The tree, she is up. I love tree-trimming parties. I open the door, people come in bearing wine and various other tasy beverages (in Scott’s case, the always-interesting Blue Champagne, which looks not unlike carbonated Ti-D-Bowl). I take the booze, hand them some ornaments and hors d’oeuvres, and presto chango! Tree’s all decorated. Many thanks to my Mom as well, who directed the decorating so as to ensure even distribution. Very German, yes she is.

And then on Sunday there was bowling. I am a terrible bowler – no really, an awful, *awful* bowler (totally unlike Phineas (thanks, Jima!). For more details on weekend fun, see Phin’s coverage.

And another thing – last week there appeared in my mailbox an extra-tasty treat… a CD from Andreas, who’d noticed I seemed to be having a bit of a rough go of it. I urge you to check it out. And, just because you’ve been so nice, here’s a song for you [serenade, 4.5 Mb].

Any CD that starts with these lyrics has got to be OK with me:

My my my don’t you look cute

and you’re just as crazy as me

Thanks, babe.

And now, back to work!

I hereby issue a public apology for the utter craptasticness of the recent writing on this site.

This does not, however, mean it’s going to get a whole lot better, at least not until I get more than 5 consecutive minutes to collect my thoughts. Don’t worry, when it happens you’ll know.

And in other news, I got my Christmas tree last night. It’s huge. It’s beautiful. It smells really really good. Did I mention I’m having a party? Apparently when Phineas invited Amy and Jima, Amy said she’d only come if she could have a funeral service for the tree. For all of you out there who feel similarly, I must politely request that you not attend. Because funerals just wind up leading to cremations and I can’t imagine any good coming of that. Besides, my tree’s got her own poem, which I read to her at night, so how unhappy can she be?

Happy Birthday, Phineas!

And also this: I have in the last week witnessed two of the most amazing performances of my adult life. The fact that I have not yet written about the first is criminal. The second was just last night, so we’ll get to that in a minute.

Sunday: Itzhak Perlman and Daniel Barenboim. Mom and me. Mozart, Brahms and Beethoven (mom’s favorite sonata!). Bliss. Amazing thing: like watching them play in their living room. Comfortable, at ease, complete trust in each other. Seats: fabulous. Perfect day.

Yesterday: Topolos and Chiles Rellenos* at Frontera. Simon Callow in a one-man show. Magnificent. Beware – it’ll make you want to bury yourself in books for the next 6 months. Virtuouso performance, 50 or so characters, hilarity and mystery and melodrama. In short, all that’s fabulous about Dickens. Champagne and jazz at Pops after. It was a good night.

Now all I have to do is buy a damned tree for Saturday.

…to be jolly*. Phineas’ birthday is tomorrow, and I’m throwing a tree-trimming/birthday party on Saturday. You can see the (intentionally) ugly invitation here. Want to come? Drop me a line!

hee

It has been brought to my attention that it’s been some time since I’ve posted. So I’m posting.

Unfortunately, aside from another excellent film recommendation (thanks, Scott!), I’ve been too embroiled in work* to really have time to think of much that’s worthwhile for you, gentle readers.

Although Stephen insists, upon sniffing up and down my arm, that parts of it smell more like me than others. Which may or may not be way too much information.

Finally saw Le fabuleux Destin d’Amélie Poulain tonight. More than a half hour later, I still haven’t spoken a word. I don’t want to break the spell. So what can I say about it? Nothing, really, that will do it justice. It made me laugh out loud. I was smiling through tears* for a good fifteen minutes after the screen went black. In my dreams tonight, I will fly.

It’s marvellous. Go see it. Call me and I’ll go with you.

I have decided to reintroduce capital letters into my nonprofessional writing world. We’ll see how it goes. And now on to my belated concert review…

Saw Echo and the Bunnymen and the Psychedelic Furs at the Riviera on Monday night. Liquid nostalgia – just like being in 1986 again, only without the miserable puberty, and with a legal ID.

Echo played an inordinately long set – three songs before the end, the bass player actually put down his instrument and walked offstage. Said Ian: “Hey! where are you going? Come back! We’re not done!” or whatever it is he really said – he’s unintelligible as ever. Marcy says one time she saw an interview with him where they actually put subtitles at the bottom of the TV screen. Hilarious. They did a really horrible cover of Roadhouse Blues. Really. Horrible. Then again, they also did lovely versions of Lips Like Sugar, Killing Time, Bring on the Dancing Horses, etc., etc., so I suppose it all comes out in the wash.

Anyway. We all know I was really there to see Richard Butler et al, so while Ian and the Bunnyboys were fun, the real treat was seeing Richard being so unabashedly, unapologetically, flamboyantly, ridiculously 80s. The man’s more 80s than Loverboy. He is cooler than cool. Comment of the night (courtesy of Coz, damn him for stealing my thunder again), and one of the best ever on the topic:

Coz: It’s beginning to dawn on me that Richard Butler is just a perfect cross between Iggy Pop and Bryan Ferry.

Which, of course, is why I love him so.

On the way over, in the car, listening to All of This and Nothing on the stereo, I said that if they played Heaven I would probably just burst into tears. When I was in my teens, whenever I got on an airplane I would cue it up on my walkman so that the guitar and the plane took flight at the same time. Made me feel like I could fly too. And they closed with it, bless their hearts. I was right.

one of my favorite things about greymatter is that in the administrative interface, there’s a seemingly vast collection of randomized quotes that appear at the bottom of each page. i find it very fitting that this one just came up for me for the first time:

“When stepping into the stream of consciousness, don’t slip on the rocks.”

—Siddharta Gautama (the Buddha)

so i saw this utterly jaw-dropping, amazing show last night and what with one thing and another, i haven’t quite had the heart to write about it. but it absolutely bears more than a mere mention, so here we go.

king crimson (and john paul jones, for that matter) were outstanding. my fingers resent typing the cliché, but it’s true – they continue to surf the very outside edge of musical possibility. fripp’s soundscapes paired with trey’s sinuous and intricate bass lines, supported by pat mastellato’s thundering percussion and overlaid with the not-so-sugary frenzy of adrian belew in full mad professor mode… fantastic. coz commented that their latest pieces seem to be not so much compositions as constructions, and i must agree – to a point. the fact still remains that between them, crimson are able to extract more nuance of sound from their instruments, more emotion from their combined effort, than i’ve seen anyone manage in quite a while. and no, they didn’t play cat food.

it was a cerebral show on many levels – possibly the first rock concert i’ve ever attended where the entire audience remained seated for the duration (except for that one crazy hat-waving guy, bless him). i remember thinking at one point that it was actually not so unlike going to the symphony – there, the conductor is the performer and the orchestra a single animal, indistinguishable from the music they create. watching king crimson live last night was not unlike seeing four highly energetic conductors, directing the music itself, which was a living thing all its own, bulging, writhing, rising and falling. which might be why the idea of construction seems to make sense – each player channeling a part of the whole, the ensemble weaving it all together. the lighting provided a fine accompaniment – all colorscapes and simple patterns, structured movement focusing energy and directing attention. evocative and moody and all very fitting, very much a player in the ongoing creation.

so let’s hear it for the power trio of abstraction, chaos and order. and let’s hear it for robert fripp, trey gunn, pat mastellato and adrian belew.

and finally, many many thanks to coz. if he hadn’t pressed me, i wouldn’t have gone. and then how dumb would i feel?