Reasons to be Cheerful, Videos 3

Posted on March 15, 2023 by admin

Back to posting around March 26. It may not quite be spring, and I don’t mean the equinox, but it is time for spring break, for my nonprofessional writing efforts anyway.

Captured a couple of flags in flight not long ago.

Illinois needs a new flag. Remarkably, it might get one. I didn’t know that until this evening, looking around for alternate designs for the state flag. Of course, with a committee working on the matter, there’s no guarantee of a better flag. Even if the state had a design competition, that might not work out either. Guess we just have to hope for the best, or at least the better.

Bet this rock is in the Suburban Boulder Database, which is maintained by the U.S. Geological Survey.

Or it would be, if I hadn’t made that up. The database, that is, not the USGS, which I assume is real, unless it’s a Deep State trick to persuade us dupes that the Earth is round. Yet who else will give us volcano warnings?

I always take a look at plaque-on-rock memorials when I can. I like the economy of the things. No money, or room, for a bronze or marble statue? No worries, affix a plaque.

That one commemorates the 100th anniversary of the founding of Batavia, Illinois, and was dedicated on September 3, 1933. It mentions the first settler in the area, one Christopher Payne, and lauds him and other early settlers “who here broke the sod that men to come might live.”

Maybe, but Payne and his 19th-century passel of children didn’t stay. They soon moved on to Wisconsin.

Never mind what the poet said, March could well be the cruelest month. So it’s time for cheerful tunes.

A wonderful cover of “Honey Pie” by the newly named The Bygones.

Admiration for one Dutch musician can lead to the discovery of others, such as Candy Dulfer.

And of course, a longstanding reason to be cheerful, “Reasons to be Cheerful, Part 3.”

It’s cheerful to recall the first time I remember hearing Ian Dury and the Blockheads — a spring day in Tennessee as I crossed campus. The year, long ago, though at the time it seemed to be the cutting edge of the future. A nearby frat house was broadcasting its musical tastes to all passersby, such as me. The tune: “Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick.” One of the kinds of things I went to college to experience, though I didn’t realize it at the time.

Thursday’s Theme: A Lot of Good Things Get Lost or Kicked Around

Posted on March 2, 2023 by admin

March came in like – an emu? Golden retriever? – came in pleasantly, with temps nearly 60 F. That didn’t last, of course, and chilly air is back today, with snow forecast for Friday, which will melt over the weekend.

The other day, I found a Sears bag tucked away in a semi-storage corner of the house under various things. This made me want to look up how many Sears locations survive. As of November, anyway, when Sears Holdings Corp. emerged from Chapter 11, there were 22.

That’s not even a shadow of its former self. That’s dryer lint of its former self.

I don’t know when we got the bag, or what we bought at Sears that needed such a bag. It’s fairly large, though. About as tall as a kitchen trash bag, so I decided to take its picture and then use the bag for trash. Interesting trademarked slogan. One the company maybe didn’t think through. Where else?™

There’s a lot of possibilities, Sears.

Last week, as mentioned before, there seemed to be overnight microbursts in the area, to judge by the tree branches on the ground afterward. This was the only tree knocked down that I noticed, a few days later, after it had been chopped up somewhat before being cleared away. Note the crust of soil it took with it.

I suspect it wasn’t just the wind, but also the fact that the tree stood in a low-lying area that usually fills up during a rain and takes days to empty, weakening the soil. Besides, it might have been a sick old tree whose roots didn’t have the grip they used to, so bam! Down it came.

But even healthier trees can take a beating if the wind is aggressive enough.

Speaking of fallen things, I learned today that the Hotel Pennsylvania is being demolished. That isn’t news, just that I don’t keep up with everything happening in Manhattan. I stayed there a couple of times in the early 2000s, where the company I worked for at the time put me up. I thought it more solid than grand, but I’m still sorry to see it go.

What else to say but, Pennsylvania Six Five Oh Oh Oh

One more thing about time passage, destruction and decay. Something I found unexpectedly. An algorithm suggested it. Might as well be by chance, then.

A poignant song from the point of view of an abandoned house, included on an album called The Rat Plague of ’66. The kind of thing that happens in Australia. Don Morrison seems to be a singer-songwriter from Adelaide, South Australia.

Christmas ’22

Posted on January 3, 2023 by admin

Christmas morning, 2022, before we opened any presents.

This year’s tree cost as much as last year’s, mainly because it’s shorter than most with a goofy bend atop, and while its trunk begins straight and true, it then detours in an odd direction, giving the tree a tilt usually associated with an impending fall. The stuff of Christmas movie comedies.

Also the stuff of actual falling Christmas trees, in the days when our tree was placed in a bucket weighed down with bricks and then filled with gravel. Stability not guaranteed. At some happy moment in the early ’70s, we acquired a tree-legged tree stand with three screws to secure the trunk, and it worked like a holiday dream. None of our trees ever fell after that.

I wax nostalgic for Christmases of yore, of course. Who doesn’t at least a little? But if I live long enough to be nostalgic about Christmas 2022, I’ll probably take a pass.

Not because of any family strife or other stereotypical situations. Yuriko and I welcomed both of our children home. It’s rare now to have us all in the same room, and a treasure when we do.

Bonus: my brother Jim came as well. I’m not sure why I made his picture at a Batman villain angle, but I did.

Once Christmas Day finally arrived, we had a pleasant time, sitting down to open presents, doing a zoom with more distant family members, and later convening at the table for Christmas dinner.

Some of the days before and after Christmas were a mite stressful, however, because of the great Southwest Airlines FUBAR. Media outlets are missing something by not applying that term to the situation, since it sums it up so nicely.

One more thing about Christmas. A few days ago, I happened on a posting by a fellow who devised a way to track the Christmas songs that a local (Chicago area) radio station plays. During the rest of the year, the station plays “light” music, but come early November sometime it becomes “Christmas FM.”

What did he find? The station played all of 187 different tracks, representing only 101 different songs during its run this year as a Christmas station. Out of a universe of what — thousands or tens of thousands of Christmas and holiday songs? — the station plays only about 100.

Mr. Program Director, how about expanding your list next by at least a few hundred more?

The program director would have deaf ears for such a request. He knows the radio biz, I do not. He has studies. He has focus groups. Or maybe he isn’t a he or a she, but an algorithm. Whatever the case, repetition is king. All I know is that FM radio used to be about variety, and used to be more interesting, and yet somehow made money.

Anticipating Arctic Air

Posted on December 15, 2022 by admin

Cold rain well into the night yesterday, enough to wake the sump pump. The good thing was, it didn’t ice everything over today.

Still, we’re on the cusp of a chill. Cold enough by Christmas Eve to snap off bits of Santa’s beard, looks like.

But that’s nothing to the jolly immortal elf. Has he ever got some stories about the Little Ice Age.

In the course of my day today, I was reading about the Lehigh Valley distribution market, which is one of the nation’s largest in square feet (and throughput, I assume). Distribution, as in the system of warehouses that concentrate and store goods until they’re shipped to stores or otherwise delivered to customers. You know, the agglomerations of mostly characterless but highly efficient and valuable buildings that most people drive by without a passing thought. But they’re buying in stores and elsewhere, keeping the whole distribution system in motion.

Then it occurred to me that otherwise I didn’t know jack about the Lehigh Valley. So a little reading followed. The area’s industrial history is deep.

How is it I didn’t know anything about the Lehigh Canal?

Now I do. Glad I got out of bed today.

Another reason I’m glad I made the commute downstairs to my office was my discovery early this evening of Allison Young singing “When I’m With You (Christmas Every Day).”

“I’m hearing some delightful strength and control that wasn’t there in years past,” says one of the YouTube comments. I’ll second that, but add that she was delightful enough in years past (and not too many years past).

Windy Chill

Posted on November 30, 2022 by admin

As forecast, full-throated winter came barreling into northern Illinois last night as erratic gusts. The edge of same system that spawned tornadoes in the South? Our wind was brisk but, I’m glad to say, not deadly, unless you passed out naked and drunk outside in some hard-to-spot location, as visiting Florida Man might.

At least it will be a dry cold for the next week or more, weather scientists predict. Any winter day without ice underfoot isn’t half bad.

Late November dusk in these climes.

RIP, Christine McVie. I was much surprised to learn that her maiden name was actually Perfect. I heard years ago that that was her name before marrying John McVie but, in as much as I gave it any thought, believed it was a stage name. Dropping a stage name upon marriage might be a little unusual, but not inconceivable.

Who’s named Perfect? Christine’s father, Cyril Percy Absell Perfect, a concert violinist and music lecturer from near Birmingham, UK, for one. And I assume some generations of his paternal ancestors before him.

“This… name is an example of the common medieval practice of creating a surname from a nickname, in this instance one that originally denoted an apprentice who had completed his period of training,” notes the Internet Surname Database.

“The derivation is from the Middle English ‘parfit,’ meaning ‘fully trained’ or ‘well versed’, from the Old French ‘parfit(e),’ meaning ‘completed,’ ‘perfect,’ ultimately from the Latin ‘perfectus,’ a derivative of ‘perficere’ to finish, accomplish.”

Reno Riverwalk

Posted on October 19, 2022 by admin

It isn’t Vegas, but Reno is part of the national tapestry too. Somehow it wouldn’t have been the same had the prisoner shot a man in Omaha or Biloxi or Yonkers. Then again, if the crime was in Reno, what was he doing in a California state prison? Best not to nitpick great song lyrics too much.

Also, I’m just old enough to remember talk of Reno as a divorce capital. That was already a dead letter by the time I knew much about it, but there were still mentions in movies and on TV. Come to think of it, Betty Draper went to Reno to divorce Don in 1964, I believe.

On the morning of October 3, I arrived in downtown Reno for a look around, parking in a space near the Truckee River, which runs through the city. A riverwalk along its greener-than-expected banks has been developed since the 1990s.

I was eyeing the parking meters, those petty tyrants of auto placement.

“No one checks those,” a man walking a small dog told me. “I’ve lived in that building for four years, and I’ve only seen anyone checking them twice.”

He pointed toward a mid-rise a block or so away.

“I see, thanks,” I said. “Looks like a nice building.”

“Yeah, on the outside.”

This began a discussion of apartment rents in Reno, with the elderly (75, he later said) black gentleman taking the lead in the conversion. After all, he lived around here and paid those rents. The long and short of it: The Rent Is Too Damn High.

Worse, he said he’d left California to get away from high rents. They’d followed him to Reno, where rents had no business being high. And yet, here we are.

He didn’t mention any industry numbers, but he didn’t have to. I can look those up – at least, averages. In Reno, the average apartment rent stands at $1,520/month these days, up from $1493/month a year ago, according to the Nevada State Apartment Association.

After he went on his way, I turned my attention to a stroll along the river.

A bit of seasonal color for early October. When I was there, the leaves were just a touch non-green, like at home.

Can’t have a riverwalk without some public art. I’m pretty sure that’s an important element of contemporary placemaking theory. Impressive, but no information about the artist. Birds liked it too.

“Dual Nature” by Cecilia Lueza (2011).

The descriptively named “Daring Young Man on the Trapeze” by Ric Blackerby (2004).

By coincidence a few days later, I saw most of It Happened One Night on TV in our room. I hadn’t seen it in about 30 years. I appreciate even more now, as a gold standard for romantic comedies. Romcom confections made in our time should be half as good.

Then there was the scene in the bus when the riders broke out in song.

If only intercity bus rides were really like that. If only life were like that. The scene must have done wonders for the sale of the 1932 recording of the song by Walter O’Keefe, another busy and widely known entertainer who has been completely forgotten.

Milwaukee Hipster Doughnuts &c.

Posted on September 29, 2022 by admin

Time for an autumnal break. Back to posting around October 16, when the tree colors will be bold and the winds (probably) brisk, at least around here. Expect photos.

Out last stop in Milwaukee on Sunday afternoon, as a light rain fell, was Chubby’s Donuts, spotted by chance and visited on a whim.

The place has a mascot atop. Hard to tell just how chubby he is.

The doughnuts, which are really round dough-rings each about the size of an onion ring, come in bags, and are dusted liberally with cinnamon and sugar. Pretty good, but I’m not running up to Milwaukee just for them.

On Monday evening, we went to west suburban Westmont to visit my old friend Kevin, and participate in a trivia contest at a local restaurant. That was a first for me, unless you count the contest at one of my former companies, at a company event ca. 1999, that netted me some movie tickets.

I don’t remember all the various categories now, but as usual, some were easier than others, and our team (Kevin, Jay and I) came in second, partly on the strength of us knowing all eight of the comic strips in the visual part of the contest. Everyone got a piece of paper with eight single panels illustrating each comic, but without any captions, and you had to name the strip for each.

They were The Far Side, Calvin & Hobbes, Nancy, Garfield, The Family Circus, Bloom County, The Adventures of Tintin and Beetle Bailey.

I thought they were easy. Maybe it’s a generational question: who among the younger set is going to know that many of them, much less all?

Then again, I remember a high school English teacher of mine expressing wonder that any adult — including a highly educated friend of his — would spend time reading the funnies, so perhaps he wouldn’t have done very well at naming them either, despite being of the generation who grew up with Terry and the Pirates (for example).

Another category was songs with the word “love” in their titles, which of course includes a lot of possibilities. Name the artist, given the song title. We didn’t do that well — flummoxed mostly on the newer songs — but God help me, I knew that the Captain & Tennille had a big hit with “Muskrat Love” (1976).

What I didn’t know, until I happened to hear about it on the radio a few years ago, was that the Captain & Tennille’s version of “Muskrat Love” was a cover, and that the band America had done an earlier one. It was written and first recorded by Willis Alan Ramsey, of all people. In any case, it’s one of those songs not that you’ll always remember, but which you’ll never forget.

Pop Up to Canada

Posted on August 16, 2022 by admin

When planning our recent trip, I suggested a visit to Sault Ste. Marie, mainly to see the locks that connect the higher-level Lake Superior with the lower-level Lake Huron (and Lake Michigan, for that matter). Engineering marvel and all that.

The idea of crossing from Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, to Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, didn’t really register with me. Maybe because I’m blasé about visiting Canada, having done so a number of times.

Or maybe because I dreaded whatever rigmarole Covid-addled Canada would force upon us to cross the border. After all, it was only about a year earlier that I’d seen the near-empty Rainbow Bridge between Niagara Falls, New York and its counterpart in Ontario, bereft of its tourist traffic.

Someday, I knew I’d want to go to the Canadian Sault St. Marie, because it’s the jumping off point to take the Agawa Canyon Tour Train and see other sights northeast of Lake Superior, but all that would take more time than we wanted to spend on this trip.

My friends had other ideas about visiting Canada. Namely, they wanted to. Just a pop across the border on August 3 and spend the night in Ontario, returning to the UP the next day. Two of them had never been to Canada, a slightly flabbergasting notion, and the third had only visited Vancouver Island on a long-ago organized bus trip in high school. They were keen to go, if only for a brief sojourn.

I didn’t object, and we went across the international bridge that afternoon. The rigmarole turned out to be fairly modest, uploading our Covid vaccination cards and passport numbers and a few other details the day before at a web site called ArriveCan, which generated a QR code on our phones that I was sure the guard would want to see, along with our passports.

She did not. Just the passports, and she asked a few perfunctory questions to make sure we weren’t degenerates trying to sneak into Canada, and we went through.

Our visit to the Great White North was short, but sweet. We had dinner — the best of the trip, I thought — at Uncle Gino’s Cafe & Ristorante. I had the penne alforno. The food was delicious, not too expensive (helped by the relative strength of the U.S. dollar), and the waitress was a peach.

Sault Ste. Marie is a small industrial town, including steel and paper products, and more recently hydroelectric and wind power. We drove around town a bit, and soon took a riverside stroll.

Wind chimes inside funnels along the boardwalk, the likes of which I’d never seen. Makes a pleasant tune, though.

We made it as far as the historic Sault Ste. Marie Canal, which includes smaller locks than on the American side. Reminded me a bit of the Erie Canal.

The canal’s historic structures were closed for renovation, but nice to look at.

So were the clouds.

We spent the evening at our rented house, drinking wine, conversing and watching videos each of us selected in turn. I suggested a few Caro Emerald videos, and she was a big hit, as was Tammi Savoy, a delight I only discovered myself in January.

We left in the next morning and I forgot to suggest we visit the local Tim Horton’s. Damn. My friends missed an essential Canadian experience. They probably would have liked the coffee and I know they’d have liked the doughnuts. Guess they’ll have to visit the country again sometime.

As for me, I came to consider my visit to Sault Ste. Marie as a scouting expedition. One of these days, I need to come back to explore the region more thoroughly — take that Canadian train and see those U.S. locks.

Fireflies, Cicadas, Crickets and Bops

Posted on July 26, 2022 by admin

Late July is that rare moment here when the fireflies haven’t quite gone away, and the cicadas and the crickets have both started their noisemaking. The crickets are just beginning and not so loud, but the cicadas are reaching for peak loudness, which tends to be in August.

Got a lot to do. Time for a high summer break. Back to posting around August 7.

I was really glad to find this again the other day. It hasn’t been on YouTube in a long time, but it’s on Vimeo.

The Three Little Pigs – Three Little Bops from Rudolf Second Channel on Vimeo.

A cartoon of great charm that I don’t remember ever seeing as a kid. Maybe afternoon TV program directors thought the jazz off-putting for kids, or maybe there was some copyright issue. Anyway, enjoy it while it’s available.

Cement Mixer

Posted on June 22, 2022 by admin

Over 95 F. degrees here yesterday, on the occasion of the summer solstice — a near-record in metro Chicago for this day, the weather record-keepers say. That didn’t keep men hired by the village from further work on the street, including the appearance of a cement mixer. I didn’t take a picture, but I did think of the song of that name. Who wouldn’t?

I didn’t realize there were quite so many recordings until I looked into it. The always wonderful Slim Gaillard, of course, was first.

Then there’s the big band stylings — and perhaps more mainstream version — of Alvino Rey.

I’d heard those. But there’s also one by Liberace, of all people, who naturally had fun with it, and a hip early ’60s version by the Orlons. And more. (Mel Tormé? Well, I might listen to that sometime.)

Been There, Seen That

By Dees Stribling

Category Archives: Music