the
Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms, yearning to breathe free.
Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms, yearning to breathe free.
the
Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms, yearning to breathe free.
I was ready to log out of Facebook, with a vow to shake that social-media-monkey off my back for the rest of the day and get some real work done. And then I saw a post about a new video directed by filmmaker Max Weiland, cut to one of Elton John’s classic songs: "Tiny Dancer." It’s a lusciously filmed, finely…
I gave up trying to explain the appeal of my “crush objects” long ago. My fantasy figures, be they flesh-and-blood or fictional characters, have always been quirky types that never fit the traditional tall, dark, handsome, all-star, man-of-means mold. Such was the case with one of my earliest heartthrobs: Larry Storch. I’ve been in love with the guy from the…
Snow came down like course sea salt on a big ugly Tupperware bowl of pale popcorn. It was January 1977, the coldest month in Pittsburgh history. I was a pint-size high school senior living in a small town 40 miles east of the steel city, serving my time and awaiting the day in late May when I would "commence." I was, in the words of Paul Simon's "My Little Town," savin' my money, dreamin' of glory, twitchin' like a finger on a trigger of a gun. I look back on the stay-at-home snow days of that brutal January - sheltered, sans-siblings, in the bedroom of our four-room apartment - as one of the most beautifully sad, soul-expanding periods of my life. With no actual school work, I was free to feed my psyche with all kinds creative matter. I was free to ponder the meaning of life -- to dissect the mysterious beast of High School Land.
August 25, 2015: I took a road trip with "Born to Run" yesterday. It's the 40th anniversary of Bruce's groundbreaking album, and there's no better way to experience it than by blasting it in your car, with the windows open and the wind blowing back your hair. Cars and tunnels and backstreets and highways are just as central to the…
"What's with all this telephone nonsense of "'Press 1 for English, press 2 for Spanish'? You live in America. Speak American, you damn illegals, or go home." Ah, the words of the xenophobes. Well, yer blogger has figuratively "pressed 2 for English" in every country she's ever visited. In the 1970s, my little school offered only three foreign languages, Latin,…