at our peril

Reading reviews of a new kind of pizza, I came across the following Comment:

"this pizza is very tasty and fresh.....it seemed like a gourmet item.....I will defiantly order it again and recommend it to friends"

---------------------
Am pretty sure he meant he would "definitely" order it again...
yet am enjoying mental picture of a customer
"defiantly"ordering pizza.

("Bring us another of the spinach-with-feta-cheese pizzas!
Damn-it!")
Or
"You bring us that pizza, or else!"...)

Defiant.
Definite.
Dumbfounded.
De-funded.

Delicately dexterous and ready to deal.

-----------------------------
On the heels of competitively dramatic and scary Winter Storm Warning-forecasts etc., snow fell.

(We waited breathlessly.)
Heavy, wet slush-blanket.
Sans street- and road-maintenance, vehicles bostled about (I'm inventing the word "bostle" -- a combination of bumped, jostled, blundered and struggled),
bouncing, sliding, gyrating, with drivers becoming increasingly irate and actually driving faster, on (and in) the treacherous, slidy, slickery mush that sucks at tires, like quicksand, and throws you spinning, like gravel.

Just when calm common sense would tell us to ease forward slowly, with care, to avoid going out of control, people were instead careening wildly, tearing forward on the bumpy, ice / snow combination. In a 5-minute journey, drivers of three different vehicles tried to end my life, as I drove to work today.

A potato chip truck bore down on me, closing in, I could see in rear-view mirrow. On a downtown street where speed limit has got to be no more than 20, 25....A red light in front of me told me I'd have to stop; the hurtling 10-wheeler (or whatever) in back of me told me I was going to die. Now.

In the next block, an expensive-looking vehicle (good insurance, surely) took up the chase, barreling toward the trunk of my Buick, & I thought, "Go ahead. Make my day."
Then out on the highway a truck with elec. co. logo on side rode my bumper, & I thought, "Just pass, it's a four-lane forChrist'ssake...GO AROUND!!"

These drivers are just so angry.
I too think it's bogus that our tax-supported entities with street-clearing equipment do not do their job of clearing the streets. (Are they on strike? Are they protesting something? Is it civil disobedience?)
I agree with these angry drivers; they're not wrong; but channel the anger, folks.

Speak with your city govt. or county govt. or state, or whomever is remiss on winter-time street maintenance. Don't run over me. That's just acting out.

-30-

for a week

Am so sleepy, aim to write a poem about sleep.

I Could sleep for a week,
I Could sleep near a creek.

I Could sleep for a day,
I Could sleep in some hay.

I Could sleep until noon,
I Could sleep 'neath the moon.

I Could sleep under a horse,
I Could sleep par for the course.

I Could sleep in a car,
I Could sleep very far.

I could sleep through a bore,
I could sleep through a war,

I could sleep with my cat,
I could sleep on a mat,

I could sleep on a roof,
I could sleep for a spoof.

I could sleep on a train,
I could sleep through the rain.

I could sleep while it snows,
I could sleep while it froze.

I could sleep with ease,
I could sleep and get "Zs."

I could sleep through news,
I could sleep without clues.

I could sleep in North Carolina,
I could sleep in South Carolina.

I could sleep in May,
I could sleep in L.A.

I could sleep in my bed,
I could sleep by a sled.

I could sleep in the dark,
I could sleep in Hyde Park.

I could "sleep like a log,"
I could sleep during fog.

I Could sleep through an election,
I Could sleep in any section.

I Could sleep dreaming of a cow,
I Could sleep dreaming of Wow,
I could sleep on Jones-Dow,
I Could sleep wondering how,
I Could sleep thinking of a plow,
I Could sleep meditating a la Tao,

I Could sleep Pow! -- right Now.

But instead of Sleep -- Vitamins, and Mental Energization.

(Holy pillows-&-blankets, if you type the word "sleep" so many times, after a while it just doesn't look right. ...)

-30-

moderation?

Unexpected Quotes found,
from Mark Twain:

-- As an example to others, and not that I care for moderation myself, it has always been my rule never to smoke when asleep, and never to refrain from smoking when awake.


-- Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint.

----------------------------
So they had "health books" even back then...!
Eat eggs.
Don't eat eggs.
Eat bread.
Don't eat bread.

It's this kind of thing which makes us tired, in life.

-30-

newer fellas

Dear gentlefolk of Newport
Or maybe I should say hats and cats,
I want you to lend an ear
Because I want you to hear
Some really shimmering sharps and flats.

For these cozy virtuosi,
Just about the greatest in the trade,
Are fixin' to show you now
Precisely how
(Or approximately)
Jazz music is made.

Well you take some skins, [drums]
Jazz begins,
Then you take a bass [bumm-bumm-bummbummbumm]
man now we're gettin' some place
Take a box, [piano]
One that rocks,
Take a blue horn -- New Orleans - born!
[Louis Armstrong begins playing trumpet...]

Ah you take a stick, [clarinet]
With a lick,
Take a bone, [trombone]
Ho- ho- hold the phone!

Take a spot,
Cool and hot,
Now you has
jazz jazz jazz, jazz, jazz!

...Le tout ensemble...!

Ahhh --

that's positively...

thera-peutic...!

Now you has -- jazz jazz jazz...!

Messrs Hall and Young,
Ah said Hall [trombone]
And Tommy Young [clarinet]
Now you has Messrs Kyle and Shaw [piano]
That's Billy Kyle [bass]
Arvel Shaw
Now you has Mr. Barret Deans [drums]
Well listen to -- well you know who...-- [Louis Armstrong plays] -- Rah-dah-dah-dahdahdah--dah-dah, dah--...

BING CROSBY:
Say hey pops, you wanna grab a little of what's left here?

LOUIS ARMSTRONG:
Yeah daddy yeah

BING CROSBY:
Here we go.
I-i-i-ff you sail --

Louis Armstrong:
a-sailin' sailin'

BING:
Over the sea,

LOUIS:
When you wait for me,

BING:
Take my tip, they're all molto hip -- in -- Italy.

Louis:
Well air-uh-vuh-dooch-ie!--
As for France--

BING:
Oh I know you're very big there --

LOUIS:
Yes, believe it or not!

BING:
I do believe, I do indeed-!

LOUIS:
The Frenchmens all,
prefer what they call,
"Leh - zzshazz -- Hot"!

BING:
[something - "me down..." ]--
Put me down?
Blow me down?
Vote me down?
...

BING:
Take a plane.

LOUIS:
[scat-singing: "Vo-de-oh-vo-doh-doh" -- or Something...]

BING:
Go to Siam.

LOUIS: [scats wildly, Bing gets an involuntary laugh in his voice as he sings the next line --]

BING:
(ha-ha)-In Bangkok,
today 'round the clock,
Well they all like to jam...

LOUIS:
[scats]

BING:
Indians on --
LOUIS - scat
BING - The Amazon
LOUIS - wild scat
BING - Beat one bar, and all of 'em are --

LOUIS: Ah well, gone, man, gone!!

[LOUIS back to trumpet]
BING:
Ah -- from the Equator
up to the Pole,
Everybody wingin'
Everybody singin'
That rock, rock, rock, rock, rock and roll.
From the East to the West
From the coast to the coast --

Jazz is king,
Jazz is the thing --
that folks --
dig --
m-m-m-m-ost!!

[Wham-bam-bahm-bahm with the percussion...]
Ba-dah-dah-da-da-da!--now THAT'S jazz!

--------------------
{"Now You Has Jazz." written by Cole Porter, for the film, High Society, in 1956}
I was surprised to hear the phrase "rock and roll" in this song...I didn't think Bing Crosby or Cole Porter "knew from" rock and roll. ...

It was so brand new, then. Musicologists debate what was the First rock and roll song? --
Ike Turner's "Rocket 88" (1951), or
Chuck Berry's "Maybellene" (1955), or
Ray Charles' "What'd I Say?" (1959)...?

Well by 1955 or 56 when Cole Porter would have been writing the songs for this film (a musical re-make of "The Philadelphia Story") he could have heard "Rocket 88" and / or "Maybellene" -- (obviously "What'd I Say?" could not have been an influence because it didn't come out until three years later).

Bing Crosby singing the songs, and Cole Porter writing lyrics and melodies, both for at least three decades, had been outsize influences on American music and it seemed really interesting and arresting, how, with this song in this film, they gave a nod of polite & respectful recognition to Rock And Roll (the "new thing") without actually producing any of it themselves. "Now You Has Jazz" is not a rock song; it's swingy, jumpy jazz.

But it mentions rock-and-roll, and sort of -- claims it, or "welcomes" it, as a second cousin, or something, of jazz.

In another scene in the movie, Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby are singing and Bing goes into a slow, short scat -- ba-dah-dah-DAH-da-da... in the 30s and 40s style -- and Frank Sinatra stops him and sings in a playfully argumentative tone, "Don't dig that kinda croonin' chum..."

Bing Crosby stops singing and speaks, genial as always -- "You must be one o' those newer fellas."

(His persona was always "laid-back." No-sweat. Cool. Let's enjoy this evening -- AND -- life...! That was his style.)

"You must be one o' those newer fellas." Newer fellas. Meaning -- Chuck Berry, Elvis Presley, Little Richard, Buddy Holly, Carl Perkins. Etc.

How exciting to imagine that pivotal moment in the evolution of popular music.

-----------------------
Shimmering sharps and flats.

Well they all like to jam.

Beat one bar,
and all of 'em are --
gone, man, gone!

-30-

desperado days

Janet Evanovich "sets the mood":
{excerpt: One For The Money. Janet Evanovich. Copyright 1994. Harper Collins. New York, New York.}

-----------------I was spooked over John Kuzack's death and not anxious to walk into a dark apartment, so I made a point of getting home early. I'd just locked the door behind me when the phone rang. The voice was muffled, so that I had to strain to hear, squinting at the handset as if that would help.

Fear is not a logical emotion. No one can physically hurt me on the phone, but I flinched all the same when I realized it was Ramirez.

I immediately hung up, and when the phone rang again I snapped the plug from the wall jack. I needed an answering machine to monitor my calls, but I couldn't afford to buy one until I made a recovery. First thing in the morning I was going to have to go after Lonnie Dodd.

* * * *

I awoke to the steady drumming of rain on my fire escape. Wonderful. Just what I needed to complicate my life further. I crawled out of bed and pulled the curtain aside, not pleased at the sight of an all-day soaker. The parking lot had slicked up, reflecting light from mysterious sources. The rest of the world was gunmetal gray, the cloud cover low and unending, the buildings robbed of color behind the rain.

I showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, letting my hair dry on its own. No sense fussing when I was going to get drenched the instant I stepped out of the building. ...

This was the sort of day to read comic books under a blanket tent and eat the icing from the middle of the Oreos. This was not the sort of day to chase down desperados. Unfortunately, I was hard up for money and couldn't be choosy about selecting desperado days.

Lonnie Dodd's address was listed as 2115 Barnes. I hauled my map out and looked up the coordinates. Hamilton Township is about three times the size of Trenton proper and roughly shaped like a wedge of pie that's suffered some nibbles. Barnes ran with its back pressed to the Conrail tracks just north of Yardville, the beginning of the lower third of the county.

I took Chambers to Broad and cut up on Apollo. Barnes struck off from Apollo. The sky had lightened marginally, and it was possible to read house numbers as I drove. The closer I got to 2115 the more depressed I became. Property value was dropping at a frightening rate. What had begun as a respectable blue-collar neighborhood with trim single-family bungalows on good-sized lots had deteriorated to neglected low-income to no-income housing.

Twenty-one fifteen was at the end of the street. The grass was overgrown and had gone to seed. A rusted bike and a washing machine with its top lid askew decorated the front yard. The house itself was a small cinder block rancher built on a slab. It looked to be more of an outbuilding than a home. ...A sheet had been tacked haphazardly over the front picture window. Probably to afford the inhabitants privacy while they crushed cans of Bull's-Eye beer against their foreheads and plotted mayhem.

I told myself it was now or never. Rain pattered on the roof and sluiced down the windshield. I pumped myself up by applying fresh lipstick. There was no great surge of power, so I deepened the blue liner and added mascara and blush....I studied Dodd's picture one last time.

Didn't want to overwhelm the wrong man.

I dropped my keys into my pocketbook, pulled my hood up, and got out of the car. I knocked on the door and caught myself secretly hoping no one was home. The rain and the neighborhood and the grim little house were giving me the creeps. If the second knock goes unanswered, I thought, I'll consider it the will of God that I'm not destined to catch Dodd, and I'll get the hell out of here.

No one answered on the second knock, but I'd heard a toilet flush, and I knew someone was in there. ..."Open up," I yelled at the top of my voice. "Pizza delivery."

A skinny guy with dark, tangled shoulder-length hair answered the door. He was a couple inches taller than me. He was barefoot and shirtless....

"I didn't order no pizza," he said.
"Are you Lonnie Dodd?"
"Yeah. What's with the pizza delivery shit?"
"It was a ploy to get you to answer your door."
"A what?"
"I work for Vincent Plum, your bond agent. You missed your trial date, and Mr. Plum would like you to reschedule."

"Fuck that. I'm not rescheduling nothing."
The rain was running off my jacket in sheets, soaking my jeans and shoes. "It would only take a few minutes. I'd be happy to drive you."

"Plum doesn't have no limo service. Plum only hires two kinds of people . . . women with big pointy tits and scumbag bounty hunters. Nothing personal, and it's hard to see with that raincoat on, but you don't look like you got big pointy tits. That leaves scumbag bounty hunter."

Without warning he reached out into the rain, grabbed my pocketbook off my shoulder, and tossed the contents onto the tan shag carpet behind him. The gun landed with a thunk.

"You could get into a lot of crap carrying concealed in this state," he said.
I narrowed my eyes. "Are you going to cooperate here?"
"What do you think?"
"I think if you're smart you'll get a shirt and some shoes and come downtown with me."

"Guess I'm not that smart."
"Fine. Then just give me my stuff, and I'll be more than happy to leave." Truer words were never spoken.
"I'm not giving you nothing. This here stuff looks like my stuff now."

I was debating kicking him in the nuts when he gave me a shove to the chest, knocking me backward off the small cement pad....
"Take a hike," he said, "or I'll shoot you with your own fucking gun."

--------------------------- {end excerpt}
----------------What do I think is excellent about this author's writing? She brings you into the narrative: you can feel that apartment, you can feel the crank phone call, you pull the cord out of the wall jack, you feel the rain, the bleak neighborhood, and the ambivalence about the mission. Never been to Trenton in my life, yet I feel I kind of know it, from reading this author. Trenton. Shady characters, fast food, no-frills real estate. Organized crime. Pollution. Attitudes formed on the cynicism and cheery desperation (bravado?) of the disadvantaged and incurious.

Some of what I read in her books is vulgar for my taste -- I wouldn't write it, and if I were her editor, I'd red-pencil it...and she would probably dump me, & get new editor...!

Some people might criticize me for reading -- and enjoying ! -- fiction that has some grungy references, "f" word maybe more frequent than a polite person might advise, and people engaging in extreme behavior -- you know, I wouldn't go out and do the things that the characters in these books do, not even the "good guys"...! But it isn't a book of advice, written in seriousness, it's Entertainment.

It makes me think of "Get Smart," the first show I ever really watched that wasn't a cartoon -- my dad would be watching it and laughing -- and I remember a conversation:
my mother -- "Isn't that violence - on - television?"
(something they had probably agreed that they were against)
and my dad answered, "Oh, but it's done with a laugh."

With a laugh. So that was all right. And I knew he didn't mean, "with a laugh," as in -- you would laugh at people really getting shot, he meant -- it was funny, and was to laugh at, and not to be taken seriously and certainly not to be imitated, or looked to as a standard of behavior ...

A sort of laying-out of the concept of artistic license, and it lodged in my awareness.

-30-

playing the numbers, making book

Morelli and I were both born and raised in a blue-collar chunk of Trenton called the burg. Houses were attached and narrow. Yards were small. Cars were American. The people were mostly of Italian descent, with enough Hungarians and Germans thrown in to offset inbreeding. It was a good place to buy calzone or play the numbers. And, if you had to live in Trenton anyway, it was an okay place to raise a family.

[excerpts, One For The Money, Janet Evanovich]

----------- My mother was at the open screen door. "Stephanie," she called. "What are you doing sitting out there in your car? You're late for dinner. You know how your father hates to eat late. The potatoes are getting cold. The pot roast will be dry."

Food is importnat in the burg. The moon revolves around the earth, the earth revolves around the sun, and the burg revolves around pot roast.

--------------------------
During winter months, wind ripped up Hamilton Avenue, whining past plate-glass windows, banking trash against curbs and storefronts. During summer months, the air sat still and gauzy, leaden with humidity, saturated with hydrocarbons. It shimmered over hot cement and melted road tar. Cicadas buzzed, dumpsters reeked, and a dusty haze hung in perpetuity over softball fields statewide. I figured it was all part of the great adventure of living in New Jersey.

This afternoon I'd decided to ignore the August buildup of ozone catching me in the back of my throat and go, convertible top down, in my Mazda Miata. The air conditioner was blasting flat out, I was singing along with Paul Simon, my shoulder-length brown hair was whipping around my face in a frenzy of frizz and snarls, my ever vigilant blue eyes were coolly hidden behind my Oakleys, and my foot rested heavy on the gas pedal.

--------------
His motives for geniality were clear. I was a woman lacking appliances. Romance is good for frittering away a few evening hours, but commissions will get you a vacation in Hawaii. Ours was a match made in heaven. He wanted to sell, and I wanted to buy, and I wasn't unhappy to acept his offer of a 10 percent discount. And, as a bonus for sitting through the evening, I'd learned something about Ziggy Kulesza. He bought his meat from Sal Bocha, a man better known for making book than slicing fillet.

I tucked the information away for future reference. It didn't seem significant now, but who knows what would turn out to be helpful.

----------------[end excerpts. Copyright 1994, Harper Collins, New York.]

-30-

blue suede shoes

One For The Money,
a very good, entertaining novel by Janet Evanovich
("a Stephanie Plum novel")
has finally been made into a movie --
has been "in development" nearly 20 years

and now it's getting "bad reviews"...bummer, man

Am wondering, do viewers who haven't read the 18-book series just "not get it"?
Or are readers of the books disappointed because everyone gets their own idea in their mind of the characters and action, and then there's bound to be disappointment because the film-maker's vision can't please everybody...?

Or does the film simply stink?

Some make it, some don't.

Author Evanovich had an excellent tone in the first six books of the series -- after that, quality tapered off...she was writing other stuff, maybe spreading creativity too thin...don't know.
But One through Six are worth collecting; you find they're so "light," you can read them again and again & be entertained because you actually cannot remember how the plot went...!

(Some serious literature-Experts [culture vultures] might snipe that this is Too "light," but who is to say, when it's Entertainment?

If a book is so "light" I cannot remember what it's about and so can read it three more times and be entertained every time, then it's like I got 4 books'-worth of entertainment for price-of-one.

Plus, don't need to argue, if we like it, we like it.)

I wonder if the movie's director and screenwriters have read Stephanie Plum novels One - through - Six. Were I producing, would have made that a requirement. They'd have to
Read 'em,
and
Get 'em.

---------------------------
Now it's one for the money,
Two for the dough,
Three to get ready
Now -- go cat go!
Now don't you --
step on my blue suede shoes...

-- Carl Perkins

-30-