James Westphal's Dewey Decimal Section: 879 Literatures of other Italic languages James Westphal = 0135935906812 = 013+593+590+681+2 = 1879
Class: 800 Literature
Contains: Literature, criticism, analysis of classic writing and mythology.
What it says about you: You're a global, worldly person who wants to make a big impact with your actions. You have a lot to tell people and you're good at making unique observations about everyday experiences. You can notice and remember details that other people think aren't important.
Craigslist actually has a "best of" section, and it's hilarious. It would take hours to read all of it, but any of the postings therein is bound to make you chuckle.
Exhibit 1: The personal ad for a hot, petite Asian woman posted by this guy.
We work, now and again, with the Seattle Parks department's special programs. These programs are for developmentally disabled adults. They need outlets like anybody else. It's usually something fun, and tonight we took 26 people to see a movie: Wall E.
Some of these trips have featured what we'll call "incidents." A grown man with the mental faculties of a toddler, for example, can't necessarily be trusted with a full bladder. Well, he can be trusted to dispatch its liquid load at will. He just can't be trusted to do it in the bathroom, even if somebody else can see him. In fact, it doesn't matter if everybody can see him.
We had none of that tonight. Everybody was agreeable and relatively well-behaved. About halfway through the movie, though, a good friend called me. He should have known where I was. In fact, we met while working for the parks department. I ran out of the theatre to take his call.
JAMES: Yo, what's up? COURTNEY: Hey, are you guys home? J: No, we're at the movies. C: Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was just wondering what's going on by your house. J: Um, what exactly is going on by our house? C: Oh, just tons of cop cars. J: Really? C: And there's some ambulances. J: What?! C: Couple firetrucks, too. They're parked at the service station.
The service station is diagonally across the street from our house so I went back in to the theatre to watch the rest of Wall E. Fortunately, the rest of the field trip ended without any urinary incidents. Once everybody had been picked up and taken home, the after-party plans began to take shape.
James: Hey, do y'all wanna grab a beer? Jayson: Yeah, I'd be down for that. Steph: Sure! James: Maybe Courtney wants to go, too. Jayson: Give 'em a call. Steph: He might have to work tomorrow, though.
I called Courtney.
James: Yo, Court, ya wanna grab a beer? Courtney: Naw, I gotta work tomorrow morning. James: Oh, okay. We'll see ya tomorrow at Jessica's birthday party. Courtney: Sure. Say, what was going on by your house? James: I dunno. We're not home yet. Courtney: Well, y'all need to head home and see what was up. James: Didn't you say the trucks were at the service station across the street? Courtney: Yeah, but the fire was across the street from the service station! James: Courtney: There were cop cars, ambulances, and fire trucks plural on your block! James: Courtney: [pausing] Um, you should probably go home. James: Jayson, let's have beers tomorrow, okay? Jayson: Yeah, let's go with that.
Could there have been a fire at our house? What about our dog Ashley, was she okay? We got home to find nothing wrong except that it reeked of smoke. Turns out that the abandoned house next door had caught fire. Not that you can tell by looking at it, which means the firefighters did their job.
I can imagine that the sirens and lights were a bit much for our sweet little dog. Our moviegoers didn't have any urinary incidents, but Ashley did.
Mitch Mitchell was Jimi Hendrix' drummer. He died today. It's big blow because that band's music changed my musical outlook forever. Let me back up a bit.
Once upon a time, I saw Stevie Ray Vaughan on MTV. More importantly, I really heard a guitar for the first time. Guitars had been, by default, part of my auditory landscape from my first day on earth. That was way back in 1970, a muscially pivotal year. Only a few songs from that era don't showcase guitar. It was also the year that Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix died. Jim Morrison died soon after in 1971 but had given up music the previous year.
Eerily, all three were only 27 years old.
Music has always fascinated me. And I could have been a singer if it weren't for my voice. (ahem!) In any case, I'd been living in a black and white world until Stevie splashed it with color. I saw his hands fly up and down the fretboard and thought, I want to do that. My parents, bless them, bought me a guitar and hooked me up with lessons.
I had a great teacher, too. He gave Stevie proper credit, but he introduced me to Jimi Hendrix. If Stevie cured my colorblindness, Jimi's "Purple Haze" gave me synesthesia.
A big part of that was the rhythm section, Noel Redding and Mitchell. Redding's timing was infallible. He syncopated with amazing soul, never losing a beat. I think that's best characterized in "Little Miss Lover."
He did a pretty good job backing Jimi up on Purple Haze, too.
It's too bad, but he died of natural causes. And as they say, Heaven has one Hell of a house band. Rest in peace, Mitch Mitchell.
Once upon a time, I was young. It's hard to believe now, yes, but youth happened to me, too. In point of fact, I was precocious to the point of being born at an early age. About a dozen or so years after my first birthday, I entered the ranks of the world's most important people. And who would that be? Teenagers. Duh!
One of my first loves as a teenager was music. About 25 (gasp!) years ago, I found a band whose sound really spoke to me: R.E.M. I still have their first album, Murmur, 25 (gasp!) years later on the original vinyl. During the interlude between the decline of LP's and the rise of CD's, was the golden age of these funny little things called "cassette tapes." And I had more than a few R.E.M. tapes back in the day.
Most stores carried the entire R.E.M. catalog except for Chronic Town, their first EP. It was a lovely little ditty of a musical effort. My smallish college town of 16,000 people had a pretty limited musical landscape. When I was 15 years old, we finally got a real music store that ordered Chronic Town for me.
I loved that cassette no matter what. Okay, that's not exactly true. It disappointed me on exactly one occasion. It went missing one day and turned up on the kitchen counter. The seemingly innocent musical messenger, a direct connection between me and my musical idols, had allowed itself to be abducted by my then very evil mother.
ME: "How did this get here?"
MOM: "I borrowed it."
ME: (incredulous) "Huh? Why?!"
MOM: (without pretense) "I like it."
At age 15, you inhabit a universe filled with opportunistic interlopers known as Everybody Else. There are rules, nay laws, that Everybody Else constantly breaks because none of them bothers to check in with you regularly. Of course, none of them could have feigned ignorance because this rule and many others are part of the public record. These laws are laid out in a personal Constitution, whose Article 1 is unambiguously titled It's All About Me, Dammit!
Pursuant to that is Article 2, Section 1, which states clearly that, unless she buys you beer, your mom is not cool. She does not, therefore, listen to cool music willingly or accommodatingly. Rather, she must repeatedly say, "Can you PLEASE turn that down?!"
Eventually, a Bill of Rights was enacted that delineated the rights of others to inhabit some portions of the universe not at my immediate disposal. This was replaced by a Magna Carta that further reduced my royal rule, thereby allowing some to cohabit some of the space I'm currently using.
Yes, I grew up, folks. So, now, in recognition of the undeniable fact that I'm actually as uncool as my mom was supposed to be, I'm sharing R.E.M. with y'all. This is one of my fave songs from that once hard-to-find EP, titled "Wolves, Lower."
R.E.M. - "Wolves, Lower"
(chorus)
Suspicion yourself, suspicion yourself, don't get caught
Suspicion yourself, suspicion yourself, let us out
Wilder lower wolves.
Here's a house to put wolves out the door
In a corner garden, wilder lower wolves
House in order (ah-hah ah-ah) (4 times)
Down there, they're rounding a posse to ride.
(repeat chorus)
Suspicion yourself, suspicion yourself, don't get caught
Suspicion yourself, suspicion ourselves, suspicion myself
Wilder lower wolves. Here's a house to put wolves out the door
In a corner garden, wilder lower wolves
House in order (ah-hah ah-ah) (4 times)
Down there, they're rounding a posse to ride.
I'm going to depart from the usual non-political course. I just read a very interesting piece. The author, native Alaskan Seth Kantner, says some things about Sarah Palin worth repeating: Alaskans aren't impressed with her, and they don't agree with her.
They aren't impressed because getting a public office in Alaska isn't a big accomplishment. There are jobs to be done and not a lot of people to do them. Being in the right place at the right time is key, and opportunities can be created with perseverance. Anybody that's lived in a small town knows that.
Granted, Palin took an opportunity and ran with it, but she's gone too far. Now she is surrounded by the trappings of what outsiders perceive as classic Alaskan. Those trappings, according to Kantner, are just for public display and don't speak to other Alaskans. They just hearken to Sarah Palin's public image.
After seeing Saturday Night Live this weekend, I have to concur with Seth Kantner on the question of Palin's image. She could have turned satire into celebrity. She could have drawn some doubters into her fold. Palin just had to appear strong on the show that mocks her. Instead, she satirized herself.
The op-ed piece, if you're interested, can be read here.
Gabe Cook is a Facebook friend of a friend of mine. Got it? Well, anyway he's a Wyoming rancher with a great eye for photography. Click on the photo below to see one of his online galleries.
WIDGETIZE