verbatim

Maybe They're Aliens

More words of wisdom from Pete: "Teachers never have to go to the bathroom at school."

Pahk the Cah in Hahvahd Yahd

What American accent do you have? Your Result: Boston   You definitely have a Boston accent, even if you think you don't.  Of course, that doesn't mean you are from the Boston area, you may also be from New Hampshire or Maine.
The West
The Midland
North Central
The Northeast
Philadelphia
The Inland North
The South
What American accent do you have? Take More Quizzes

Here's the interesting part: I am indeed from Boston, of course, but I don't have the typical Kennedy accent at all: I pronounce all my r's and my double-t's and my short-a's properly. (For the record, the quiz didn't even address those typical Boston accent sounds at all.) I always say that I have a generic TV accent from watching too much TV as a kid, so I think it's fascinating that this quiz pegged me right despite that. Fun. (Via Mark)

Meanest Mommy in the World: The Series

No, you may not get Uggs!

Stephanie has been asking for Uggs since last year. I have answered each request with an unequivocal "NO!" "But whyyyyyy?" Where do I start? The answers she can understand are: "They cost $85. They are not meant to be worn in the snow, so I'd also need to buy you another pair of waterproof boots. You are always complaining that your feet are sweaty, and these are lined with fur. They will fit you for only one year and then you'll grow out of them." Etc. She understands, but she still pines for them. The other, perhaps bigger, reason is that I know she wants them only because certain other girls have them (including lots of older girls around here) and they seem cool. She does not want short furry boots just because they're short furry boots. She wants boots that say "Ugg" on them. (To which I say "Ugh." Sorry. Couldn't resist.)

A big part of me understands completely and sympathizes with her. Growing up, I never had the "right" sneakers or the "right" parka or whatever. My mother never caved to my entreaties for whatever "everyone else" had. I remember all too well the feeling of just not quite fitting in because I didn't have All the Right Stuff. On the other hand, I very much want my kids to grow up not caring about brands and logos and labels. Which doesn't mean that I'll never get them the exact item they want—but only if it makes sense in terms of quality and price and overall value. Uggs most definitely do not fit that bill.

Interestingly enough (considering my youth), I am now so anti-brand name that I actively seek things that don't have a logo. About 90% of my clothes come from Lands' End or LL Bean. (Yes, I know those are "names," but they're not "names" like DKNY or Prada. By any means. You know what I'm talking about.) 

I like to wear good-looking, long-lasting, well-made clothing. I could never bring myself to buy something that is so trendy that the next season I'll wonder what I was thinking, and have to toss it. Could it be that my non–designer label upbringing turned me into an adult who isn't into these things? I don't think it would have been too surprising if I'd instead grown into a label-obsessed adult, as if I had to make up for all those times in my youth when I didn't have the right things.

The kids' clothes also come mostly from Lands' End, LL Bean, and the Rugged Bear. We see these same clothes on lots of their friends, so I know they're not the only ones not wearing high-end kiddie fashions. Yes, they have some friends who wear really fancy, expensive designer clothes (you know, like a T-shirt for $50). I just can't think that way.

Every now and then I relent—a little. Last year I had a gift certificate for a fancy kids' store, and I got Steph two much-desired Paul Frank T-shirts. They were something like $20 each, and we got them slightly large so she'll have them for a good long while. She wears them all the time and they make her feel "cool." I wish she felt cool without them, but I guess some just kids need a "prop" now and then.

New New Yorker

Now that I'm back on track with my New Yorkers—actually reading the current issue the same week it arrives—I can offer comments again. The November 6 issue has a story by Lorrie Moore, "Paper Losses," that knocked my socks off. She always does. It's about a couple heading for divorce, only the wife doesn't know it yet. Check out this sample:

What had happened to the handsome hippie she'd married? He was prickly and remote, empty with fury. A blankness had entered his blue-green eyes. They stayed wide and bright but nonfunctional, like dime-story jewelry. She wondered if this was a nervous breakdown, the genuine article. But it persisted for months, and she began to suspect, instead, a brain tumor.... It was like being snowbound with someone's demented uncle: should marriage be like that? She wasn't sure.

or this:

Rage had its medicinal purposes, but she was not wired to sustain it, and when it tumbled away loneliness engulfed her, grief burning at the center with a cold blue heat.

Wow. That's writing.

There was also a Robert Leighton cartoon that struck my funny bone so hard that I found myself doing the silent laughing/crying thing that all the women in my family do (and that cause all the husbands of the women in my family to raise their eyebrows and eye each other warily). It shows a cat asleep on the far right corner of a couch. The cat has a dream bubble above him showing him asleep on the far left corner of the same couch. Perfect.

Friday's Feast

The bad news is that Friday's Feast is still on hiatus.

The good news is that they're running a contest to come up with new Friday's Feast questions! Go here for details. I've already written 36 and show no signs of slowing down.

Friday iPod Random Ten*

*with lyrics to odd-numbered songs

1. It's Too Late - Carole King      

This brings me back to the early '70s, when I used to listen to Lisa's "Tapestry" album over and over and over again. Everyone did, I think.

Stayed in bed all morning just to pass the time
There's something wrong here, there can be no denying
One of us is changing, or maybe we've stopped trying

And it's too late, baby, now it's too late
Though we really did try to make it
Something inside has died and I can't hide
And I just can't fake it

It used to be so easy living here with you
You were light and breezy and I knew just what to do
Now you look so unhappy, and I feel like a fool

And it's too late, baby, now it's too late
Though we really did try to make it
Something inside has died and I can't hide
And I just can't fake it

There'll be good times again for me and you
But we just can't stay together, don't you feel it too
Still I'm glad for what we had, and how I once loved you

But it's too late, baby, it's too late
Though we really did try to make it
Something inside has died and I can't hide   

2. Lie in Our Graves - Dave Matthews

3. The Weight - Aretha Franklin & Duane Allman

I have been puzzling over the lyrics to this song for many years. I'd love to know what Robbie was thinking when he wrote it—in particular, I'm always concerned about Jack, the dog. This is a fun version, although I do prefer the original from the Band.  

I pulled into Nazareth, I was feelin' about half past dead;
I just need some place where I can lay my head.
"Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?"
He just grinned and shook my hand, and "No!" was all he said.

(Chorus:)
Take a load off Fannie, take a load for free;
Take a load off Fannie,
And (and) (and) you can put the load right on me.

I picked up my bag, I went lookin' for a place to hide;
When I saw ol' Carmen and the Devil walkin' side by side.
I said, "Hey, Carmen, come on, let's go downtown."
She said, "I gotta go, but my 'friend can stick around."

(Chorus)

Go down, Miss Moses, there's nothin' you can say
It's just ol' Luke, and Luke's waitin' on the Judgment Day.
"Well, Luke, my friend, what about young Anna Lee?"
He said, "Do me a favor, son, wontcha stay and keep Anna Lee company?"

(Chorus)

Crazy Chester followed me, and he caught me in the fog.
He said, "I will fix your rags, if you'll take Jack, my dog."
I said, "Wait a minute, Chester, you know I'm a peaceful man."
He said, "That's okay, boy, won't you feed him when you can."

(Chorus)

Catch a Cannonball, now, to take me on down the line
My bag is sinkin' low and I do believe it's time.
To get back to Miss Fannie, you know she's the only one.
Who sent me here with her regards for everyone.

(Chorus)

4. This Dirty Little Town - Kieran Kane, Emmylou Harri, & Lucinda Williams

5. 1952 Vincent Black Lightning (live) - Richard Thompson & Nanci Griffith

This is a gorgeous, romantic song—such a well-written story. I always get weepy when James dies. I greatly prefer Thompson's solo version; Nancy sounds a little creepy in this one, kind of moaning in harmony.

"Oh," says Red Molly to James, "That's a fine motorbike.
A girl could feel special on any such like."
Says James to Red Molly, "My hat's off to you.
It's a Vincent Black Lightning, 1952.
And I've seen you at the corners and cafes, it seems.
Red hair and black leather, my favorite color scheme."
And he pulled her on behind and down to Boxhill they did ride.

"Oh," says James to Red Molly, "Here's a ring for your right hand.
But I'll tell you in earnest I'm a dangerous man.
For I've fought with the law since I was seventeen,
I robbed many a man to get my Vincent machine.
Now I'm 21 years, I might make 22
And I don't mind dying, but for the love of you.
And if fate should break my stride
Then I'll give you my Vincent to ride."

"Come down, come down, Red Molly," called Sergeant McRae.
"For they've taken young James Adie for armed robbery.
Shotgun blast hit his chest, left nothing inside.
Oh, come down, Red Molly to his dying bedside."
When she came to the hospital, there wasn't much left
He was running out of road, he was running out of breath.
But he smiled to see her cry
He said "I'll give you my Vincent to ride."

Says James, "In my opinion, there's nothing in this world
Beats a '52 Vincent and a red-headed girl.
Now Nortons and Indians and Greeves won't do,
Ah, they don't have a soul like a Vincent '52".
Oh, he reached for her hand and he slipped her the keys,
Said, "I've got no further use for these.
I see angels on Ariels in leather and chrome,
Swooping down from heaven to carry me home".
And he gave her one last kiss and died
And he gave her his Vincent to ride.

6. That's The Way That The World Goes Round (live) - John Prine

7. You Never Phone (live) - Loudon Wainwright III & Martha Wainwright

A terrific, funny duet between ol' Loudo and his daughter, but it would work perfectly for ex-lovers too.

You never phone, you never write
Hey, I've stopped hoping that you might
You're trying to hurt my feelings, right?
You never phone, you never write

You never write, you never phone
I'm sorry I gotta bitch and moan
I'm sorry I gotta pick this bone
You never write, you never phone

Sometimes I wonder
What you must think of me
My address and phone number
Must be misty in your memory

This year my birthday came and went
No call was made, no card was sent
But I got the snub you must have meant
This year my birthday came and went

This year my birthday went and came
Last year what happened was the same
And your excuses sure are lame
This year my birthday went and came

Sometimes I wonder
What you must think of me
Then I remember
It's you that you think of exclusively

But I'm not gonna bow and scrape
In every bunch there's one bad grape
And I'm a little bit bent of shape
But I'm not gonna bow and scrape

I won't scrape or bow
Genuflect, beg, or kowtow
Just singing this song is fine for now
I'm not gonna scrape and bow

8. Honeysuckle Rose (live) - Eva Cassidy

9. Cheapest Kind - Greg Brown

Another gorgeously written song that nearly brings me to tears sometimes.

We travelled Kansas and Missouri spreading the good news
A preacher's family in our pressed clothes and worn-out polished shoes
Momma fixed us soup beans and served them up by candlelight
She tucked us in at night
Oh she worried through many a sleepless night

Dad and me would stop by the store when the day was done
Standing at the counter he said "I forgot to get the peaches, son."
"What kind should I get?" I said to him there where he stood in line
And he answered just like I knew he would, "Go and get the cheapest kind"

[chorus:]
But the love, the love, the love
It was not the cheapest kind
It was rich as, rich as, rich as, rich as, rich as
Any you could ever find

I see the ghost of my grandfather from time to time
In some big city amongst the people all dressed so fine
He usually has a paper bag clutched real tight
His work clothes are dirty
He don't look at nobody in the eye

Oh he was little, he was wiry, and he was lots of fun
He was rocky as the Ozark dirt that he come from
And they was raising seven children on a little farm
In not the best of times
The few things that they got from the store
Was always just the cheapest kind

[repeat chorus]

Fancy houses with wealthy poeple I don't understand
I always wish I could live holding on to my grandpa's hand
So he could lead me down that gravel road somewhere
To that little house where there's just enough supper
For whosever there

My people's hands and faces they are so dear to me
All I have to do is close my eyes and I see 'em all so near to me
I have to cry, I have to laugh
When I think of all the things that have drawn those lines
So many years of making do with the cheapest kind

[repeat chorus twice]

10. Beyond My Wildest Dreams - Mark Knopfler & Emmylou Harris

Strawberries vs. Blueberries

It's no secret that I don't consider a weekday complete until I've watched The Show with Ze Frank. I've been a fan of Ze's work for a couple of years now, and I think The Show is some of his finest stuff. Today he discusses our democratic system in terms of fruit smoothies. Go listen. I mean it.

Meanest Mommy in the World Reigns Supreme!

1. No, you may not take Halloween candy to school for your snack.
2. No, you may not wear dangly earrings.
3. No, you may not watch [insert name of nearly every TV show on Disney and Nickelodeon: Spongebob, Brandy & Mr. Whiskers, Fairly Oddparents, etc.]."
4. No, you may not have Barbies or Bratz." (But yes to Polly Pockets? Go figure.)

Hear me roar!

Wiki Wednesday

Time to learn something!

1. Go to Wikipedia.
2. Click on "Random article" in the left-hand sidebar box.
3. Post it!

Here's what I got today:

John Luther Long (1861-1927) was an American lawyer and writer best known for his short story "Madame Butterfly" based on the recollections of his sister, Mrs. Correll, who had been to Japan with her husband, a missionary.

Long's use of the exotic and the classical in "Madame Butterfly" reflected the blending of Japanese and traditional styles in the arts and crafts movement around the turn of the 19th century and American fascination with Japan that began with the "opening of Japan" by Matthew Perry in 1854.

Long selected the producer and writer David Belasco to transform his story into a play. The play, a success, eventually caught the attention of Giacomo Puccini, who would compose the immortal opera "Madama Butterfly" with a libretto penned with Long's help.

Now I'm ready for "Jeopardy!"

Chris and His Blue Guitar

Andy and I have been fans of Chris Smither since the late '80s or so. There was a time when we would go see him perform every chance we got—from folk clubs to Unitarian Church coffee houses to dive bars. We even once took the ferry—in a winter rainstorm—to see him at a club on Martha's Vineyard.

I remember the first time I saw him. Or, rather, heard him. We were at a big outdoor folk festival celebrating the launch of a new (ultimately short-lived) folk radio station in Concord. Everyone was standing in the parking lot to hear the performers—Greg Brown, Bill Morrissey, all the usual suspects. I couldn't see a thing over the heads in front of me. When Chris Smither came on, I said to Andy, "Those guys are good!" He said, "Karen, it's just one guy up there!" I know that's a cliché, but it's true. You listen to him and can't believe just one guitar and two hands are making all that music. Plus, he keeps the beat with his foot—so much so that it's really become a signature of his music (as has his blue 12-string).

So, what kind of music does he play? It's blues—country blues, folk blues, that sort of thing. Smither grew up in New Orleans but made his mark in the Cambridge folk scene. His latest CD, "Leave the Light On," is pretty typical—a mixture of original music, covers (for example, Dylan's "Visions of Johanna"), and new arrangements of traditional songs (like "John Hardy"). What makes this CD different is the backup help, including the likes of Tim O'Brien on mandolin and backing vocals from Ollabelle*. I've played the CD only a few times; so far none of the songs has leaped out at me, but I still have quite a bit of listening to do.

My favorite Chris Smither CD of all time is "Another Way to Find You," which perfectly captures the kind of live solo show we used to go to all the time. You'll hear his amazing fingerwork and his foot tapping and that unmistakable voice. I never get tired of listening to it.

And, speaking of listening, one of my favorite NPR interviewers, Scott Simon, featured Chris Smither on Weekend Edition not too long ago. Give a listen; he's smart and interesting too.

*Ollabelle is a newish gospel-folk-country group featuring Amy Helm, daughter of Levon Helm. I heard a great interview with Levon Helm on NPR a while back; it's worth listening to. I'm thinking of getting Ollabelle's CD "Riverside Battle Songs."