bring it on home

So, I was pushing buttons on the internet and followed a link from How About Orange to drinkify, where you put in the name of an artist and it recommends a drink. I put in Sam Cooke;  the drink engine brought up its recommendation (Hennessy) and played Sam Cooke for me. Yes! (the song, not the Hennessy, about which I have no opinion.) Anyway, that put Sam Cooke in mind, so here's some Sam Cooke for you.

I L-O-V-E this live version (that whole Live at the Harlem Square Club recording is amazing). There's a bit of a preamble, but hang in there - it's worth it. The performance is electric - you can hear the rasp in his famously smooth voice, the hoots and hollers of the crowd, you can practically feel the heat and smell the smoke. SAM COOKE! He has the whole room in the palm of hand.

what Sam said to Bobby applies to us all

Yesterday I was working at one of my all-time favorite library branches and had another experience of Serendipity By Bookdrop. The day after a holiday closure is always busy -- circulation is no joke in this system -- things have to keep moving or the door will be blocked by incoming materials and we'd have to read our way out of it! I was in the work room surrounded by big canvas bins full of books and dvds and cds -- I really do love this part because I get to see everything, even if it's just for a second. Anyway, I saw a familiar pair of eyes looking up from the bin and fished out Sam Cooke's SAR Record's Story 2 disc set. Woo hoo! Nobody had a hold on it so I brought it home, but not before I read the following on my break. This quote is Bobby Womack recalling what Sam told him about the utility of reading:

Sam was always into reading. He read black history a lot, he read Aristotle, he read the New Yorker and Playboy magazine, I mean he read all the time. Everywhere he went he would look and see where he could get a book--he didn't care what it was about, he would get something! He was just so locked into it, and I would say, When does this guy have time to write? But he was telling me,"'Bob, if you read, you gonna write much easier. You can say what's on your mind, because you're not interpreting, you know what I mean?'" He said, "'That's the only way you can grow. Otherwise you're going to write love songs for the rest of your life. But everything ain't about love. If you in a situation that you thought was supposed to be a certain way, you can write in a way where it's like an abstract painting. You can say things direct to people, and they can accept it. Because of the way you put it."

magical mindreading ethiopian jukebox of marvels (and bears)

Friday (post gonging bird tree) I went bike shopping with my friend Blondie. I'd made the mistake of mentioning to her that I was looking to buy one "some time this summer" about 6 weeks ago. I've been thinking about it for a long while (believe it or not, rocketing gas prices had almost nothing to do with it), and mentioned it to her because she used to ride a LOT and I figure why not ask someone who has some information. It wasn't really a mistake, more like miscalculated timing. The crucial detail I forgot is that once Blondie has an idea in her teeth, she does not let go until it has been thrashed into submission. (I am more of a lazy long-term ponderer. A deliberate ditherer (dithering deliberator). But once I've thought about things long enough, I'm generally satisfied with my decisions.) So, by "some time this summer" I was thinking of a month that starts with J, maybe. But no! Every time I talked to her on the phone, she would ask "have you thought about what kind of bike you want? blah blah technical blah blah road resistance blah blah helmet or you'll have brains on the pavement blah blah space age polymers blah blah blah" And I would reply that I had thought about what kind of bike I want, but generally in terms of "I saw this really great TURQUOISE ONE the other day that had tires that were neither too fat nor too thin and appeared to be just right. If I were Goldilocks, I would have signaled for bears to jump out of the bushes and scare the rider right off of her seat." (Blondie did not recall that Goldilocks went quite that way, and reminded me that I do not HAVE golden locks nor ready access to bears who jump out of the bushes to do my bidding, so like all the brown-haired girls in fairy tales I would have to either a) pay retail b) resort to witchcraft.) (oh, alright! maybe she didn't say that last part, but I can't stop myself.)

I digress. She came over and I helped her with some computer stuff, then we were off -- but first, "do you want to go somewhere for lunch?" OF COURSE! I didn't want to go to some crazy outdoor store full of yuppie camping gearheads right before a holiday weekend on an empty stomach. (I would really need bears for that!)

We went to an Ethiopian restaurant that I'd never been to before that is near(ish) my house -- SO GOOD! (also just a few blocks down from a house that had a "hens for obama" sign in the front yard. I will have to return and get a picture. Did you know you can keep up to 3 chickens in your yard without a permit in Portland? I check out a lot of chicken-keeping books to people.) Anyway, it was a hole in the wall type place, but obviously beloved by its neighbors. (rightfully so.) we sat down, placed our order and I noted the music, which was an instrumental 70's soul song. Blondie innocently suggested "they should be playing ethnic music," and I was all "!!!! ...but this is Marvin Gaye!" which of course launched me into Friendly Epic Tableside Tirade #12 (tableside tirades are quieter), about how if she wanted World Music Muzak, maybe she should go to Starbucks. And then, as if to prove the righteousness of this opinion, the music switched to Sam Cooke and stayed that way for the rest of our meal!! (which allowed me to introduce her to my Alexander Hamiltion/Sam Cooke plan, of which she had been heretofore blissfully unaware since she doesn't read my blog.)

Bike shopping was interesting, but not as fun as lunch. Our salesman sussed out pretty quick that we were not serious buyers yet, so we got to hear about how disk breaks on bikes are either like or unlike ball or needle valves in paper mills (!!!???) and various details about how his sister looks just like him, only she doesn't have a mustache in the spirit of Mangy Walrus. (I may have already checked out of the conversation at this point.) Blondie got to torture him with persistent questions about how the structure and materials of bikes have changed in the years since she was a serious rider, and I was informed that my legs were longer than my torso, which I already knew. Anyway! things were learned, and now I feel more comfortable floating my Bicycle By Bear plan the next time it comes up.

what the helen of troy is that?

conundrum: What is going on with Lou Dobbs' teeth? They look like they are carved from a single piece of porcelain. I can't look away, although I can and do mute the sound.

favorite misheard lyric (this week): Swing like a wrecking ball/ with a heart of gold -- from Page France's Chariot. It's actually Swing like a wrecking ball/ like the heart of god. But there's something that appeals to me about a wrecking ball with a heart of GOLD. Like if this wrecking ball is knocking you down, you probably have it coming! it wouldn't do it unless it was really necessary. (now I have completely anthropomorphized this wrecking ball. It feels bad, but wrecking is its business! Maybe it will run away and become a cannon ball for the circus.)

my love for the new five dollar bill: knows no bounds! It's purple with stars!! What's next? I hope Washington and the one dollar bill get made over with unicorns or rainbows or something. Woot! (Hamilton looks dashing as always on the remade ten.)

Speaking of Hamilton... I finally watched Children of Men, which was very good and not at all what I was expecting (future blog post, topic of: The Unreliable Nature of My Expectations). BUT, that's not what this is about! This is about me finally figuring out perfect casting for my exciting imaginary Alexander Hamilton/Sam Cooke crime fighting premium cable project. (which you may or may not remember was a brief obsession of mine Last August.) Anyway, back to this perfect casting: Hamilton: Clive Owen (!!! I KNOW! he could really pull off a powdered wig, and we already know he can play a badass.) Cooke: Chewitel Ejiofor! So perfect I can barely stand it. I really loved him in Talk To Me (and every other thing I've seen him in). He would be so great as Sam Cooke, even if it were in something other than Sam Cooke and Alexander Hamilton fighting crime, breaking hearts, vigorously defending civil rights, singing songs, arranging duels, making sweet sweet love to the ladies (they were both notorious), and of course conducting important (and exciting!) Department of the Treasury business and managing their own musical careers.

picked up on a whim: I was working the other day and Death of a Ladies Man came across my path. I'd never heard it (I know), so I brought it home. I know it's considered to be somewhat controversial, I know that Phil Spector is a maniac, but it was still so not what I was expecting at all! (this is a theme lately.) However, this is exactly the way I like to be surprised. It made me laugh (in a good way, sometimes in an astonished what did he just say?? way, which is one of my favorite things about Leonard Cohen). Plus, dig the cover -- he's looking right through to the back of the viewer's head. Leonard Cohen can probably read thoughts from 50 paces. (maybe he could consult occasionally with Sam Cooke and Alexander Hamiltion.)

Bones: FAT PAM, the stalker??? You've got to be kidding me! There was so much about this episode that was fun (including the totally disgusting body at the beginning) but the whole fat stalker thing made me nuts. It seems like yet another example of this show (which I like a lot) trying to have its cake and eat it too. (cake: fat stalker cliche! but she's not FAT, she's just "slightly overweight." eating it too: "but we will call her 'Fat Pam' because that's what the dead asshole called her.") BAH! What next? Magical Negro? Hooker With a Heart Of Gold? But I still love Sweets, even though it's more and more obvious to me that his purpose is to give Bones and Booth something to be united against. The whole stalker/shooter story felt rushed, but I get the feeling it might have played out over a longer period of time if not for the strike.

May 15: is my mom's birthday. In honor of this, my sister and I are accompanying her on a demented roadtrip to parts of Oregon rarely visited (by me, anyway). I'm expecting to see lots of interesting political signs -- it's a whole different world once you leave the liberal corridor of the Willamette valley. Maybe I'll even get a sunburn! I think I will leave my computer at home. (I know!!) It's only a few days, and the very fact that I am feeling so equivocal about leaving it behind is an argument for not taking it. Feel free to send me hilarious emails to be read upon my return, however!

Sam Cooke was right.

Good news: I survived a day outside of the confines of Training Week! Of course I got to use the "I just finished Training Week" excuse, but it seemed to work out fine. Today I was at a very small branch near my house -- everyone was kind and patient (including patrons!) even though the rain was coming down pretty hard and plastic bags are not free. I worked briefly with one of the women who interviewed me. It was funny since neither one of us could remember where we'd met before, until obviously one of us (not me) did.

More Good News: Pushing Daisies got a full-season order! I'm so happy! Now I feel safe enough to state that although I always want her clothes, sometimes Chuck bugs me. This makes me happy, though -- if she were unrelentingly perfect I would want to throw her under a bus, but since she is occasionally annoying it somehow makes me like her more. Olive got a lot more interesting this episode as well, although there was a shocking amount of bedazzling and taxidermy going on.

Other Wed. Entertainments: I quit watching Private Practice. Dirty Sexy Money has been getting more interesting which is too bad because I was all ready to go finish reading Michael Chabon's latest -- which I am enjoying VERY MUCH now that I've got it back from the library again. This is the downside of library borrowing: sometimes someone else wants it. Or 80 other people want it. I look at it as an exercise in character building.

Good Link: My sister sent me a link to this story, which I find so interesting and timely. It deals with the tricky nature of the Power of Positive Thinking. This quote really resonated with me: "As a psychotherapist, I know that sometimes a lot of what people need when faced with adversity is permission to feel crummy for a while, to realize that feeling bad is not automatically the same as being mentally ill. Some of my one-session "cures" have come from reminding people that life can be difficult, and it's OK if we're not happy all of the time." For me, when most recently trying to drag myself out of the misery pit I'd fallen into, I found that this was the only thing that worked! It seems counterintuitive, but it's true. Sam Cooke remains right (like there was ever any doubt); Don't Fight It, Feel It. Even if it's cruddy. (although I am pleased to state that my miraculous mystery good mood remains!)