The Stages Of Life

According to my 10-year-old son, the stages of life are:

Baby
Child
Teen
Adult
Grandma or Grandpa
Dead

'Nuff said.

What's on YOUR ipod?

I heard a story on the radio today about Tim Russert's memorial service. The audio clip from the service was Joe Cocker singing "With A Little Help From My Friends." I thought, "wow, cool service!" Then it was explained that the music at the service was taken from Tim's ipod. This struck me as a curiously intimate moment.

It used to be your mom would tell you to wear clean underwear "in case you were in an accident" and the doctors had to take off your clothes or something like that. Setting aside for a moment the complete bizarreness of this concept, these ideas are not too different. How do you want to be remembered? If you were to die this moment, what would people say at your service? Or even more thought-provoking, what would you be leaving behind, if you were not able to prepare?

Is there secret porn on your computer? Would your cell phone records show any surprises? If your mom, or spouse, or best friend, or even a complete stranger, were to go through all of your belongings, what would they find? Would it be consistent with the person they know? Would it be consistent with how you would LIKE to be remembered?

What's on YOUR ipod? It really does tell a lot about you. Broken into big categories, I have a bunch of jazz, a bunch of classical, and a bunch of musicals. Some rock and pop, a fairly big chunk of world music, and various oddities. I do have some music labeled "explicit:" Guns N' Roses, Avenue Q, Spring Awakening, that sort of thing.

Is the life you're currently living consistent with the life you want to have led?

The Talented

Went to an event last night called "Cabaret Party." The brainchild of two very talented and very funny friends, it's an opportunity for music theater types to get together, have a glass of wine, and sing some songs. It's an open mic, anybody can get up and sing, and performances range from polished opening-night-ready numbers to works in progress that sometimes require a lyric or two fed by the pianist.

I had a couple of thoughts. The first of which is, "Wow!," we have some incredibly gifted and talented performers right here in Orlando. I heard fantastic voices, saw some phenomenal comic acting (NOT an easy thing to do!), and discovered several new songs. This was not a case of, "gosh, I want to be a singer." These WERE singers, in the best sense of the word.

Which brings me to my second thought. The vast majority of these talented people are working in the entertainment industry in Orlando. That's code for Disney. A couple at Universal, but the vast majority at the Mouse. Heck, the vast majority work at the Finding Nemo show, but that's not the point. The point is, very few of these folks actually sing for a living. Many work behind the scenes. Several don't even work on the performance side - they are in offices or other administrative positions. There are always a couple who are about to leave for New York, or who have just come back from New York, or who split time between here and New York. But generally, these are extremely talented people who have to work 2, 3, or 4 jobs just to make a living. And that makes me a bit sad. I realize that's the business, and that's life - we've ALL been there! - but it just doesn't seem right. We would all make more money if we sold timeshares, or landscaped lawns, or worked as paralegals. But then again, life's not just about money. Right?

But then, there's the other side of that coin: Here are people, coming out on a cold Sunday night to sing and support others and be together, simply because it makes them happy. Maybe they're not in a show right now, and might not be able to for some time, but they still love the theater, and love to sing, and learn new songs, and sing with friends, and laugh and cry and get angry and offended and scandalized and tickled, because it makes them happy. And alive.

It's like the scene in "Field of Dreams," where Shoeless Joe Jackson (Ray Liotta) is talking about his expulsion from the game of baseball, and says, "we would have played for free." That's why these people came out on a cold Sunday night. For the love of the game.

A Great Cat

This afternoon, after a VERY quick and unexpected illness, we had our kitty Maya put down. She got sick last week, lost a bunch of weight, had a LOT of fluid in her chest, and was having big trouble breathing. We tried antibiotics, and had the fluid removed once, but it filled back up . . . basically just marking time. So, to avoid a painful death by starvation, dehydration, or lack of breathing (within a week), we chose to end it quickly and peacefully.

The hardest part, by FAR, was the fact that Maya was Christina's best buddy. She would sleep on her bed, let her carry her around, and do all those things 10-year-old girls expect from beloved cats.

I was at the vet with Maya, and Cindy and I made the decision by phone. She then brought Matthew and Christina to the vet to say goodbye. Many, many tears. By all. And some good talk about why this was actually better for Maya, and what would actually happen. We talked about death (no, she wasn't "put to sleep" - she's dead), and how they would give her medicine to make her sleep, then some more medicine to stop her body, so she wouldn't feel any pain at all. Then the doctor came in, and took Maya away.

The kids and the adults then discussed the options: Either the doctor's office could bury Maya (actually, she'd be cremated, but I didn't want to get into that with them!), or we could take her home and bury her in our back yard. (There was a third option - we could take the ashes after cremation, but only if you bought one of their fancy-schmancy urns to bring them home in, and we would have wanted to sprinkle them somewhere, not put them over our fireplace. If we had a fireplace.) Not surprisingly, the kids chose home burial. So Maya was returned to us in a nice white cardboard box (I don't know, maybe the size of a nice gift ham?).

After I dug the hole (in the sunny spot in the yard where Maya loved to roll), we had a brief service, everyone said something, we all threw a handful of dirt in, and then we covered her up. Actually, the kids liked pushing the dirt back in more than anything else. And Christina put one of her shoelaces in with Maya, the one Maya liked to play with.

We got Maya in 1995 in Tallahassee, to keep Maggie company. Unlike Maggie, whose family we knew, Maya came from the shelter. We picked her up, and she snuggled into your neck and purred, "Pick me! Pick me!" She was only a couple of months old, and had some respiratory problems. We named her Maya. We nicknamed her "Wheezer." So she came in a wheezer, and went out a wheezer. Seems appropriate.

She was a most unique cat. Other nicknames were "Roadkill," for the way she would sleep on the floor on her back (she had more width than height), "Flounder," for her unmistakeable profile, "Dogcat," because she often behaved more like a dog, and "Jambalaya," because, well, it kinda rhymed. As in, "Maya, Maya, Jambalaya, Wheezer-Geezer pants on fiyah." I guess you had to be there.

She loved the outdoors, and her black chair. She took crap from no one. And she'll always be remembered as the cat who actually LIKED other people, as opposed to Maggie the Scaredy Cat.

We'll miss her greeting us at the garage door, meowing throughout the house in the middle of the night, trying to dash through a briefly open door, or "bunny-feeting" a hand or piece of yarn. Bye Maya!

p.s. And about 10 minutes after burying her, I was off to a rehearsal. Story of my life! (It was good, though - it's always good to be with good people.)

JazzFest, Part 1: The Food

So, bit of background. My sister Lynn has been going to the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival (JazzFest) for several years now. It happens around her birthday. This year, I was finally able to join her, and experience my first jazz fest (and BOY was it needed)! This is the first of a series of blogs about the event. The upshot: It was GREAT!

Of course, if you're going to talk about New Orleans, you've got to start (and end!) with the food! I had 29 hours (12 p.m. Saturday until 5 p.m. Sunday) to enjoy as much as I could.

JazzFest is very cool, in that the whole event is at the fairgrounds, with stages, tents, food booths, craft booths, beer booths set up around the whole site. So no travelling around town, just walking from one great performance to the next. But don't think because it's at a fairgrounds, the food is elephant ears and cotton candy. This was real New Orleans food served by the finest (=best, not most expensive!) restaurants.

Saturday:

Muffeletta - if you don't know what it is, look it up! - nice, fresh way to start. Lynn had one of the hits of the festival - remember, she's been here before, so she knows - a cochon de lait po-boy. Essentially sliced pork, marinated in milk and served in a roll with a rich, creamy sauce. Unbelievable! And we got our first taste of crawfish for the fest - fried eggplant with crawfish sauce. All washed down with a Foster's.

I had seen some fried chicken go by, so I got 5 wings - just like they're supposed to be, no frills, and delicious! There's a place in Tallahassee called Shingle's Chicken House . . .

An hour or so later, after some walking, I had a crawfish etouffee'. Can't go to Louisiana without an etouffee'!

Near the end of the day (we left around 6), Lynn got us iced cafe' au lait, and crawfish bread. Think of it as a crawfish calzone. Mine was a bit overdone, and I had just had the etoufee', so it didn't really do anything for me.

Of course, that was just the end of our day at the fest - that evening I had red beans and rice at the Rock'n'Bowl. But more on that later!

Sunday:

After a typical breakfast at the hotel, we had beignets and (hot) cafe' au lait at the festival. Fantastic - Cafe du Monde quality - you get three LARGE beignets COVERED with powdered sugar. OK, my life's complete. But wait, there's more!

Shrimp po-boy - very good, but the guy in line before me got more shrimp. What's up with that? Oh well. Lynn got another cochon de lait, but, in addition, she brought over crawfish beignets. Oh . . . my . . . God . . . THOSE were good! Basically crawfish hush puppies - and tasty! The sauce tasted like the crawfish sauce from the eggplant - can't complain about that!

And I ended the day (again, around 4 or 4:30) with 3 more beignets, this time with an iced au lait. Debated having three more, but had to go!

Very happy - and not overstuffed! Came home and made red beans and rice tonight. Still in my system, I guess!

Next: The Music!

JazzFest, Part 2: The Music

OK, so we know that for the entire weekend we were happy from food, so all that was left was to enjoy the music.

I had just come off a hellish 6-9-12 months or so, and really needed a break. So I got myself into the jazz mood by catching Michelle Mailhot at the Mad Cow cabaret festival. As always, she was wonderful, and her pianist, Mark Shilansky, was very good. I really enjoyed the show, and learned a couple of new things. Actually, can you learn anything OTHER than things that are new to you? Actually, I suppose, but never mind! After the show we stopped by the Grand Bohemian, where another friend, Chris Davis, was playing with a jazz quartet. Very cool stuff! We only stayed a half hour or so, because I knew I had a long two days ahead of me!

Back to New Orleans!

Remember, first we got food (priorities!), then were drawn to a completely funky sound on the Congo Square stage. Turned out to be a group called "Groove Academy" - not a school for musical adolescents, but a very tight, very fun 70's funk-disco group. We set up our chairs and enjoyed our food (and beverage) - nothing much was required of us by the music.

After a half hour or so, we went to the Acura stage (one of the 2 big ones) and I had my first discovery of the festival. (You folks probably know more of these people than I do, so most of these were discoveries. But several were REALLY discoveries - they were awesome!) Anyway, Jon Cleary and the Absolute Monster Gentlemen. Wow! First of all, he's a Brit who has adopted New Orleans - weird. Always wears a hat, I believe to offset his impressive nose. Best of all, he's a keyboard player! Does sort of rock, blues, New Orleans-type music. Really, REALLY liked him - gonna get a CD! Kickin' band, too!

After him, we saw a bit of Rockin' Dopsie and the Zydeco Twisters on the same stage. Not quite as impressive. First of all, they were having some sound issues (hello, no bass?). Second, it wasn't until the third or fourth number that they actually did a Zydeco tune. They started with some straight rock and roll stuff, then a motown cover, then something else. The zydeco was fun, but I don't think they ever got past the sound issues. Plus, Jon Cleary was a tough act to follow!

The hardest part of the festival is deciding what to see. By watching these guys, I missed several other cool sounding groups - the most intriguing had to be the New Orleans Klezmer Allstars. Shame to miss that!

We went to the blues tent and listened to some of Tab Benoit. It was very . . . bluesy. Lynn is more of a fan than I, so that's when I went to get the crawfish etoufee. And I wasn't prepared for the most impressive, and sublime, performance I saw.

Terrance Blanchard, jazz trumpeter, in the jazz tent. Wow. He played with a group of young (early 20's) musicians, and he played music he composed for the Spike Lee documentary on Katrina. Simply unbelievably powerful. He has a rich sound, complete mastery of the instruments, incredible taste . . . I was in heaven!

We stuck around to listen to some of the Pharoah Sanders Quartet - straight-ahead jazz - but I was done after Terrance. Unfortunately, I couldn't get a CD of the performance. (Some performances were recorded, and you could get a CD at the festival. Many weren't recorded due to licensing issues.)

Sunday started perfectly - in addition to the beignets and coffee, that is. The Julliard Jazz Ensemble. I was completely blown away! A quintet, with the professor playing sax, and the other 4 musicians (trombone and rhythm section) students. What players! Mature beyond their years! And they performed all original pieces, written by the students, and the last one by the professor. Again, I wish I could've gotten a recording. If my high school kids could see what's possible in a couple of years . . .

We then did some walking around (and eating), and set up our chairs for the New Orleans Social Club. This was a fun, rocking, FUN group with Willie Tee, Leo Nocentelli, Dr. John (you knew he had to show up!), and my OTHER big revelation: Henry Butler. Henry Butler is a blind pianist from New Orleans, and he's GREAT! When he took the stage (we couldn't see the stage or any of the big screens), he played a great piece with the band where he just did a piano solo. Only afterwards did we find out he had actually been singing, but he mic was out! I don't know, I kinda liked it as an instrumental! Anyway, Henry Butler is another CD I'm going to get!

Lynn took in some of George Thorogood and the Destroyers in the blues tent. WAY too full! I could hear just fine by the beignet tent!

We ended the festival with Irvin Mayfield and the New Orleans Jazz Orchestra. They ended with a piece written by Mayfield after his dad died in Katrina. Incredibly touching piece, with Mayfield on trumpet. Very nice way to end.

Then off to the airport, sweaty, stinky, and happy! (Don't remember the other 4 dwarves!)

Next: Rock'n'Bowl and other cultural landmarks!

JazzFest, Part 3: Rock'n'Bowl

The official name is Mid-City Lanes. In Mid-City. Go figure.

Saturday night we ended up walking down Bourbon street, basically so I said I did. I don't much care for it, definitely NOT my scene, and that's not where the music was. But now I can say I did it. And I just did.

But BEFORE that, THAT was the fun! (Bon temps!) Mid-City Lanes used to have a downstairs as well as an upstairs. Katrina changed that, so you walk in, and there's the stairway up, and a $20.00 cover. Turned out to be the best twenty bucks of the trip.

We arrived absurdly early, especially for New Orleans. A bit before 9. The music was supposed to start at 8:30. This being New Orleans, nobody was too concerned about that! The band was soundchecking. While we waited we had an ample bowl of red beans and rice, and an Abita (which tastes MUCH better local!).

There were three bands on tap for the evening: Kermit Ruffins & the BBQ Swingers, Bonerama (a brass funk band from New Orleans made up of five trombones and a tuba!), and another local, Bo Dollis and the Wild Magnolias. In order of desire to see them, it was Bonerama (I mean, c'mon!), Kermit, and the Wild Magnolias. When we learned the first band was Bo Dollis, I've got to admit, I was a bit disappointed. Basically because I was already wiped out from the day of travel and sun, and I knew I wasn't going to last long.

I couldn't be more wrong.

Bo Dollis started, and the room just started jumping! He's a "Big Chief" Mardi Gras indian, with a big headdress and everything! They ended their set with TWO chiefs on stage, full feathers and all - what a sight! And the music was phenomenal! And the band was . . . interesting. The lead guitarist was older and looked a bit like the japanese cop on Barney Miller. The keyboard player, once we settled the argument over whether it was a he or she, looked a bit like Chick Corea in the 70's. (It was a he.) And they had bass, drums, and a guy playing the bass drum. Just the bass drum. Like they do in Brazillian samba schools, actually. (Did I mention I played for a year in a Brazillian percussion group? But I digress . . .)

But this is the Rock'n'BOWL - so we bowled a couple of games! They had a couple of big screens over the alleys so you could see the band. And what a crummy bowling alley it was! Every ball had chips and divots in it. The ball return had no lid. The lanes were so greasy (how greasy were they?), they were so greasy your fingers were black after the first frame. And, honestly, our lane was slanted to the right. That's the only thing that can explain where my ball kept going. Really! (But I won.)

After the games, back up to the floor. Not really a dance floor. Really, it was a very small bowling alley, with a little stage at one end. There ended up being a couple of hundred people there, very close together. Which made Fred Astaire that much more annoying.

There's an etiquitte about these kinds of places, I think: When there's that many people, you can dance if you want to (you HAD to move, the music was so good!), but you only get so much real estate to move in. Not so with Gene Kelly.

Here's this geeky white guy (sorry, but it's relevant!) and his wife SWING dancing around the "dance" floor! He looked like he worked for Cisco Systems, or maybe HP or something. No pocket protector, but, hey, he WAS out on the town, after all! Swing dancing is great IF (1) you have some control over your body, and (2) it's SWING MUSIC! So Michael Jackson kept running into me, and everybody around him. So did Ginger Rogers, but nobody seemed to mind THAT. There was another couple swing dancing in the back of the house, but they actually KNEW what they were doing! Eventually, I just moved to the other side of the room.

So Bo Dollis finishes, and now Kermit comes up. He had been hanging out at the bar knocking a few back. Well, that meant that I wouldn't see Bonerama, 'cause I was already yawning (I'm such a lightweight!). Kermit is a New Orleans institution, sort of the cultural heir of Louis Armstrong (especially once he started singing). And I'm sure he's normally really good. But his sound SUCKED! Keyboard was WAY too hot, bass was o.k., and little or no guitar. And trumpet whenever Kermit remembered to play into the mic. (That wasn't such a big deal, the room was so small you could hear the trumpet - the vocals were lost a lot, though.) I could tell I was only going to be able to take it for a while.

And then Nureyev pulled his bride over to MY side of the room and started up again! Swing your partner BAM!! Sorry! Little spin SMACK!! Oops giggle giggle . . . I was out of there!

And I walk out the door and there's an ambulance there. Hmm. Seems a Dutch fellow was dancing when his blood pressure dropped. Off he goes. The police officer commented, "They're supposed to be big partiers, I thought!"

Ah, the Rock'n'Bowl! A cultural institution! Seriously, if you get to NOLA, go there! You'll have a great time!

Adieu!

JazzFest, Part 4: Random Thoughts

The crowd at JazzFest was one of the more civil crowds you'll see at a festival. Even with the drinking, nobody got belligerent or nasty - everyone was just there for good times and good music.

On the flight back, the flight safety video said "A liferaft may be stored in the middle of the plane." MAY be? You're not sure? What, we're going to have to look, then, "Oh, that's right, it's not ACTUALLY there!"

New Orleans is recovering - but incredibly slowly! Major parts of the city (not even counting the lower 9th) are still as they were after the flood. Insurance companies don't want to pay. Money has disappeared ("where'd the money go?"), there's corruption at every level, etc.

I love the above-ground cemeteries - the history is that much more visible.

DON'T use the porta-potties!!! Use the bathrooms in the clubhouse building!

Music has powers.

Peace,

Under The Sea

I really enjoy submarine movies.

The Hunt for Red October, Das Boot (pronounced "Boat," as any good Germanophile knows), The Enemy Below, Crimson Tide, Run Silent, Run Deep. Heck, I even enjoyed "Down Periscope" with Kelsey Grammar and Rob Schneider!

And, just to get it out of the way, it has nothing to do with 200 men crammed into a giant phallus. Save your psychologies.

But I've been wondering why I enjoy them. Perhaps it's a guy thing; most of us like action or adventure movies, war movies, that kind of thing. I think one reason is the importance of strategy. You effectively have no eyes, you rely on sound (another relevant point for a musician), and there's always some sort of cat-and-mouse game afoot. But there's a special place for submariners in the order of things. They may go months at a time without seeing sunlight, more than a year before seeing land again, and there's that nagging feeling that, one little hole, and the whole thing will crumple up like a beer can on John Belushi's head. So there's a greater sense of discipline, of dedication, and duty. (Like that? 3 D's!)

Which seems like an appropriate place to wrap this up, on this 4th of July. No matter your feelings about any particular mission or war, let's appreciate those who have dedicated their lives to something greater than themselves, and put themselves in harm's way, in an effort to protect others from that harm.

Happy July 4th!