Preacher

I've enjoyed a lot of stuff from DC Vertigo over the years, and today I just finished the Garth Ennis/Steve Dillon creation Preacher. Is it noir? It is certainly dark, but the cosmic scale and fanatastic elements push it closer to SF. In the end, without giving too much away, it is a love story. The Reverend Jesse Custer and Tulip O'Hare are doomed to be together, forever, no matter what happens, and neither one wants it any other way. I can't blame the fella, she's quite a catch, one of my favorite fictional femmes, for sure. Proinsias "How're Yez?" Cassidy, an Irish vampire, completes the twisted triangle. They smoke and drink a hell of a lot, like any self-respecting hard-boiled tale, but they battle God, demons, the Holy Grail, the marines, alligators, psychotic hillbillies, you know, the usual stuff for comic books. It's an adventure story--a hero's quest--with a meditation on friendship and a rant against the gods along the way. I loved it, I found that it engaged me completely when I picked it up. It was incomparably illustrated with gorgeous colors, that made it easy. It was at turns funny, twisted, bizarre, scary, wild, and just plain brilliant. Whatta yez waitin' for, ya bleedin' gobshites, read the bloody fookin' thing!

(T'anks to me mate JCP for the loaners)

The Music Store

On our visit to San Francisco we encountered this lovely spot a half block from the West Portal Muni station. They actually called themselves "The Music Store." They sold vinyl, mostly, and I remarked to one of the youngsters behind the counter that I had no idea vinyl records were still in such demand. He smiled and said "it's the best way to listen to music." He was half my age! They also had--wait for it--cassettes. Alas, I did not see 8-tracks. But they were stocked with used CDs and we had a lot fun rummaging through the bins. I didn't find anything by The Pogues, or Sam Cooke, or John Prine, or a bunch of other folks I was searching for. But I did find a terrific Townes Van Zandt double album, Live at the Old Quarter, Houston, Texas. The late Mr. Van Zandt's songs have been covered by the likes of Merle Haggard, Emmylou Harris, and Lucinda Williams. Check him out if you don't know his stuff--he's kind of weird hybrid between Doc Watson and Hank Williams, with a little Bob Dylan thrown in. Over in the rock bin I scored two CDs: 12 x 5 by the Rolling Stones and Beneath This Gruff Exterior by John Hiatt and the Goners. Mr. Hiatt is still pounding out smart, soulful stuff after all these years. The early Stones is mostly covers, with "Around and Around" by Chuck Berry being a particularly good one. "Under the Boardwalk" is lackluster, but, doo-wop is not their style. Can you imagine what Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention could have done with that tune? Back in the C & W bin I found a Best of Dolly Parton collection from 1975 with all her original hits like "Jolene" and "I Will Always Love You." I think I did pretty well, don't you?

The Danhattan

When Mr B. makes a cocktail, you take notice. His cocktails don't just taste like a bunch of stuff mixed together. They're blended. They're balanced. They're concotions. His take on an American classic, the robust whiskey drink known as The Manhattan, is proof of that. Start with the right ratio: 3-parts-whiskey-to-1-part vermouth. Split the whiskey portion: half Maker's Mark Bourbon, half Wild Turkey Rye. Split the vermouth portion as well. Use a drier, more herbal sweet vermouth for one half. For the other half, The Danhattan requires Cynar. That's right, Cynar, the artichoke liqueur. Never heard of it? Hah! Cretin! All this chilled over ice and strained into a large cocktail glass. Then a spot of Fee Bros. bitters, and to top it off, a brandied loquat as the fruit garnish. You heard me right. A loquat. Half of one, actually, sliced open, stone removed. Soaked in a spiced, sugar-brandy solution. What's that you say? You don't go to those lengths to make a good drink? You don't go around inventing them and naming them either, do you? Didn't think so. You wanna play with the big boys you gotta have some game.

I made my notes AFTER drinking a Danhattan, so I am not repsonsible for any errors or omissions in this recipe. Readers are encouraged to experiment.

Road trip!!

We are heading south to Lake Tahoe for the Fourth of July weekend. After that, we go to San Francisco and get to see some Giants games! Matt Cain is scheduled to pitch on Monday--ain't it grand? I'm cutting the digital cords for the duration. Expect me back in a week.

New month, new cyber-hell

I thought it was bad when I started blogging, then I made an experimental foray into the dreaded MySpace, and now I've taken the Facebook plunge. Yikes, like I don't spend enough time on-line already? I remember Bruce Sterling (one of my fave SF guys) once being credited with the 21st-century credo: if you're not jacked in, you're not part of the future. Except for the fookin' mobile glued to my ear, and the lack of texting skillz, I'm pretty fookin' jacked in these days. I mean, I can hardly watch a ball game anymore without Gameday and PITCHf/x at my fingertips. I still use topo maps and a compass, fer chrissakes, but I am really and truly planning to buy a GPS device. That way I'll know exactly where I am when I get lost in the woods. It is great living here in the State of Jefferson. We've got seriously old school folks everywhere. Oh sure, there are cowboys roaring around town in their F-250 diesels sippin' lattes and doing the hands-free phone thing, but then there are acres and acres of country where a tin can telephone would be high-tech. I'm going to be 50 this November. I remember learning to program in FORTRAN using punch cards when I was a freshman at Cal in 1977. When I did my student teaching in 1983 we taught "computer science" to 8th graders using Commodore PETs. Now every kid is a "digital native" and the rest of us are just immigrants. I wonder what new and wondrous things the future will bring. In the meantime, I'll try my best to keep up.

Synchronicity

I'm not going to get all-Jungian on you, don't worry. Most of that "meaning" stuff is, in my view, ascribing more significance to events than they deserve. But I'm a skeptic, and a bit of a crank, so take it for what it's worth. Regardless, WordMan™ digs "synchronicity" because of its Greek root: khronos. The word means "time" or "age." According to Partridge, the verb form is khronizein, and that forms a compound with sun- (with, together) to make sunkhronizein. Thus we have "synchronize" in English, whence comes "synchronicity." Recently, for reasons I'm not quite sure, I became interested in a film I saw many years ago called Dark City. It is a unique piece of work: part noir, part fantasy/SF, part philosophical rumination. In all, it is enjoyable and engrossing. The central theme is illusion vs. reality. The main story line is the creeping awareness by one individual that something is wrong with his life--his memories have been suppressed, and his gradual awakening shatters his safe, comfortable world and forces him on a quest for the truth. I also recently picked up an old paperback novel, Time Out of Joint, by the SF master Philip K. Dick. It was written in 1959--my birth year--and the central theme is illusion vs. reality. The main story line is the creeeping awareness by one individual that something is wrong with his life--his memories have been suppressed, and his gradual awakening shatters his safe, comfortable world and forces him on a quest for truth.

Coincidence? Or synchronicity?

Actually, I could give a shit. But it was pretty cool. Both works, the movie and the novel, were not only well made, but fun and thought-provoking. By the way, the PKD site I linked to above is excellent. I'm going to add it to my list.

I went to an actual concert!

A rare event for me, I might add. I actually spent money, too. Les Claypool of Primus fame was the headliner. I was familiar with him mostly by reputation, so it was exciting to hear and see him perform live. Supposedly he plays the bass guitar, but this show featured a variety of strange-looking versions of the instrument that one would not know, at first glance, were bass guitars. Mr. Claypool also liked to wear weird outfits (including doing one number in a monkey suit) and sing strange songs while playing his instruments. His distinguishing mark seemed to be the use of a bow, like a cellist, but he would also whack the strings with quick, short blows and create some remarkable percussive effects. He was one of those fellows that did everything effortlessly, not appearing to break a sweat or having to concentrate. The music was in the rock genre, but lacked much of the traditional song structures, involving a lot of meandering jams and jumbled melodies. I must admit I liked it. The rhythms were brisk and danceable, the crowd was on its feet most of the show, and the thumping, driving, thundering rock sensibility of the band was much in evidence. The band consisted of a cellist--weird, considering the lead instrument was the electric bass--a drummer, and another percussionist who's main piece was the vibraphone. The vibes have a long history in jazz, and this outfit had the jazz band's free-wheeling attitude and superb musicianship. Claypool is a wizard, conjuring up some fantastic stuff from the bass, really stretching the boundaries of the instrument. I was remimded a bit of Belá Fleck's genre-bending mastery of the banjo. Despite the differences in style, both men have a playful mien on stage and infect the audience with their sense of fun. Claypool showed a bit of his darker side, savaging a drunk in the front row--who was apprently hassling a woman--with some choice epithets. I can't imagine that from the soft-spoken Mr. Fleck. The opening act was Yard Dogs Road Show, a unique combination of music and performance that included dancing girls and sword-swallowing. Imagine the mistreated, bastard offspring of The Tubes and Frank Zappa and you'll get some idea. They were actually quite impressive musicians and singers, featuring the usual rock lineup of guitar, bass, and drums, but rounded out with an accordion, trombone and trumpet. The dancing girls were a true burlesque act, channeling the Old West and vaudeville quite nicely, and showing a lot of lovely flesh as well. All in all, it was a good pairing. The gorgeous setting in Jacksonville and beautiful weather (as well as a great dinner with my bestest pals) made it a first-rate evening's entertainment.