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Listening to Terry Gross interview Stephen Colbert on Fresh Air yesterday, there were chuckles aplenty. Yet I was stunned (and somewhat incredulous) to hear Colbert describe himself as a devout Catholic. Call me obtuse, but somehow I never would have associated wit, sarcasm, and ironic, deadpan humor with impassioned Catholicism. Who'd a-thunk it?
Later, I came across this hilarious list, thanks to McSweeney's (click the link to read entire list):
Popular Songs Renamed Along the Lines of the Cattlemen's Beef Board Ad Campaign "Beef, It's What's for Dinner." BY GEOFF SMITH.
* Back, It's What Baby Got
* The House, It's What's Burning Down
* Alles, It's What California's Über
* The Dust, It's What Another One Bites
* U, It's What I Would Die 4
* London, It's What's Calling
* Brooklyn, It's What There's No Sleep Till
* Fault, It's What's Nobody's but Mine
* Thang, It's What's Nothin' but a "G"
* Bigger, It's What Some Girls Are Than Others
* Behavior, It's What's Human
Listening to Wilco in the car this morning, I thought about my grandmother, whom we called Safta (Hebrew for grandma) and who passed away Wednesday. During her intimate memorial service Friday morning, the rabbi recited a series of prayers, to which we were to respond "Safta, I remember you." It was beautiful and heartfelt and a lovely way of promising to keep a much-loved one's memory alive.
2005, thus far, has been an utter tornado of travel and emotion. After my return flight from L.A. last week was accidentally canceled and the airline subsequently "misplaced" my luggage, I wearily returned to my normal life for barely two days before packing up the car for the six-hour drive over snow-covered mountain roads to Reno, where my parents decided my grandmother should rest.
Despite the sad circumstances, it was an absolutely wonderful visit with my family, including my aunt and cousins who flew in from New York. What a treat to see them (especially since I've been so down about forfeiting my plans to head east for a cousin's wedding in February). We shared warm stories about Safta over a couple of amazing meals accompanied by an awesome array of wines chosen by my cousin Arik, the sommelier. Mom and Grandma cooked, Dad mixed the cocktails and provided warm background music (Ray Charles, Sam Cooke, et al), Arik made sure the wines were properly chilled. (For brunch as well as dinner. We're Jews, after all.)
It was like the very best of Thanksgivings, only there was rokkotcrumpli (Hungarian layered potatoes) instead of turkey and music instead of football. We ate, we drank, we hugged, we shmoozed. And later, there was poker.
Most importantly, we laughed more than we cried. I returned home exhausted, but less saddened by Safta's loss than inspired by her life. 91 years is a long time to grace this planet and Safta lived her nine decades as the picture of strength, warmth, humility, good humor and love, as evidenced by the warm, loving assembly of her family this weekend. Rest in peace, Safta.
VH-1 Classic makes me happy. Their new show, The Alternative, while merely an hour in length, is the best thing to come along since the sad demise of MTV's 120 Minutes. (Yes, I'm enormously easy to please... it's the "little things," folks.)
True, certain videos are questionable not only as "alternative" in genre but in terms of artistic merit. Some are head-scratchers. Some are laughable. For example, who remembers David Byrne's bizarre body-rocking and profuse sweating in Talking Heads' "Once in a Lifetime" video? Ouch.
This morning, it was all about Fishbone. Fishbone, whose hyperactive "Party at Ground Zero" was something of a good-time ska anthem in my high school days and whose concert I attended with some friends at the Roxy in L.A. sometime around 1990. A concert to which my friend Patrick wore a houndstooth blazer with faded jeans and scuffed "Duckie" shoes, all of which were still moderately en vogue at the turn of the decade (for a Fishbone concert, at least).
The guys in Fishbone (what were there, six of them?) rocked that little house and we had a great time shvitzing along with a few hundred other college-aged pseudo-delinquents. I'm not sure why or when the band officially called it quits, but I know their lead singer Angelo Moore ended up working with the likes of Jane's Addiction and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Not too shabby.
Anyway, to bring this completely irrelevant tale full-circle, I recently learned Fishbone will be playing here in town next week. The lamentable fact that almost NO recording artists of any interest to me come through this neglected region whilst on tour (though Wilco made an appearance not long ago) is almost enough to will my ticket-purchasing gene back into action. That, along with my strange curiosity to see how well Fishbone's frightfully energetic young members have aged and whether or not they can still excite a crowd with their exuberance.
Which brings me to another of my New Year's non-resolutions: MORE LIVE MUSIC, PLEASE. For me, that means making a road trip south to San Francisco or north to Portland or Seattle (if not hopping on a plane, hungrily bound for anywhere with a few decent concert venues and schedules). There's simply too much great music out there for a committed tune-o-phile like myself to be limited to the pleasure of listening solely via electronic format.