life, the universe, and everything

Me, my brother, (and Dennis Wilson)

Yesterday the intro of this song came to mind and it took all night and this morning to remember which one it was.

I knew it was on my double album compilation by the Beach Boys, Spirit of America. I remember getting it in summer, 1975, from the Columbia Record House music club. That summer was very different for us; well, that season, my timing is fuzzy. It was the first time my dad moved out, and there were just three of us in the house, my mom, my second brother, and me. I was ten and he was sixteen. I don't remember much of him in that period of time beyond his surly attitude toward me. That summer, though, he was nicer to me than usual. The three of us spent a lot of extra time together. I have written down bits of it over the years, however, I was too disconnected from people early in life to have as many memories as I'd like. That's a tale for another time.

I bet he asked Mom to join the Columbia Record Club and she made him let me have some of the albums. But it's just possible we conjured the idea together, that year and no other. Only he thought I just wanted whatever he wanted, to annoy him or because I had no mind of my own, something like that, when in actuality, we just heard and recognized the same stuff. He got there first, and I took leftovers. And anything I listened to because he'd played it first, well, that was a compliment, even if he didn't know it then.

That subscription, however well or poorly it went, and I cannot speak at all to that, was my launch into record collecting. I had a fairly large collection by 1987, when most of it was stolen. But we won't discuss that. When we chose our eleven records for a penny, my brother got six and I got five. He got Wings: Venus and Mars Rock Show. I got Wings at the Speed of Sound. He got The Beach Boys: Endless Summer. I got The Beach Boys: Spirit of America. It's no wonder I seemed annoying to him. And I remember him telling me his Wings and Beach Boys albums were better than mine. They probably were, but I've always just adjusted to what I get to have, and so I liked mine best. I also chose two Captain and Tennille albums, and right now I don't remember the fifth one. I'm sure it was silly.

My brother introduced me to some great music over the years, as did my older brother and my parents. When I was a young teenager, he gave me Natalie Cole's Inseparable for one of my birthdays. Remarkably, it's one I still have, and I still enjoy it. When I was eighteen, he gave me five reggae albums, and I listened to them endlessly for the whole summer and beyond. But those were stolen later on.

Quite a lot of my record collection, in addition to albums and singles I chose myself in good taste and bad, were leftovers from the rest of my family. I still thank them in my heart pretty much continuously for the variety they taught me to enjoy, from my earliest memories. They didn't give me Frank Sinatra or opera, but I'm certain they led me to them both.

I wrote two more paragraphs here, only to realize they deserve a separate space.

My brother definitely gave me the Beach Boys, and I was just mad for them for many years. These days I hardly ever listen to them, except a few select songs, yet I'm always happy when I do.

I hadn't heard this song in many, many years, but it is the first track on the now-unofficial collection I had, Spirit of America. Carl plays so cool, but watch Dennis wail on the drums. Also, I guess they had to clock in under two minutes, because it's definitely played faster than the recording.

 

I had such a thing for Dennis. Oh, hush. You surely know something about me by now, even if you didn't then.

 

Jim Garner and Me

James Garner, 1928-2014

A few days ago I repainted my sitting room. As I was replacing the books on shelves, I noticed The Garner Files and had that melancholy thought we sometimes have when we follow along with someone, "guess he won't be around pretty soon." But I wanted a claim to stake, somehow. I always have, always have been possessive of him. It's why I rarely bring him up when waxing on about film stars. Too special, too much, too much not enough. Closer to my heart than any of the others could possibly be. And then some.

I don't have a possessive or competitive nature, yet I've felt this tiny sense of ownership ever since I can remember. Literally, far far back, when men were heading to the moon, and boys were heading to the jungle, and I rode around on my dog when no one was looking. The tall black-haired man on TV was mine. It was a deep, aching sort of desire and need and pleasure I could not have defined then, of course; I just remember it as an overwhelming sensation. All mine. And I never actually stopped believing that, to be perfectly honest, even though I'm older now than he was then. I grew up and he grew old, and that was all right by me, for as Madeleine L'Engle so perfectly stated, "I'm every age I've been." This is especially true for movie and TV stars, especially now. We see them at each stage of life, and in this era, we can see each stage in a matter of hours, minutes, even. Star stuff that's ever colliding and producing light.

People have often accused me of having far deeper thoughts than I am usually interested in having. Early on, they'd sort of tricked me into thinking I was only a brain, and therefore meant for all kinds of higher brainy ideas and functions. But I'm a fairly simple person, in reality. My ponderings don't run very far below the surface. My impulses are physical, and thinking about why for very long just gets in the way. I like knowing about tomatoes, but if I didn't, I'd still enjoy pulling one from the garden vine and biting into it, soft and warm and sweet, just as much as ever. I'd still stop what I'm doing in silent appreciation of a horn solo even if I knew nothing of music.

That's the only way I know to describe my lifelong love for Jim Garner. It's deeper than just about anything could be for me, but it isn't a words thing.

He was well-loved by his family and friends and that speaks better of a man than anything else could.

Rest in peace, first and best love, a cherished treasure for many, (just mostly all mine.)

Screenshots from earlier posts:

Thrift Shop World

This week marks the beginning of our fourth year in Cincinnati. New Jersey seems farther away now. I still miss what I had there that I can't have here, or anywhere else, in fact. The sea, the history, the city, my daughters. Pizza just as I've always liked it, and real delis. A world, too, wholly unlike what people who've never been there think of it.

There's good stuff here that sets this place apart. The symphony, Jungle Jim's, and amazing thrift shops, to name some. This room is finally "finished" after three years of collecting from thrift shops and also Target, and the finishing touch was covering the dark sage paint with a creamy light blue.


It's a room I've always wanted, except for horrible cat (I don't care if you think cats are Gods; you wouldn't think much of this one,) and no real company with which to enjoy it. My sons are pleased with the result, too, though. Last night we enjoyed lounging around until late into the night.

The back open area with the fireplace, TV, PS4, that's made up of a collection of  things from various homes, it all just drifted together into a fairly pleasant "Mission style" kind of space. This, however, was all chosen by me, every single thing in here, except the cocktail shakers and turntables, which were gifts.


The two couches were from thrift shops and in perfect condition, until cat. But they are okay for the space. The stereo receiver also from a thrift shop, and the coffee table, many of the books and records, most of the magazines. The one extravagant purchase, though you could hardly call it that, is the pair of Klipsch bookshelf speakers.

Inside the "liquor cabinet" are many fun little glasses from St. Vincent de Paul, and an old hand crank ice crusher. I painted the pictures.

I decide to watch some of the soccer.

I don't give a crap that you call it football. I think that's perfectly fine. Stop competing for specialer; you sound silly. Nothing is only. Anyway. Here is a conversation about that.

Okay, and it turns out I feel bad that Corea del Sur was robbed of a chance at a 3rd goal. But they needed to be more dignified about that, poor fellas.

Opera, relevance, art, censorship

I rarely cry "censorship." But I will in this case, because I believe the pressure that led to this decision is causing exactly that. Here are posts I made in other spots, with their links, collated in this spot.

Met Opera Cancels Simulcast of Klinghoffer. This is disappointing and alarming. I think the following comment excerpt says it best,

The suggestion that composer John Adams and librettist Alice Goodman have in essence written an anti-Semitic opera is profoundly libellous. Furthermore, their critics are trying to silence them without letting others judge. The excuses made by those involved in cancelling the simulcasts ("I don't believe this is anti-Semitic, but it could inflame anti-Semitism") are illogical, hypocritical and craven. Thanks, Metropolitan Opera, for making sure I can't see an opera because three people and some rich donors don't want me to.

I like what I've heard of John Adams' work so far (it is "different,") and was looking forward to seeing something contemporary and challenging this fall.

The Death of Klinghoffer: if John Adams's opera isn't antisemitic, how can it fan antisemitism?

Here on the east side of Cincinnati, me and the twenty old people who attend these things are being done a disservice, for an illogical purpose that sure sounds like it must have money talking behind it. Not our $22.50 apiece, though.

Here's a 2012 interview with the librettist.

And a review of the 2012 London production.

Dreaming of olives, and some stuff

I'm in a cooking mood. I am making the olives today, first off. It's called olives scaciati, but when my mom made it, we called it the olives. Note: there are no carrots or vinegar in it. That would be weird, and not the olives. Also, it has to sit for two weeks before eating. I didn't buy enough olives to sneak-taste, either.

Because I got the big fat Sicilian olives at Jungle Jim's Eastgate, naturally I bought the small dark Greek ones. That is what Mom did when we went to Scimeca's, and no matter how many delicious olives JJ's and Abigail Street offer that touch me in special places, those are the ones I always go back to.

I'm also going to try this Baked Spanish-Style Chicken and Vegetables recipe Jungle Jim's posted the other day. Will report back on that. No, seriously, I really will. It's summer, and I am on this thing.

What I want to share now, though, is my birthday present to me, which arrived a couple days ago. It was meant to be twelve of these 1965 cookbooks with the index, but the eBay seller told me he couldn't find the bread one, which is sad, because I would have probably actually used that one. He gave me free shipping as a trade-off. It turns out, anyway, that there were eighteen volumes produced, so now I will hunt down the other seven. And share bits on my cooking page.

Simultaneously running through my head: "The Clapping Song" by Shirley Ellis, and the Speed Racer theme.
 

 

The Heyer Blue List

A few things to know about Georgette Heyer books. She practically invented the "Regency Romance," and no one has done it so well since. However, she wrote pretty much only four heroines, and she wrote nearly every story twice.

It's just that they are so well researched and form their own internal logic so perfectly, fans of her books simply don't mind.

The first one I read was Cotillion. It still has my favorite young hero. Also, a Young Lady Dependent on Stingy Relatives. Cotillion.pdf

Early efforts include These Old Shades and Devil's Cub, which are best read in order. They both are the kind of story that seem to begin right in the middle of something, but before long, you're in the middle of it as well.
These Old Shades.pdf
Devil's Cub.pdf

Black Sheep and Lady of Quality are extremely similar. They are the "on the shelf but doesn't care" late 20s heroine meets gentleman others dislike or fear, who is actually awesome type. I favor Black Sheep slightly over the other.
Lady of Quality .pdf
Black Sheep.pdf

Arabella is just one of the best written. She's one of the Very Young But Practical girls who's always having escapades. Arabella.pdf

The Grand Sophy has an Unconventional Miss who delights clever people and worries dull ones. You will love her. The Grand Sophy.pdf

The Unknown Ajax is the Perfect Catch, Dark and Stormy variety. The other Perfect Catch variety is awesome but bored with being wanted so much... The Unknown Ajax.pdf

It's my birthday! Jump around!

It's good for you.

 

Birthday Countdown Blitz F: Facing facts

I had the man switch out my old Look pedals for "conventional" ones. I just haven't been comfortable with them for awhile. And I decided I wanted to ride a bike instead of cycle. But it was a very depressing thing to admit; took me awhile to work up to it.

I suppose that when I put it back on the trainer when it's cold again, I can use the clipless pedals then.

 

Birthday Countdown Blitz E: Ecco l'uomo

I don't have superiors. I have few peers and no superiors.