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Monday, September 29, 2003
Thanks to those who've written so kindly since I posted that alarmed message about my Dad. It's surprising to find that so many folks still check the blog. It's become increasingly difficult to write here or in emails; I can't get it together these days. I'm sort of stuck between lives approaching their beginning and others approaching their end. Things have been very fucking hard for months. I am joyless and don't wish to whine here. I'm glad Dad made it through surgery because we could not have taken his loss right now. I'm glad some people give a shit about me and mine. Maybe I'll feel like writing something more extensive soon, but now there's just too much going on to deal. Love to all.
Monday, September 22, 2003
It looks like the surgery went well. It's been quite a day. We'll see.
Again, it's been a very long time. Life has been very bad and I'm sick of airing publicly this endless trauma. Tonight I write because my Dad is getting surgery tomorrow. His survival is decidedly uncertain. I'm terrified and filled with sorrow. A friend of mine lost her own Dad the other week, but I was neck-deep in troubles here and could offer only the most peripheral support. I don't think I'll get even that much after ignoring all my friends for all these months, and it's ok. I just love my Dad so much... I want him to meet our babies. I have nothing else to say right now. Well, just this -
Very recently I went to see a friend's band play. I got loaded. Afterwards, on the way back to the train, I stopped in for a drink all by myself in some bar. Put up some tunes on the juke, one of which was Leon Russell's "A Song For You." I love that record. The tune got to that part: "I love you in a place where there's no space and time I love you for my life; you are a friend of mine And when my life is over Remember when we were together We were alone and I was singing this song to you" This fucked me up... I began to sob at the bar... I mean SOB. I'm cracking. (I never did write a song that good, and it's not ever gonna happen.) If I get back to this maybe I'll tell you how R*gan Gr*ce-V*ga found a way to make the 2nd anniversary of Pete's death even more painful for my sister and my parents. Or some of the other scary things that have made these past months so horrible. But I hope my Dad lives to see these babies so I can either write something positive instead, or just drift away from pointless self-expression altogether. For now, I thank anyone interested enough in me or my work to check this blog at all, and send you my love and regrets for how it's all gone. I wanted my father to see me succeed, but that never happened. He wants to hear my children call him "Grampa." I don't know what I'm still typing for... goodbye. I love you, Dad. Monday, September 01, 2003
Ah. A new record! Jerry triumphant.
I assumed anyone reading this would know of my yearly tradition, but maybe not. Ever since I was 16 I've watched the Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon in its entirety. I'm a little tired about now. It was a pretty good 'thon, though. Naw, better than that really. A damn good 'thon.
Some punk vocalist just finished a self-penned, telethon-specific song of such lyrical turgidity that Rodd Keith would have thrown up his hands in frustration: "This CANNOT be set to music!" Tears of hilarity still stain my cheek and I am renewed.
Red Buttons: fantastic! Doing an adaptation of his old Dean Martin Roast schtick: "Ben Hur - who said to his sister, Ben Him: 'wanna switch?' - NEVER did a telethon!" Jack Jones with "Wives and Lovers" ...in GREAT voice and a loose, fun mood. Offered his alternate lyric: "Hey little boy, cap your teeth, get a hairpiece!" Yeah! Gary Lewis does "She's Just My Style" AGAIN - not that I'm kvetching. Charo with her arrangement of Ravel's BOLERO. She claimed to have "introduced" the Macarena. A fine moment in the "If so, SO?" stakes. Gospel legend Shirley Caesar featured in a mini-set with other artists in that genre. Such a reminder: melisma with restraint, conveying actual passion, not vocal "chops." Jazzy chords providing genuine color and depth, not slick fuzak gaudiness. Funky rhythms propelling MUSIC as opposed to softcore sex-dance accompaniment. Lyrics about HOPE, not aggression nor treacle nor teenybopper lust. Bona fide passion about something truly FELT, not some interchangable style as suited to aspirin or car commercials as anything else. Dynamics serving to elevate the spirit, not pummel it into a stupor or pump it with fake adrenaline. Now comes the home stretch.
Bleary...
a night of Bob Zany and the guy from "Weakest Link" filling in for Jerry. Nancy Sinatra doing a ROTTEN tune written by those douchebags from U2... a tune in "tribute" to Frank entitled "Two shots of happy, one shot of sad." Oy. Some Russian "bluegrass" band doing a tune similar to "Blow the Man Down" ...various rock acts... an INCREDIBLE performance by some country putz doing a tune called "I Love You This Much," in which the famous 70s "silli-sculpt" statuette (of a little guy with outstretched arms) is revealed to be JESUS CHRIST! YES!!!!! This cornpone crackpot has written the anthem of the kitsch krucifix! How can you people SLEEP through this????? Wondering if Joe Williams is tuning in on KSDK... Claudia and Brad in LA on KCAL? Rich too? ...WBDC is on the LOVE NETWORK too; are you tuned in down in MD, Jennica? Maybe Doren will peek in on WCVB and spare a thought for ol' Sport... all my far-flung friends... This morning's array of 'thon children's entertainment is ominous: three people in wacky costumes with huge hearts for heads, simpering enough to make Barney seem like MR T... A troupe of gay Aussie aerobics instructors called "The Wiggles" ...a large singing bear, too cloying for the Disney Jamboree. Christ. I'll make Miles and Lily watch "Forensic Files" before I permit this drek to warp their sensibilities (yeah, sure). Jerry comes back soon. I had an especially disappointing piece of carrot cake.
I return after a long absence; critters scatter as I enter. No other welcome, but who expected one? Life's been rough. But tonight, the annual ceremony.
Briefly: Over 4 hours in... Jerry's prednisone-bloat is less shocking by now. Overall it seems more old-style: fewer Branson and rock acts, more real show-biz. Amen to that! Julie La Rosa sounding a little shot, Steve Lawrence surprisingly strong. Charlie Callas does his auld Chevalier/Gingold mime bit, Rickles inspires acute discomfort, as ever. I'm digging it. Reading COMIC BOOK ART during dull patches, a few poems, sipping Pernod. The prime moment: Tony Orlando (who created the term "gimme a Rosengarten!" before my very eyes, back during the Carter or Ford administration) doing a fucking BONKERS medley of "Fire and Rain" and "Purple Rain" and ad libbing: "It don't matter what color the rain is! Take away the rain, take away the pain!" ...over and over. Changing James Taylor's lyric from "I always thought that I'd see you again" to "I always knew you were gonna be there for me again, babe!" And me not rolling tape! Shit. Patti Page with the dullest tune I've heard in years. Norm Crosby swell, as always. Gotta freshen my drink.
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