Summer Song 2008 Edition

I realized this week I have been remiss in not yet naming my summer song (the third annual)
but since I didn't actually discover said song until last week I'm not really so far behind if you look at it that way.



drumroll please...



It's "Tight Tee Shirt" by Benji Hughes. This song has a hook that goes way past ingratiating right on into insidious. Just one listen to the chorus,"tight tee shirt/tight tee shirt/tight tee shirt/ on a real sweet girl" and it's in your head and on your lips. It's ideal for cruising with the windows down in fact I have two dances for this one-one for at home and one for on the road. I also like that it's thumping backbeat totally makes me and WeeBug fit in in the hood (or is it da hood?)and as much as I love The Hackberry Ramblers, and I adore them, they're never gonna get me called anything but country around here.

The Turnaround

Lance Corporal Philip Johnson (3rd Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment, 2nd Marine Division, 2nd Marine Expeditionary Force) was killed outside Bagdad on Labor Day weekend 2006. The memory of his life and service is honored with the dedication in this week's release of the new George Pelecanos novel, The Turnaround. As a bookseller I'm thrilled the book is finally out-I read the ARC (that's Advance Reader's Copy to you non bookstore types) months ago and as always happens had several encounters where this novel would have been perfect recommendation. As a fan I am also thrilled to have a new one from my author crush to recommend unreservedly, as regular bleaders may remember I was seemingly the one fan who wasn't completely in love with the last book. (I gotta call them the way I see them.)

Not so with The Turnaround, a compelling exploration of the fallout, over years and generations, of one explosive incident in the lives of the participants. It's a story of consequences, of fathers and sons and what it means to be a man. It's a nice combo of old and new, the classic Pelecanos notes are sounded-you never have to wonder what the car looked like or what song was on the radio-but the book is also suffused with new warmth. Warmth in a crime novel might seem an odd juxtiposition but it actually makes a lot of sense. If a novel only dwells with the baddies you might like it but chances are you won't see yourself in it but one that reminds us crime can reach out and touch us at any time? That actions have consequences for ourselves and the ones we love? Yeah, that warmth holds a mirror up to us and in doing so adds to the novel's power considerably.

The Turnaround's structure also adds power-after the original stone is cast the ripples still for a long time which builds tension and gets the readers invested in the people. Then the second stone comes. Because of that tension, its themes and the inevitability of showdown this reads as Pelecanos most "Western" book to date. (I say saddle up and bring on the real horses-a Pelecanos Western would totally kick ass!) It also makes me think of the oft misquoted Hemingway line, "The world breaks us all. Afterward, some are stronger in the broken places." The broken places are Pelecanos' beat and with this new book he nails them. Corporal Johnson could not have asked for a better tribute.

A Day at the Races

Today I visited Michigan's new racetrack, the optimistically named Pinnacle Race Course, and really enjoyed it. Yes, it's just starting out-it's a beach head for what will come really-with a temporary grandstand and just a fraction of the barn space they will have, but I liked their friendly staff and scrappy startup attitude. To open anything involving gambling takes balls and patience, witness downtown Detroit's casinos which have been fighting with the city for the entire 10 years I've lived in Michigan, so my hat's off to course founder Jerry Campbell who took the mandate given less than a year ago and ran with it. The plant is tiny, the turf course is forthcoming too, and very plain so far (on the up side nothing blocks your view of the races) and it is in the flightpath (Northwest Airlines gets loads of free advertising from all the planes flying overhead) but there's not a bad seat in the place and the clerks at the windows did not need to be told about a triple wheel. Was it a winning day? No, I did not cash (my first pick pitched over backward in the paddock and the rest of the day was much the same) but I was glad to offer my money for the cause, the cause of helping ensure the health of the sport I love and bringing real horsepower back to the Motor City.

Sitting on My Hands, Friendwise

As a friend, I can do many things. I can go either way (and I'm not talking bisexual here). I can be all guylike-"let me roll up my sleeves, wade in and solve this problem" or I can go girl-"and how did that make you feel?" Once I figure out which is called for, which can be a challenge sometimes, I can hit from either side of the plate.

As a friend I can also lighthouse, care package, shoulder, chauffeur, amateur therapist, cheerlead, cowbell ring, sidetake and, on occasion, ugly stepsister into the wrong friend shoes entirely. What I cannot do, what I totally suck at, is idly standing by. It's just not in my nature. I feel a debt to those who are tied to me and who I have chosen to tie myself to and I can't not seek to repay it. I repeat, I can't NOT seek to repay it.

This comes to mind now because there are friends out there hurting. Right now, as I type this. And there's not a damn thing I can do to help them. Yeah, I've offered, offered so much I might get a handslap next. It's almost rude how much I've offered. Yeah, I've sent good thoughts their way and am with this blog sending those thoughts still. But sometimes, as much as it kills me to say it, there just isn't any help that can be given.

We friends wait, with bated breath and hands clutched, as the building implodes, waiting to see what of our friend will emerge when the dust settles.

Getting Dirty in Ohio

Hoyden on the Road

As I have mentioned before the drive from Michigan to Kentucky along I-75 is a religious one-from the 10 Commandments in field in Henry County, KY to the landfill Jesus outside Florence, to "The Four Minutes to Midnight-Are You Ready?" by the fishing pond (Jesus was a fisher of men dontcha know) to everyone's fave-Swamp Jesus rising from the waters by the Solid Rock Church (see above) -yeah, it's pretty holy. But I saw Ohio's other side, the wild side, on the way back north last night. I had swung over two lanes of traffic for $3.75 gas (sad when $3.75 seems cheap) at a combo Pilot Truck Stop/Subway. I was at the far pump, which afforded a lovely view of the back of the Subway where I saw, as I was waiting for my tank to fill, a certain unmistakable motion out of the corner of my eye. When I looked more closely it was indeed what I thought-some X-rated RedTube action behind the Subway. And as I averted my eyes (though I wanted to keep watching, of course I wanted to keep watching) I amused myself by thinking of titles for said RedTube video-I think my fave was "So not the footlong I ordered".

To The Lady at the Crestwood Rest Stop

Hoyden on the Road

Thanks. I was the girl in the rest stop bathroom today changing and putting my makeup on cause, well, a phone booth just wasn't big enough and you can't drive 6 hours in your best dress and still look fresh at the end especially when you're as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. And when the dress in question (a black Lucky sheer number with beautiful tan embroidery and sassy neck tassles) does not breathe at all but you're bound and determined to wear it anyway even though it's 90+ degrees out there's also the "I'm long past simply glowing" point.

Hence the Superwoman-like changing in the bathroom.

And, as I was nervously putting my makeup on, in real danger of putting my eye out with the mascara wand, you emerged to wash your hands and said, in your friendly smoked drawl, "Honey, whatever it is that is a great dress."

And suddenly, whammo, I felt better.

So thanks. I needed that.

re: Happiness

"So early it's still almost dark out.

I'm near the window with coffee,

and the usual early morning stuff

that passes for thought.

When I see the boy and his friend

walking up the road

to deliver the newspaper.

They wear caps and sweaters,

and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.

They are so happy

they aren't saying anything these boys.

I think if they could, they would take

each other's arm...

such beauty that for a minute

death and ambition, even love,

doesn't enter into this.

Happiness. It comes on

unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,

any early morning talk about it."

-Raymond Carver

Retribution

I finally finished Retribution, Robert B. Parker's sequel to his fine, fine Western, Appaloosa. Like last time I didn't actually read it I listened to it on audio, warmly performed by Titus Welliver, of "Deadwood" and "Gone Baby Gone" fame. It was terrific, an audio that makes you take the long way home and linger in the driveway (or parking lot-whatever). In it, Everett Hitch has new work as a bouncer in a lawless town. His partner and best friend, Virgil Cole, shows up just in time to go up againest the wealthy town leader who is trying to squeeze every dollar from the poor homesteaders. It's a gripping struggle well told, it is Parker after all, but lacks the gravitas of Appaloosa. (Think another adventure vs. the ultimate struggle.) Also, Cole's lady love, Allie, looms large even though she's not actually in this book but as I was listening I kept wondering when Cole is going to wake up and realize his true soul mate is not some chippie who can't be true but rather the man riding beside him (and not in a "Brokeback Mountain" way either).

And, though I am looking forward to "Appaloosa" the movie and generally approve of the casting (Ed Harris and Viggio Mortenson) I do feel a twinge for Titus. Hollywood doesn't care two bits about who reads the audiobook but he'll always be the voice of Hitch to me.

As Good Advice as I've Ever Heard

From photographer James M. Graham's blog:

"My advice always:surround yourself with loved ones and good friends and listen to good music that speaks to you and/or makes you feel happy/sad-but most importantly-alive.

Frank Zappa nailed it, 'music is the best.' "

James has some of the most passionate online music writing I've yet found. Plus there's pretty pictures of naked ladies-bonus!

See http://jamesmgraham.blogspot.com

Go Curlin Go

Today Curlin aims for the turf in the Man O'War Stakes at Belmont with an eye towards prepping for France's greatest race, the Arc de Triomphe, in the fall. Making the switch from dirt to turf is one thing, not all horses can pull it off though more are certainly trying with the advent of artificial surfaces, but for an American horse to aim for the Arc after going to Dubai and winning the Dubai World Cup (the world's richest race) well, that's nothing short of extraordinary. It's never been done and would place him among the greats in the sport. I look forward to today's race immensely because of the historical factor, yes, but also because, unlike other recent stars, even when he doesn't win Curlin never disappoints.

Leaving Them Laughing on the Line? Priceless.

While I was just out running a quick errand I was stopped at the light at Carpenter and Packard. I was in the turn lane blasting a mix my friend Randy made me (the redoubtable "Sam's Town Too"). It was track 1, a cover of "La Vie en Rose". Two guys pull up beside me and in the pause in their thump thump thump they catch what I am grooving on and do a classic (squared) double take. I smile, wave gaily and give them my peppiest "Bonjour!"

Classic!

So Much Water Under the Bridge

So, as part of my 'out with old' iniative, I sold some gold the other day (as in WE BUY GOLD) and I have to say it was an experience, if not the one I thought it would be. I thought, when one of the objects in question is your wedding ring, there might be some feelings, like country music song feelings. You know those "by itself it's just a thing/only love can make a golden wedding ring" feelings.

But not so much.

In reality it was a business transaction and I was more curious about the stories that the jeweler wasn't telling (you just know he has some good ones) than with any reminiscing. He did ask if I wanted to try it on one more time and though you won't ever hear me say anything bad about the wasband (when you are the cause of the heartbreak that's just not cool) I wouldn't have put that ring on again for anything. It has been 15 years since I was divorced and the fact that those wounds are so firmly healed gave me hope that newer, fresher ones will heal up good too. Plus I have a check earmarked for ?? -something new.

Travel and the Human Heart

You know that dizzying feeling you sometimes get when you're traveling? That "this morning I was in New York, tonight I am in Moscow" feeling? The one that makes you feel like if you shook your head quickly it would make that great cartoon noise? Yeah, that one.

Well, I was thinking yesterday that it's that way with new people too. Like last month I never knew this person existed and now..cartoon noise again.

And I was also thinking that no matter how sweet, no matter how fleeting, as Northline shows us (egad, another Vlautin namecheck!) every human encounter, no matter how brief, has an impact. And that, I think, is very cool.

Flowers

Flowers

Someone I know is getting married,

and I am composing poems about flowers, hyacinths and lilacs as if there were something intrinsically bridal about these outgrowths of the plant flaunting itself, attracting insects and birds to the exact and fragrant place of pollen.

And someone I love is dying. Flowers will be wanted for her too, lilies perhaps, though all that is required is a handful of good dirt on a plain pine box, and all the funeral bouquets will be sent to a hospital somewhere, where the sick will wake

one morning to a confusion of scents, I wonder, partly in innocence, why everything has to mean something else, and I marvel at how we comfort ourselves and each other with the fragile symptoms of beauty, with petals

of roses for love, with snowdrops for hope, whether we are setting out on a journey or simply waving goodbye from the dock as the ship pulls out and the wake of tossed flowers floats for a little while, delicate as foam on the water, before it disappears.

Linda Pastan

What She Did For Love

(this post contains info about the cited film that might be best read after seeing it)

So I watched "4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days" last night cause, well, nothing caps off a bitch of a day, one of those that just gets worse when you get home, like a Romanian movie about late term abortion. Quips aside, it was actually just the right thing-one of those yeah, I thought I had troubles till I watched this. And despite it's absolutely brutal subject matter (movies set in Communist days do tend to the brutal) I actually found its portrayal of friendship uplifting. Anybody who thinks that "Sex and the City" is about women's friendship really needs to see "4 Months". It's not about shoes or guys, no, it's about helping your friend get an illegal abortion when that involves bribery, alienating your boyfriend, doing the abortionist cause you're short of cash and disposing of the fetus once it's all over. Yeah, that's a friend.

One particular scene keeps replaying in my mind. The girls are negotiating with the abortionist in their hotel room and they have lost any high ground or creditability by completely mucking up all the arrangements. Because they are short of the necessary cash it's agreed that Otilia (the friend) will have sex with the guy to make up the difference. As Gabita (the pregnant one) scurries to the bathroom we see Otilia grimly, matter of factly taking off her shoes and pants. Then we cut to Gabita sitting in the bright blue hotel bathroom nervously smoking with the tap turned on to muffle the noise from the other room. Then Otilia bursts in and makes a beeline for the tub. Her top still on (it wasn't about love or even lust after all, just a business transaction) she climbs in as Gabita exits. We the viewer see only her from the back and as she is furiously cleaning herself we see her bloody right hand appear above the rim of the tub. The red is very bright in the bright blue bathroom light and with that shot everything we need to know about Otilia-her strength and what she is prepared to do for her friend (i.e. everything)-is shown to us. All screenwriters and directors should be made to watch that scene, especially those that tend to overwriting. As Hemingway said about writing, "all you need is one true sentence" in film, all you need is one true scene.

Whitman, Hoyden Style

"a child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
how could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of the hopeful green stuff woven...

and now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves...

they are alive and well somewhere,

the smallest sprout shows there really is no death,

and if ever there it was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,

and ceas'd the moment life appear'd.

All goes onward and ourward, nothing collapses,

and to die is different than any one supposed, and luckier."

~walt whitman Leaves of Grass~

Top Two Reasons Why I Would Make a Crap Buddhist

Reason One: My attitude of graditude is for shit. I say "I wish I had ____" or "If only ____ would happen" and then I get my wish or those things happen and then I'm still not happy. The enjoyment of the moment is 'poof!' gone. Then, I want something else.

Reason Two: I cannot calm my monkey mind. (Buddhists call the mind that cannot be calmed enough to meditate a monkey mind, mine seems more squirrelly.) A typical thought cross section, with appropriate punctuation:

"doeshelikemeIlikehimwhatifhedoesn'twhatifhedoes"

or

"willIgetthejobwhatifIsaidthewrongthingwhatcouldIdotomakethemlikemebetter"

(which I guess both boil down to "pickmepickmepickme")


So sorry Your Holiness, despite the prayer flags guess I won't be joining up anytime soon.

Rockin the 4th, Old School

I was planless for the day till I read my friend Mike's column for the week (http://www.whativelearnedsofar.com/) in which he said he was playing Woody Guthrie in his town library's "Meet the Americans" pageant. This was something I had to see and boy, am I glad I did. The pageant, the parade that followed and, of course, the obligatory Kiwanis cookout, added just the right small town, old timey touch to the holiday. It's not every day you meet patriots like Bess Truman, Thomas Jefferson and even Elvis! (Did you know he donated the lion's share of the funds needed to build the Arizona Memorial? I had no idea.) We sang, we clapped and I am just nerd enough to say I got the tap to present the Seventh Amendment at the pageant. It's not the sexiest amendment (I wanted the First Amendment but then everybody wants the First Amendment) but in my pigtails and Converse I rocked it the best I could.

Where I Am

One of the best things about being a reader, or a music fan, is to discover something-a song, a story-that exactly captures where you are or otherwise tells you something you need to know. You weren't seeking it, at least not overtly, but then it trumpets itself into the forefront of your attention and you, well, you're never the same again are you?


Ring

It's foolish to say I hear bells,
but I think that's the name, "Bells."
("Bells 2"?) It was playing the day I met you,
informing the world that you're mine,
you'll come when I call, your heart lit
to the ceiling, loopy with feeling,
a brilliant cut snapped open,
snapped shut in a full circle, trailing,
you want me to answer. I do.

-Lizzie Skurnick




(Lizzie,

Damn girl! I mean DAMN girl.
And thank you.)

Yard Sale-Ur Doin It Wrong

So I was heading back from the library sale last Saturday (coals to Newcastle I know but at $5 a bag a great bargain for a worthy cause) when I drove by a yard sale that looked especially booky. So I pulled over and got out and discovered a row of George Pelecanos books for sale. Now you just don't see Pelecanos books used, at least I don't, and I'm always looking so I was gathering them up (while mentally rearranging my bookshelves to make room of course) when the man of the yard sale approached.

"You're selling your Pelecanos?"

He seemed startled by the question. "Umm, yeah. I, uh, actually never got around to reading them."

"What!?"

"They were gifts."

"You know, he's really fantastic. Lots of music references, great realistic dialogue. Did you ever watch "The Wire" on HBO?"

"I loved that show," he brightened.

"Well, he was one of the writers and producers."

"Really?"

(snarky inner voice 'Yeah, it's called a book flap Sparky-you should check it out sometime.')

"Really," I nodded ruefully, totally seeing how it was going to play out now.

I looked at him. He looked at me. I handed the books back. And as I drove away empty handed I saw him opening the books, studying them as he never had before.