by reselling some I got as bargains. I bought a mint condition, pink Queen Mary butter dish for $10 and sold it a week later on Ebay for $250. I sold it as I had two already. I sold the others off when I needed money back in my dark days. But most I kept, once displayed when I had space and then consigned to boxes when I didn't.

At noon today, I ate my soup and salad from a recently unpacked pink Queen Mary bowl and a small crystal plate. I marveled at the elegance of it; the glass is delicate pink or clear, bright crystal. As you can see, Queen Mary is a ribbed, prismatic pattern, austere but sleekly stylish, very art deco. Well made, the glass is thick and sturdy, with few flaws. A few years ago, I served a dinner for 8 people using my Queen Mary, the pink and crystal glass on a black table cloth. It was hard to believe that this was once cheap, everyday tableware. It was the most spectacular table I have ever set.

As I sipped my soup (ok, slurped it) I wondered where that bowl had been. Was it bought at Woolworth's or S.S. Kresge? Was it a prize at the bottom of a bag of flour? Was it a fixture at a Christmas dinner? Was it a present? Where did it come from? Why has it survived in pristine shape since at least 1937?

Whatever its story, it must feel good to be useful again; that is if one truly believes that a glass bowl can have feelings. A relic from a hardscrabble time that a couple of generations later is an elegant reminder of when even cheap things were made to last and made with pride.

Marvin Parker Memorial Garden X

The elemental cycle of seasonal growth, death and then spring regeneration is nowhere more apparent than in a vegetable garden. The once flourishing Marvin Parker Memorial Garden is now fading and dying. It has been cool and frosty, but no freeze yet, so the garden is still alive, but just barely. The tomatoes are forlorn and full of small, green fruits that will likely not ripen. My romas produce small fruits that quickly drop to the ground still green. There are buds on the plants and some small peppers, but they will not grow much. Same with the eggplants, there are a couple forming, but likely will not grow to maturity. I got a few beans, but they were down low and inside the little trellis, protected from the cold. The string beans and their poles are gone.

We'll have a fall clean up day, take the brush to the compost pile, rake and pull until the plot is cleared. Then the long winter wait do it all again.

American Heartland Theatre: "I'll be Back Before Midnight"

Yawn... "who done it" murder mysteries... one of my least favorite theatre or movie genres. I guess it is my impatience or maybe the knowledge that I am being manipulated that makes these shows a tedium for me.

But, the American Heartland Theatre's (why does Blogger spell check think "theatre" is wrong, I happen to like that way of spelling it) production of "I'll be Back Before Midnight" actually was humorous, fast paced and featured a fine cast and effective sets and lighting.

There was a bit of psychodrama and twisted, sick relationships to keep one involved, but not so much as to repulse and block the forward motion of the plot. The plot is pretty simple, as most of these things tend to be, Jan is a young woman who apparently has just been released from a long stay in a mental hospital. Her husband, Greg, who studies rocks and ancient stone tools at a college under the direction of Jan's father, has rented a farmhouse so that he and Jan can resume their lives. George, the landlord, introduces himself and despite being a simple looking bumpkin, begins to plant the seeds of murderous mayhem by telling tales of murders in the farmhouse, buried bodies and ghosts. Adding to Jan's growing dread, Greg announces his sister Laura will be coming to help out as she travels to a new life out west. Jan and Laura are not the best of friends, to put it mildly.

As the play progresses, the twisted relationships and menacing personalities emerge. George has a lot of secrets to keep, there is a hint that manipulative, cold Laura and very submissive Greg were more than just brother and sister. Jan sends cassettes to her therapist fearing she is about to lose it all again.

The two short acts come to a climax early as the secrets are revealed, motives become clear and the body count rises. The excellent cast (Vanessa Severo as Jan, Darren Kennedy as Greg, James Wright as George and Jan Chapman as Laura) are brilliant as their initial personas fade and their true selves emerge. At the end no one is as they initially seemed, making "I'll be Back Before Midnight" more of a "who are they" rather than a simple "who done it".

The show continues through October 25th.

Fall Colors

The Heating and AC people were at the Palace this AM doing their fall servicing. Since a couple of the units are on the roof, we had to venture up there for a while. Taking my trusty old Kodak EasyShare with me, I snapped a couple shots of the fall colors finally beginning to peak.

On the eastern horizon, you can see the colors dotting the canopy:



Looking south on Baltimore:



Just out front:



Amazingly green for mid October in KC. Been a cool, wet summer and fall is the same.

I dread winter's arrival.

Comedy at its Best

Last Saturday, the Kinsey Sicks, a self styled "Dragapella Beautyshop" quartet of drag performers, performed their show "Wake the Fuck up America" at my church, which is a story in and of itself.

Their performance did make me laugh and more often made me wince and shake my head. Let us just say the word "fuck" flowed freely and they had no shame.

Which contrasts to this gem



Now this is pure comedy. Sid Caesar and Nanette Fabray from the 1950's, probably from Caesar's own show. Pure improv, no teleprompters and 100% live. In this thankfully preserved clip, Caesar and Fabray mime a married couple arguing to the first movement of Beethoven's famous 5th symphony.

This sketch is absolutely a masterpiece of subtle humor and flawless acting; the timing and action are impeccable. I have watched this a hundred times and still find it fresh and hilarious.

Probably can't say the same about the Kinsey Sicks.

Kansas City Symphony: Dvorak, Kodaly and Rachmaninoff

The fare for this weekend's Kansas City Symphony concerts, Music Director Michael Stern conducting, has a decidedly Eastern European bent; 3 masterpieces from Hungary, the Czech Republic and Russia.

Kodaly's Dances of Galánta, inspired by his youthful exposure to and his life long study of Hungarian folk traditions, is a colorful, energetic yet sophisticated romp through some delicious folk melodies and rhythms. Well thought out, inventive and always energetic, Galánta makes a perfect curtain raiser.

The Symphony's ensemble, intonation and precision were spot on and a pleasure to hear. Entrances were tight, and the piece was propelled forward with graceful enthusiasm. The many solos (including Clarinet Raymond Santos' warm, soulful contribution and horn Alberto Suarez's impeccable performance) blended into the colorful fabric of this most enjoyable work. I am sure it is a challenge to play and bring off, but Stern and the Orchestra made easy work of it (or at least made it seem easy work) with this exciting, bouncy performance.

The Dvorak B minor Cello Concerto is the crown jewel of cello concerti and one of the jewels of the whole concerto repertoire. Soaring melodies, dramatic cadenzas, a Slavic tinged, soulful slow movement and a propulsive, thoroughly satisfying finale contribute to the sheer perfection of this magnum opus.

Sadly, Cellist Alban Gerhardt turned in a rather bland, thin toned and hardly soaring performance. Others I talked to disagreed and the audience seemed to enjoy it, but to me Gerhardt's performance just seemed to be a competent run through. High register passages were especially thin, somewhat strident and suspect in intonation. The passion ran cold in this performance; some wonderful contributions from the orchestra (Raymond Santos again in the lovely clarinet figures in the slow movement) and well paced, never rushed tempi could not prod Gerhardt to a more intense, maybe even nostalgic performance. Maybe this is how Dvorak is performed these days, but I will always turn to the warm, soulful and thrilling Piatigorsky/Munch BSO performance.

Rachmaninoff's valedictory orchestral work, the marvelous "Symphonic Dances", comprised the second half of the program. The new arrangement of the orchestra (Stern re-arranged the seating of the ensemble to help alleviate the rather flat sound of the hall) contributed to the clear, bright and detailed sound. The basses provided a more solid foundation and the inner strings were clear. The usual fine winds and strings were combined with solid and never overwhelming brass (not a major bobble was noted all evening, thank you folks) and precise and colorful percussion. Going on a different night than usual necessitated a change in seat, sadly placing me further right and thus obscuring the important contributions of the piano and harp in the Rachmaninoff. Stern pulled one of the more focused and energetic performances from the orchestra, relishing in the many tempo changes, snappy rhythms and colorfully scored passages.

I admit to being a Symphonic Dances snob, I adore the piece and find it the one Rachmaninoff piece I turn to most often. Thus I waited throughout the performance for the one moment that, for this warped mind, makes or breaks the performance. I insist that the conductor follow the directions in the score and the "LV" (let vibrate) notation for final stroke of the gong. It should reverberate for a few seconds after the orchestra stops and allowed to fade, not just be a loud cymbal crash. Oh please, do it right.... and it was, thank you maestro. I went home happy, the perfect moment satisfying me, the energetic Galánta still resonating and the bland Dvorak not an issue anymore.

Coupl'a Things XXIV

1) I have ESP, or if nothing else an uncanny knack of fantasizing the future. After reading an article yesterday about the impending Nobel Peace Prize announcement, I thought to myself "I bet they give it to Obama...nah... but wouldn't that set the Obama haters on fire." I imagined Rush, Faux News, and all the right wing loons just imploding. It was a momentary chuckle and fantasy as my mind went on to absorb other stimuli.

And I'll be damned it happened.

Now, tell me, why can't my fantasies of winning the mega lottery, finding a rich, handsome boyfriend that adores the ground I walk on or an end to silliness and hate come true?

Oh well, Congrats Mr. President

2) It does not take a Nobel Prize winning scientific mind to note that having a car makes you fat and lazy. The bike sits unused, the walking is less. Trips to Gayfresh are more frequent and those to the Poor People's Market have dwindled. I even took the car to Gomer's for a vodka run (well, it was raining...).

I must do better.

3) Looks like Facebook has had a meltdown this AM.

4) I am cleaning out again. Yesterday I went to my storage unit up the street. In order to have a bit of space to store junk, seasonal items and mementos, I rent a large closet at a storage facility for an increasingly large sum of money each month. Although it is close and convenient, I visit the place only a couple times a year.

Upon entering the facility, I wound my way to my assigned space only to find the lock changed. I went to the lady at the desk who appeared baffled by the whole thing too. She opened it for me and I proceeded to get what I needed. She said she would look into the thing. As I rummaged, a rustle and noise directed my attention to a suitcase, whereupon I discovered Mickey Mouse had set up housekeeping.

Arrrrrgh.

The lady at the office was now a bit more sullen when I arrived. She gleefully pointed out that in April I had paid my bill 7 days late and that necessitated them securing the unit. Questioning why they had to destroy my lock and just not put a second lock on the unit (there is a place to do so) led to the usual "it is policy" answer.

So, one customer lost. Outside of that one indiscretion, I had paid on time for 3 years.

Stuff is being tossed, given away on Freecycle and stuffed into corners. Even I, who prides himself on downsizing, still has more crap than one should have.

5) The pickled okra is looking good in its tight jar. I am resisting temptation.

Slimy, Spicy Stalks of Goodness

Sitting in the "cool, dry place" that is the corner of my little underground kitchen for the next two weeks are three freshly packed jars of spicy, garlicy, vinegary, crunchy-slimy spears of good eats called pickled okra.

No one is ambivalent about okra; you'd either murder nuns and orphans for the stuff or you place it in the same category as boils on your ass or maybe Hitler. As for me?... "take that, Sister Mary."

I never made the stuff before, but sure have eaten a ton. So with the garden still producing a bumper crop, I decided to try it. I scoured the net and found what looked like a recipe I would like, with lots of spice, vinegar and chile.

What I did not count on was that you had to have laboratory sterile conditions to make the stuff. I know grandma never used clean sterile towels, fresh laundered and not used for other purposes, hand sanitizer, sterilized tongs, rubber gloves and new, never used jars. She probably boiled the jars, but that was about it. I used most of the above, but the towels were not fresh from the drier and the rubber gloves were no where in sight, so I hope I am making a delicacy, not botulism.

It said if you follow the instructions to the T, you can safely can foods for long periods without fear of bacteria or contamination. I don't think I can wait that long. The minimum for sufficient pickling was two weeks and I am sure I will not resist temptation to try my creation.

But damn it, the three jars are already bothering me. I can hear the one lone bacterium spreading its doom, multiplying with no help from any of its friends..taking over..

Ah, fear not. There is enough garlic, vinegar, mustard seed and chile in the concoction to kill anything. At least I hope. If this is my last post, you will know the outcome.

Dunbar: Heading Home

Reluctantly, I took my leave of Howard and Louise around 4;30 or so; if I had more energy I would have kept it up all night. But I had been up since 4AM, still needed to drive the 2 hours to Decatur, and it had began to rain. I left with a couple of souvenirs; a picture of dad's family taken in 1942 and Howard's autobiography of his WWII adventures and career as a biology teacher. Along with my Grandfather's Illinois Central Railroad watch that I got many years ago, I have a few things to hold on to from a vanishing generation.

Getting behind the wheel of a car again felt strange a bit, yet at the same time comforting. Mobility and freedom were mine again. Although I know now I have to play the game and have Dunbar licensed in Missouri to please the authorities bent on wringing every penny out of us they can.

Dunbar took me south on the somewhat familiar roads, past Peoria, down to Lincoln and then on to Decatur on the more familiar Route 121. It had become even more chilly from the steady fall rain and I had not brought a jacket it still being hung in my storage unit. Thus I infiltrated the blinding bright world of the Lincoln Wal-Mart, bustling at the dinner hour, to buy a cheap "Made in Indonesia" jacket for all of $10. Sadly, I think it is the only place on can buy a jacket in Lincoln, IL at that time of day.

My sister did not have to work Friday night, so immediately upon my arrival, I ordained a trip to "Los Matadores" in the once state of the art Fairview Plaza Shopping Center. What is now "Los Matadores" used to be part of the big Goldblatt's Department Store, closed many ages ago. Always good food, lots of it, good margaritas and sort of a tradition for me.

I stayed little in Decatur, needing to get back to KC, so I left Saturday AM after doing a few errands with my sister. The trip here was totally uneventful and Dunbar proved reliable and comfortable. HM Puggles was thrilled to see me home and enjoyed her first ride in her new limo on Sunday. She thinks it is fabulous, actually. She was out with me when I unloaded a bag of Purina from the trunk, purchased in Decatur when I found it on sale. She is convinced that her limo comes with food as standard equipment.

As I type this, I really wonder why I have taken the time. If you are reading, admit it, you really do not find this totally mundane story fascinating at all. I could be describing a trip to the gas station for all that matters. But it serves a purpose for me. Maybe someday, if all this gets preserved, a member of a future generation of the Clark family will find it and as it was with my Uncle's stories and a gold pocket watch, a bond of understanding will be forged between estranged generations.

Thus I go on.

Fetching Dunbar

Amtrak's "Southwest Chief" train is a bit of a different animal than the local service train I usually take from KC to St Louis or Springfield. Two powerful diesel locomotives power the train, this time consisting of a baggage car, a dining car and 5-6 big, double deck passenger cars. A couple of the cars were the sleeper cars, in reality rolling mini hotels. Since I was a short hop (the Chief starts in LA and goes to Chicago) I got one of the recliner regular seats. Long and comfy, fully reclinable and on the upper deck. For $52 and a quick trip, it could not be beat.

The Chief is the successor to the fabled Santa Fe Super Chief which ruled the LA to Chicago route during the peak of passenger rail service. Leaving KC in the AM, the Chief rolls through north central MO, stops in the hamlet of La Plata, MO serving Kirksville to the north, the river town of Fort Madison, IA and then on to Galesburg and Chicago. As the last time, Amtrak got me there on time and in comfort.

I immediately recognized my Uncle Howard, despite not having seen him in a while. Without going into a long psychological discussion, my dad's family is pretty much a mystery to me. We didn't do much with them and with the exception of my late Aunt Pauline, they were scattered here and there. Howard is the intellectual among the siblings and the most traveled and worldly. At 90, he still golfs, bicycles and is active in church and volunteerism. Tall, lots of white hair (where did mine go??, but his sons look much like me in the hair department) and sure footed and quick witted, he certainly looked less than his 90 years. Along with him was his long time friend Louise, his constant friend and companion, filling the void after his beloved wife Helen died 4 years ago.

We walked to the parking lot, like all of Illinois in the summer, undergoing construction, and there was Dunbar. I had little info on the car so I did not know what to expect. But there was a dark gray Century, resplendent in the 2 year old paint job (a story for later) despite the chilly, threatening weather. Instantaneous relief was felt when I saw the "Century Limited" badge on the back quarter panel. This meant Dunbar was of the rarer upper class, not just a lowly and ubiquitous "Custom". True to form, Dunbar is graced with power everything, the V6 instead of the underpowered I4 and a more cushy interior. I mean really, if you are replacing a Lincoln with a Buick, it should at least have some comfort!

Howard offered me to drive so off we went the few miles to his home in Knoxville. Dunbar seemed to drive fair for a 19 year old piece of machinery, but the brakes and front alignment are a bit suspect.

Lunch was in order, so we stopped at the newest incarnation of the Family Restaurant in Downtown Knoxville.

Over a fine walleye fish sandwich and two orders of beef tips and noodles (no, I did not have the beef tips) three people of two generations were to connect and re-connect. Stories told, catching up, realizing we had lots in common and a shared outlook on life.

I know better where I came from.

Dunbar: The Advent

The experiment is about over, or so I hope. Tomorrow I am off again on the choo choo train, this time the Amtrak "Southwest Chief" from Kansas City to lovely Galesburg, Il. And unlike the last trip, I have only a one way ticket.

No I am not moving to the home of Carl Sandburg. You see, the experiment of living without an automobile is about to end. It lasted 4 days short of two months. Our society is so damn dependent on the auto, I guess we just need to accept that. I tried, and enjoyed it, but when mass transit, at least in KC, MO is so time consuming and we are so spread out, a set of wheels is almost a necessity.

Last night for example. Greg was going to go to choir practice and take me, but he called about 4PM and said he had a fever, sniffles and such and thought it best to stay in. No problem, Bruce was going too as he is playing on Sunday. At 7:10pm, just as I was expecting him to show up, he called to say he had a sudden nosebleed. Thankfully, I could steal a car from a neighbor for a few minutes and got there, albeit late. A few weeks ago, I had to arrange getting Puggles to the vet for her allergy shots around the availability of a car. It makes one weak.

So I am depriving a 90 year old man of his car.

Not exactly, but sort of. You see, my Uncle Howard took my Aunt Pauline's (his sister) car a few years ago when she gave up driving. He has another one, but this one was his country club car; he took it to the golf course and kept his clubs in it. When Pauline died, the car became my sister's and Howard told her she could have it. I glommed on it to it, PDQ.

It runs.

It is free.

It is free, did I mention it is costing me nothing?

A 1990 Buick Century. Not the most exciting thing on 4 wheels, but I care not. (Unless, of course it has the 4 cyl and has no power options, then it is going to be sold if I can get some $$ out of it). As it now resides in Galesburg, Il, I am heading there to pick it up tomorrow. By this time on Oct 2nd, I should be wheeled again.

But I have learned a valuable lesson. You can get around walking and biking. It is good for you too, I have lost weight, seen new things, learned to use the reusable grocery bags and come to appreciate the joy of the "poor people's market". Thus, while the weather holds, I will do some walking, biking and bussing locally. Quick trips to the market will be walking to the Thriftway. The bike knows the way to the garden and to GayFresh. My vodka is a short two blocks away at Gomer's. Hamburger night is doable on foot.

But the joy (and pain in the ass) of owning a set of wheels will be relief when the going gets tough.

Oh, yeah.. the deal behind "Dunbar"... well, every car needs a name, and sight unseen, this one is dubbed "Dunbar" in honor of David Dunbar Buick, who founded the eponymous auto manufacturer (and perfected the white porcelain bathtub common to this day) in 1903 and has so far survived the holocaust of the GM meltdown.

Watch this space to welcome Dunbar to KC!