Now and then it's time for something 'Dali'
This caught my eye.
An amazing artist.
Deeper than the oceans . . .
Be sure to check out Virtual Dali

pax

Chill.
Grab a coffee, English Breakfast tea, Chai, cognac, scotch, bourbon, water and maybe a smoke,
all depending on where you are in the world of time zones.
Plug in some decent headphones and give yourself 7:40 minutes to just . . .
Chill.
This is 'Both Sides Now',  Herbie Hancock from River: The Joni Letters
Hancock is and has been a jazz piano God to me.
Forever.
And believe it or not he is 70 years old. (born in 1940)
At any rate, get a drink, perhaps a smoke and just
Chill.
for 7:40 . . .
Your brain will thank me.
This is musical/cerebral Zen at its finest.

It was 20 years ago tonight that my wife elbowed me at 1:30 in the morning saying,
“My water just broke. Get some sleep.”
Get some sleep?
Yeah, right.
I called Pamela’s mom and told her to come over immediately (to watch a sleeping 3 year-old Sarah)
and it wasn’t soon after that we were changed and in my silver Datsun 210 on the way to the hospital.
It was cold as hell and my brakes were grinding to the metal.
Pamela thought we would never make it to Hannemann Hospital.
We did.
At 8:11AM (2.7.90) Pamela gave birth to our second daughter, Jenna.
Tomorrow afternoon we will have a house full of family and Jenna's college friends
and more Chinese food than you can shake a stick at.
We will also be watching some Supernatural episodes (Jenna’s favorites, methinks)
We will basically have our own ‘Supernatural Bowl’.
Could be much better than the actual Super Bowl itself.  (no Dean)
Happy birthday, Jen.
Mom and I love you and your sisters more than you will ever know.
Have a ‘supernatural’ day, okay?
Here's a Supernatural gag reel that you may not have seen.
See you tomorrow afternoon, kiddo.

Reading 'Carver' right now.
Please READ THIS.
You will spend 20 minutes of your life and thank me.
This is one of Carver's most amazing short stories.
Please take the time and read it.
The man was amazing.
Simply amazing . . .

 

 

This is some awesome video with stuff blowing up.
Nothing like getting right to the point, eh?
It's a guy thing so don't ask me to explain it.
And I know, this has 'cheat post' written all over it.
You gotta admit, I keep it cool.
Click on the full screen and put on headphones for an Avatar-like experience.
Kinda.
Knuckles all around, boys . . .
Blow it up!

I have followed Richard Page for almost his entire career. From 'Pages' and 'Mr. Mister' to all the background vocals he's done over the years. Who is Richard Page? You have heard him before. Trust me. Click here. Click here. Click here. An amazing musician that never got the recognition I think he truly deserved. Such is the fickle nature of the music business. Please enjoy his holiday offering. The deeper message of this song far surpasses all the 70% off Xmas sales at 'Walmart' and 'Macy's' This is yuletide warmth, cubed. And yeah, I always cry at Christmas . . .

I found this floating around YouTube and had to share it. With a bit of preparation this recipe could conceivably work. I have yet to try it but I will . . . Have no fear. Stay tuned. I really like Alton Brown. Try his One Minute Eggplant. Good God . . .

This is your brain on something. Amazing stuff here. Science + rhythm + weirdness = this video. Wow

There are things that happen in our lives that occasionally defy space, time, gravity and logic. While we experience these types of phenomena on a daily basis we are sometimes too busy to see and embrace it. There are two areas that require attention in my backyard: the lawn and the flowers. I generally mow the lawn while Pamela tends to the flowers. The flowerpots lining the yard and hanging from the shed looked especially good this year but the garden looked like some fat lady sat on it. The poor appearance of the garden had something to do with the amount of rainfall we had in June. It rained 28 days out of 30 and the garden flowers suffered. Pamela hates weeds and is constantly plucking them from the garden and the mulch that surrounds the outside of the yard. I tell you this so you understand that she has a keen awareness of all things growing in the backyard. As I said before, all of the Cape Cod goodbyes were difficult but nothing could have prepared me for August 2nd, the day Maureen and Mark left. Pamela & Hannah went with me to the airport that afternoon. The skies were greyslate over Boston and the tone in the truck was a bit somber compared to the first drive to the Cape two very short weeks ago. We somehow managed the ‘goodbyes’ and went our separate ways, more difficult than I ever could have imagined. I was walking and wearing my Akubra, my arm around Pamela. She took my arm and placed it over Hannah’s shoulder who was hurting more than Pamela. This would be our hardest and saddest goodbye. We got home and tried to keep busy straightening up and getting the house back in order for the work week ahead. I poured a few fingers of Maker’s Mark and made Pamela a Rum Swizzle. I was in the kitchen on my laptop when I heard Pamela yell from the backyard, “Hey Michael! Come here!” She was standing by the enormous hostas (so big I call them Jimmy Hostas) staring at the ground. “Look at those two flowers.” “Yeah,” I said, in that low to high tone I use when questioning her. “They weren’t there before. I swear. I’ve never seen them.” “Then how did they get there,” I asked. “They’re Impatiens. They need to be planted.” “And you didn’t plant them?” I asked. “Nope.” She got teary and said, “It’s Maureen and Mark. They didn’t want to leave. They didn‘t.” What do you say to a woman crying over two mysterious flowers that have grown out of nowhere? You don’t argue, for one thing. You shake your head, agree, and give her a huge hug. As a dear friend of mine once said of wonderful and mysterious things in this life, “Sometimes, it just is.” I’m also thinking that those plant roots run quite deep. Now that’s something I can definitely relate to . . .

Most of you know that I received a didjeridoo of the highest order from Australia when I was at the Cape. (thank you Maureen and Mark) (especially Mark, for the packaging . . .  thanks, mate) I have, in all honesty, devoted myself to playing it. Although I've yet to master the art of circular breathing, I can play the didj now. When I first blew into the beeswax mouthpiece the first thing I thought was, "Wow, this thing tastes funny." It was the beeswax. No worries. No more chapped lips either. The first sound I got was something similar to what would come out of my ass after 13 bowls of kidney beans. Yup. It was shit. Sounded like a blunder under water. Since I've been reading and practicing, I can get the fundamental drone (sweet spot) and actually make this sucker growl. I do promise to put up a YouTube video when I feel proficient enough to not look like a total American asshole trying to play an authentic instrument from another country. I've so much of Australia in my blood right now (Vegemite, too) that it's only a matter of time. Stay tuned folks. This is going to get interesting. Promise. The short video below is an aboriginal playing the didj. Pretty amazing in my opinion. The dude can blow. Don't look for me wearing the makeup though . . . As far as the hair? I might get a wig just to be funny. Stay tuned. Check it out, y'all