Can You Contain My Sexy Pulp?

Some things are always lost in translation.

Nobody Makes It Like Mama

From the awesome Fail Blog.

Wanna Take A Trip?

This is some Crazy, folks. The light's direction determines what You'll see.

Joss Is BAAAAACK....

For all you dear Blatherscopians who, like me, adore anything that comes out of the Jossverse, I am the herald of glad tidings! As we bemoan the passing of Buffy and Firefly, and eagerly await the new Dollhouse, Joss has given us a morsel of joy: Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog.

The Future Is...Past

Those Ancient Greeks are always blowin' my mind!

Ode To Joy

Meep.

Becoming A Seeing-Eye Person

This week, I learned that my beloved little dog, Tazar*, is blind. His vision had apparently been worsening, but so slowly that his knuckle-headed owners couldn't put two and two together until too late. In the past few months we noticed him moving slowly, playing less, snarling when our other dog surprise-pounced him, getting under foot more--but it wasn't until he started walking into walls that we thought there might be anything more than Old Age.

I feel horribly guilty. How could I have missed this?

*In full, he is Tazar The Beastmaster.

I'm Giving A Concert!

Come hear me sing some pretties Saturday, May 31 at 7pm at Oregon Culinary Institute (1701 SW Jefferson, Portland)! The event is a benefit for the American Cancer Society Relay For Life, so don't grimace at the $25 ticket price.

I'll be singing some of my favorite arias interspersed with some truly beautiful art song cycles, including the haunting "Bachianas Brasilieras No. 5." And, in case you haven't heard me in a while, I'm really frackin' good. [The sound of her own horn is heard blowing in the distance.]

Ticket sales have been sluggish (I can't believe my fame isn't enough to make people flock to me!), and there is the possibility of cancellation--10 more tickets need to be sold by end of day Monday, May 26. So call! The event organizers can be reached at 503-365-7390.

Tuesdays With Zerd...And "A.I."

Um, have I mentioned how into "American Idol" I've gotten this season? Yup. Totally, nerdily into AI. I like to analyze the singing, the performances, the value of the judges criticisms. But I have never voted. Until tonight.

So, tonight was the final--David Cook vs. David Archuleta. DA is a sweet boy with a sweet voice, but he is not an entertaining or versatile performer; he has a syrupy, old-fashioned taste in music with earnest (sometimes awkward) lyrics. DC, whose vocal timbre is not as immediately beautiful as DA's, has faaaaar more range. DC has some serious musical chops! The boy has a great ear for arrangements that pull You in, in spite of Yourself. DC has stretched himself vocally, musically, and stylistically in ways that DA has not.

But DA, a cutie, nice-boy, 17-year-old, has the teenie-bopper craze going on in a big way.

So I decided to stand up for musical integrity. I have spent the past 3 hours dialing and redialing, voting for DC. I have the phone on my shoulder as I type this. Most of the time I get a busy signal, but I have still managed to log over 60 votes. The AI phone lines close in an hour....

Why I Am So Lame--And Other Interesting Stories For Curious Boys And Girls

The blogging has been lax. I bet one or two of you has noticed this. I have stored up some blog-worthy thoughts, but have been a titch preoccupado. You see, this is now my universe.* I ascended the throne about a month ago, and that throne is sitting on a mountain of hard work that needs a-doin'. I am trying to establish a rhythm that takes less than 12 hours a day, but so far have failed. Wish me luck!

*Does it thrill You the same way it thrills me to see MY name in the "About Us" section? It kinda does, I know; it's OK to admit it.

This Is Some Inspiring Inspiration, Fellow Artists

Ach, I am a softy for stories like this. It helps make me feel like I'm not old as Methuselah, like I haven't already missed the boat to Shangri-La.

Et tu, Luciano?

As if Ashley Simpson hadn't betrayed us enough*, this has just come to light about Pavarotti.

I, for one, am disgusted. Live performance is about The Moment, not pre-recorded perfection! If he wasn't up to it, someone else would have been. The recording industry has done wonders for Historical Preservation--but it is hampering the natural evolution of Serious (aka "Classical") Music to a point of paralysis.

Fuck it.

*Just by attempting to "sing" in the first place.

A Way With Words

The Persian word "mahj" means that someone looks beautiful after a disease; when pregnant women faint, they get their own verb, "tafarrus." "Nakhur" means "a camel who won't give milk until her nostrils have been tickled."

The Japanese term for the phrase, "to break one's heart" (harawata o tatsu) literally translates as, "to sever one's intestines."

The people of Easter Island delineate the stages of babyhood with "kaukau" (a newborn discovering its hands and feet), "puepue" (when the child begins to recognize people and objects), "tahuri" (when it starts the side-to-side baby roll), "totoro" (crawling), and "mahaga" (standing by itself).

When a Chinese person is so happy with something that they can barely refrain from fondling it, they are experiencing "ai bu shi shou."

The Tok Pisin of Papau New Guinea call a beard "gras bilong fes"--"grass belonging to the face."

After the invention of the computer, the French assigned a translative ("ordinateur") because the English word sounded like "con" and "pute"--meaning "vagina" and "whore", respectively.

Albanains have 27 words for eyebrows and an additional 27 words for mustaches.

For other wonderful words from around the world, check out The Meaning of Tingo and Other Extraordinary Words from Around the World by Adam Jacot de Boinod.

Heartin' Hillary In Hillsboro

Last night I got the call: Hillary needed me. She was coming to town (my wee hamlet, actually; about 25 minutes west of Portland) to speak. Could I please be on hand at 6:30 the next morning?

I think Y'all know my answer.

I agonized over what to wear--I have red OR white OR blue articles of clothing, but not a lot that mixes the three; I wasn't sure if I should dress to impress or to slop down the hogs. After much mulling, I opted for a classic, no-fuss look: tailored black pants, royal blue empire-waisted blouse, simple silver jewelry, my hair wound into a perfect-for-any-occasion bun. I had fantasies of, after telling organizers what my day-job was, being asked to sing the National Anthem.

Instead, about 60 of us volunteers passed out information request sheets to the waiting crowd. I decided spirit-raising was also part of my duties, so I went around leading impromptu cheers. It was cold and rainy, but the folk kept on comin'; the line twisted around the entirety of Liberty High School and through the back parking lot. One enterprising man hawked silly Hillary buttons while another gal set up a T-shirt shop. The throngs may have grown even longer, but, at 8 a.m. on the nose, all the volunteers were herded through a side-door and given the Secret Security* screening of a lifetime.

I always like to travel lightly when I know I'm about to smooshed into a tightly confined space for several hours, so I had only a black leather wallet (with wrist strap--take THAT, potential cut-purses!), but You should have seen the way they examined each receipt, card, and zippered cranny! Thankfully, I left my Gin-zu knives at home, so no problems.

I got a grrrreat seat on the aisle, 4th row up on the bleachers facing the camera brigade. Then it was time to wait. I bonded with the three other women around me: two middle-aged professionals who were almost giddy with excitement ("I've waited my whole life for this!" exclaimed one. "What are the chances that another woman with Hillary's qualifications will run in my lifetime?"), and a young Latina girl who will be a month too young to vote in November ("But that's why I'm working so hard for her now; I don't want to be powerless under other voter's mistakes anymore."). We waited so long that the (presumably official) soundtrack started repeating. I was encouraged to see how many men were there, especially young men, but my favorites were the double-row of extremely elderly women wearing t-shirts with shakily hand-printed lettering that read, "Hillary is the change the world needs NOW!" A young mother taped a sign to her newborn's back that proclaimed, "Born a Democrat!" Buttons spouted "A woman's place is in the house, the senate, and the Oval Office!" There was the unmistakable frisson of conviviality.

Suddenly, she was there. Hillary. Rodham. Clinton. There was a rush of emotion in the gym that rivaled the noise; many women around me were wiping their eyes while they continued to wave signs and scream. Hillary was introduced by 6-time elected Oregon Congresswoman Darlene Hooley and 2nd-term Governor Ted Kulongoski, who are wonderful people in their own right, but wisely kept the remarks brief and left the floor to Clinton.

What immediately struck me about Hillary was that she genuinely seemed to be listening to every thing the other speakers said--no upstaging, no fake posing, but an avid respect for everyone around her. For someone with such a chilly reputation, she exuded warmth, compassion, and integrity. Her oration skills are impressive, but even more impressive was the depth, range, and specificity of her knowledge that emerged during the Q/A. She KNEW about Oregon--issues, values, and people--and was able to telescope questions about Health Care, No Child Left Behind, the Energy Crisis, the Economy, even the looming Water Crisis.

She is the Real Deal, folks.

P.S. If You look at the photo from the rally, in the left-hand there is a sign that read, "We need U Hillary"; my face is directly behind that sign. Yup. That lady kept holding that damn sign in front of my frackin' face.

*It was fascinating to watch the Agents work--they really do scan every face in the crowd, evaluate and memorize it, then move on. The one I was watching appeared to be about my age, early 30s. When did I get old enough to be eligible for such grown-up responsibilities!!!??

The First Flower Of Spring Is...

...A tulip! I am a black-thumb gardener, so whenever something purty pokes its adventurous head from the soil in my yard, I am ecstatic. Absolutely ecstatized!

My tulip is a blushing pink tinged with a milky-whiteness. It makes my heart grow.