Aug. 31-Sept. 1

August concludes with a spirited house party potluck jam session dominated by teen fiddlers, featuring a good chunk of minor-key tunes. And September begins with the reunion of our little nuclear family, as OD (with no small regret, we're sure) completes her vacation Out West.

Aug. 27-29

*YD returns, with very becoming haircut and a certain wistfulness over leaving Paradise. But before too long she's settled back into comfort and routine (although the latter will change rather soon).
*Saturday, I join an assortment of teenage and adult musicians for a semi-informal jam session at Springstep, which at times showed the different lingua franca in the Irish and Scottish trad communities. Still, we all had fun.
*And Sunday, lo and behold, My Beloved and I quietly observed our 17th hit year as a married couple, feasting on some home-made Chinese stir-fry. Low-key celebrations at home are fine and dandy - - better than none at all (and we've had those, too) - - but some year it wouldn't be such a bad thing at all if we could, oh, up and hie ourselves away somewhere else, with just our instruments and libidos.
*Viewings:
=="Cold Mountain" - - Given what I'd read about the adaptation of Charles Frazier's Civil War-era Homeric novel, I expected to be disappointed, and I was, but not as much as I feared. Director Anthony Minghella's cinematographer John Seale does laudable work in evoking the bucolic (and occasionally perilous) landscapes Inman traverses during his journey home, and the featured and incidental music (especially the sacred harp singing arranged by Tim Erikson of Cordelia's Dad, notably in the staging of the Battle of The Crater scene) effectively captures the period. But the hint of self-consciousness in the portrayals of Ada and Ruby by, respectively, Nicole Kidman and Renee Zellweger is hard to ignore. And while it may be understandable for a film to want to build up a protagonist, the presence of Teague and the Home Guard seems regrettably overplayed.
=="The Safety of Objects" - - Merging characters and chapters from A.M. Homes' collection of short stories, director and co-writer (with Homes) Rose Troche largely bypasses the book's overriding theme - - that the affluence and insularity of suburban life carries a risk of elevating possessions (objects) to the same level of importance as our familial and personal relationships - - in favor of melodrama. The separateness of the stories and experiences in the book made them far more resonant than when blended and cross-referenced here.

Aug. 18-25: The World at Home

In a reprise of the previous week, we rose early, packed OD and gear into the car and made our way to the airport, where we deposited her to join her sister on the West Coast. And thus began our week of empty-nestedness:
*The main item on the agenda was to reclaim our Stygian mess of an apartment, so as to be able to actually walk through it without treading on clothes, shoes, empty CD cases, used tissues and other assorted ephemera. This we did. The end result was, and is (and long may it be, hallelujah), so gratifying it can scarcely be described. To have other areas of our domicile actually available for use in reading, conversation or simple introspection reduces the ambient stress level easily by about 80 percent or more.
*Restoring a malfunctioning computer to, hopefully, full working capacity also does wonder to alleviate tension. Especially when cost of said restoration amounts to less than $100, not including gas for drop-off and pick-up at Micro Center.
*Yes, I admit it. I watched Olympic women's beach volleyball. And enjoyed it.
*While for the most part we cocooned ourselves during this period, we did treat ourselves to an excursion to Harvard Square and Club Passim, where we took in a show featuring several acquaintances: Uncle Earl, making their East Coast debut, and - - in their second, and apparently last, performance - - Tenbrooks. Tenbrooks' set was over far too soon, but not before they offered perhaps the best version of Eric Merrill's "Golden Ticket" I've heard yet. Uncle Earl, in addition to their infectious old-timey and bluegrass, threw in a Chinese translation of a Gillian Welch song (sorry, not familiar enough with her repertoire to guess the title) and a lovely version of "William Taylor." And lots of sprightly clogging and step-dancing from Laura Cortese and the effervescent Kristin Andreasson.
*Prior to the show, wandering around the Square, we happened upon a group of hip-hoppers engaged in seemingly endless preparation for a street performance. Not sure what the delay was, but every time something seemed about to happen, one of the group would go "off stage" for whatever reason (including to take a call on the cellphone). The apparent leader of this ensemble, just to keep the audience engaged and expectant, would periodically give a generally half-hearted call-and-response chant: "What time is it?" "Showtime!"
*So yes, all very satisfying. But maybe, just maybe, we can arrange to have a child-free week where there is no Great Task hanging over our collective heads. Yeah, that'd be right swell.
*Viewings:
=="In America" - - Perfectly charming and soulful depiction of an Irish family, haunted by the death of their son, who try to start life anew in New York City. Refreshingly, writer-director Jim Sheridan downplays the pity-the-poor-immigrant angle to show how they see possibility as well as peril in their low-rent existence, populated by characters both desperate and redeemable - - especially their neighbor, Mateo, a heretofore isolated, remote and troubled African American artist battling AIDS. Real-life sisters Sarah (the film's narrator and would-be auteur) and Emma Bolger are a joy to watch as they help bring their parents - - and the audience - - forward, without any kind of heavy-handedness or manipulation.
=="Igby Goes Down" - - Dark-as-midnight comedy about ne-er-do-well youngest son of well-to-do family, and his efforts to alienate himself from, and return, to his regal yet vulnerable mother (Susan Sarandon) and superficially upright brother. Kieran Culkin, as the title character, is appropriately sardonic and unapologetically iconoclastic where necessary, but there's something ultimately wearying about his travails by the final third or so of the film, as he cuts himself adrift from family, friends and opportunity.
=="Beowulf" - - Or, how to adapt a centuries-old literary classic for the young male adolescent crowd. For one, you set it in the retro-future world a la Mad Max: a castle fortress that looks like an oil rig, lit by gas lamps and with a public address system, populated by characters who use modern-day profanity and hip-hop lingo. Make the famous knight into an Action Hero, able to do a succession of backward handsprings as well as any Olympian gymnast - - this being important because the actor who portrays him (Christopher Lambert) gives the phrase "one-note performance" a whole new meaning. And it certainly doesn't help to have a heroine (Rhona Mitra) who not only speaks Queen's English but can barely squeeze into a leather bustier which seems most unsuitable for combat, but is pretty good for seduction.

Aug. 14-15

*LW and I join the frenzied (OK, enthused) masses enjoying the state's "tax holiday" and spend most of Saturday morning walking the aisles at Micro Center, where we end up doing very well indeed. Complete gratification will be delayed, however, pending forthcoming work on the apartment. Fair enough to call us pawns in the machinations of the capitalist military-industrial complex, but when you save as much as we did by not having to worry about sales tax and throw in a few rebates, well, we're hardly likely to be contrite.
*The rest of Saturday is quite productive, as we clean up and sort out the Stygian morass that is our living room but during the past few years has had to serve as bedroom at one time or another for YD and OD.
*Sunday sees the return of the humid, overly moist weather we've been locked in for days, wherein one feels as if a permanent dew has settled onto everything. But late in the day I scarper out to the O'Hanlon's session, anchored this time round by the ever-ebullient Jerry Bell and his Lovely Nancy. We go through the tried-and-true rebel, pub and sentimental stuff (i.e., "Wild Rover," "Let No Man Steal Your Thyme," "Goodbye Muirsheen Durkin," "Fields of Athenry"), but Jerry and I also belt out "Row Bullies Row," "Donkey Riding," "Poverty Knock" and "Barrett's Privateers," and I have the opportunity to trot out Johnny Moynihan's odd "As I Come Home the Other Night" and "The Kilmuckeridge Hunt." The highlight comes when Jerry and Nancy's elementary school-age daughter step-dances to "The Rattlin' Bog," and during the instrumental breaks leads a collection of kiddies in a caper around the room. On top of that, a group of kind folks pass the hat, unaware that O'Hanlon's compensates its regular musicians (but not the guest ones, it must be pointed out). So, at the insistence of my musical brethren, lo and behold, I walk out some $50 richer.
*Viewing: " Maybe Baby" - - Light, very light comedy about youngish British couple trying to come to grips with their inexplicable infertility and its impact on their relationships and careers. Hugh Laurie pretty much scraps his usual blithe-boob Bertie Wooster persona but retains enough cluelessness as the husband; his wife is played by Joely Richardson as pleasantly perky with an edge (and somewhat of a roving eye). When their chemistry plods, which is pretty regularly, the film is somewhat saved by cameos from the likes of Rowan Atkinson (as a discomfiting gynecologist), Emma Thompson and Dawn French.
*Musical acquisitions:
=="Underneath the Stars," by Kate Rusby - - Oor Kate's most recent effort indicates she's not especially eager to ditch her musical collaborators (hubby John McCusker, Ian Carr, Andy Cutting et al) nor arrangements, and you know what? It's really just fine. There are some spirited, engaging moments here, notably on "Our Goodman" and "The Blind Harper," both aided immeasurably by Carr's robust guitar work, and her tender yet strong vocals are in great form on "Daughter of Megan," "Let Me Be" and "Cruel."
=="Courier," by Richard Shindell - - The proverbial long-awaited live album of one of the best singer-songwriters around today. His style and repertoire are well-represented, with the likes of "Are You Happy Now?," "Reunion Hill," "Next Best Western" and "Mary Magdalene." What makes it all even better is the first song, the previously unrecorded title track, which contains the classic Shindellian elements, putting you immediately in the shoes of the song's protagonist as he tries to sort out who he is and what he's doing.

Aug. 13

Sad. Very sad. A long-time family friend, having enjoyed a sporting weekend, drops son off at the airport, and on the way home - - no doubt tired by the exertions of field and stream - - falls asleep at the wheel, with grimly predictable results. He and my mother, despite vastly different backgrounds and belief systems, were best buddies, and I know this has shaken her greatly.

Aug. 12

*After a pretty dry period last month, music and dance are slowly but surely working their way into more of my itinerary. Sunday, with OD off at a rapper-sword team meeting, I dropped in for a little while at a session in PJ Ryan's, a model neighborhood bar. I can't say there is a Universal Session Protocol, but there's something comforting about hearing the familiar litany: "Good mahn yerself, sit down and have some tunes"; "Where else d'ye play?"; and the always welcome "Will ye be having a drink?" (I whispered to the fiddle player next to me, "OK, are drinks for musicians on the house or just at discount?")
Tuesday evening, after months of obligatory "We must get together" declarations, fellow academic-sector toiler Beth and I arranged ourselves on a bench overlooking the campus main road and proceeded to leisurely run through some of our repertoire.
And then, OD and I made our way to the Thursday night VFW Contra, ignoring the tropical thickness in the air to do the requisite balance-and-swings, alemans and gypsies. Displaying her new-found sense of responsibility, OD insists on leaving at the interval so as to be prepared for her summer class final in the morning.
*I make no apologies for having been, and continuing to be, a fan of 1970s progressive rock. So a recent e-mail exchange with, of all people, folkie-jazzophile guitarist/mandolinist John McGann, reenergized my appetite for some Yes. Accordingly, I checked out the mid-90s Yes documentary, "YesYears," from the library and fondly recalled the hours spent miming Rick Wakeman's synthesizer and mellotron tinkerings. A revelation: The opening motif of "Yours Is No Disgrace" was apparently inspired by the "Bonanza" theme song. Another revelation: "Tales from Topographic Oceans" - - the high-water mark for my Yes-manishness - - came about in part because Jon Anderson (whose mid-Atlantic, lapsed-Lancashire accent in the film takes some getting used to) took umbrage at skeptics who joked that Yes would some day "set The Bible to music." Yet another revelation: It's rather a jolt to see Anderson's on-stage wardrobe evolve from 1970s Whole-Earth spiritual consciousness to the upscale active-wear look of the 1980s.
Oh, and then I stumble on this, er, unique version of "Roundabout."
*Book completed: "Family History" by Dani Shepard - - Cautionary tale of artsy, near-middle-age couple whose lives are upended by the descent into teenage-crazy (or perhaps something more profound) of their daughter, who may or may not have been responsible for a horrifying accident injuring their infant son. Shepard effectively shifts the narrative, related by the wife, Rachel, back and forth between recounting the events that brought virtually everything crashing down around them to Rachel's attempts to move forward. But by the final part of the novel, the accumulated crises feel a little, well, much: Wouldn't Terrible Thing 1 and Terrible Thing 2 have made for enough drama?

Aug. 11

*YD, having been largely inactive for the past few weeks, has quite the whirlwind week, traveling by rail to stay with a friend on the North Shore, then returning long enough to pack and head out to visit aunties on the West Coast. The latter begins with a fairly uneventful, and pleasantly conversational trip to Logan.
*After a long, often improbable life, Barry the Christmas Miracle Gerbil [whose survival tale was briefly recounted in D&Q Dec. 18, 2000] finally expires, an event all of us fully expected to occur - - well before this, in fact - - but is, obviously, somewhat poignant.
*Viewing: "Jerry Seinfeld: Comedian" - - To paraphrase Steve Martin, comedy is not funny. At least that's apparently the conceit of this documentary, which chronicles Jerry Seinfeld's re-entry into stand-up comedy, contrasting his experience with that of up-and-comer Orny Adams. It's not a "concert film," but a depiction of the doubts, anxieties, insecurities and, yes, the arrogance that inform the lot and life of the stand-up comic (which includes dinner and conversation in shadowy bistros). Watching Seinfeld gradually regain his form and self-confidence is not quite as compelling, however, as seeing Adams - - who shows us the volumes and volumes of notebook journals he's kept over the years - - wage an internal tug-of-war between his ego and his humility.

Aug. 5

*Relaxed, convivial session with Heather and Robin, our first since we put together our audition CD before the Great Meadows English odyssey. Enough to make me wish we could all three enjoy a more considerable musical immersion. Ah well.
*Who needs the school Chess Club when you've got this? (Ta, Memepool).
*Book completed: "Music for Torching," by A.M. Homes - - Basically, Homes has returned to the same neighborhood she plumbed in the short stories of Safety of Objects; in fact, the book's two main characters, middle-age crazy parents Paul and Elaine, appeared in Objects. Their subversive dissatisfaction with suburban life accelerates into arson, fraud, adultery and, above all, a simultaneous embrace and mockery of routine, all laid out in a sometimes comically spare present-tense narrative. Homes' abrupt shift in tone at the very end suggests, however, that there is a price to be paid for this self-indulgent dislocation.

Aug. 3

*Books completed:
=="Shelter" by Jayne Anne Phillips - - The much-discussed societal and familial upheaval in contemporary America is close to hand in this book, set in and around a West Virginia summer camp months before the JFK assassination and the so-called End of Innocence long associated with the event. The lives and interactions of sisters Lenny (15) and Alma (12) presage this period of transition: glimpses of parental infidelity, child abuse - - real and possibly imagined - - and an apparently dire case of war-related post-traumatic stress syndrome thread through the narrative. Lenny in particular seems to embody the manifold, risky stirrings that will inform her generation. Her nocturnal nudity is liberating but also leaves her vulnerable, not least to her impulses: As Phillips writes it, Lenny's sexual encounter with a boy during an illicit moonlight swim is an awakening of American youth from its Eisenhower-era dormancy. And later on it is Lenny who, when confronting the Evil lurking midst the woods, acts with an almost disconcerting maturity (albeit with concern for the others in her company). Intense, unsettling and powerful.
=="The Pleasing Hour" by Lily King - - Rosie, young New England woman flees her family, and the memory of the illegitimate child she gave them, to become an au pair in Paris. She becomes enmeshed in her Parisian household, with aloof teenage daughter, sadly overlooked middle daughter and much-indulged young son, as well as the docile father, Marc, and domineering mother, Nicole. It is the story of Nicole and her own troubled upbringing that becomes the counterpoint to Rosie's coming-of-age chronicle, which includes her growing infatuation with Marc. But King mutes the climax, and the reckoning feels insubstantial.
*Viewing: "Gentleman's Agreement" - - Widower journalist Philip Schuyler Green (Gregory Peck) poses as a Jew to do an expose on anti-Semitism in this famous Elia Kazan-Moss Hart adaptation of Laura Hobson's novel. The prejudice he encounters doesn't manifest itself in violence (other than that meted out to his son) but rather in pervasive attitudes and interactions that are no less odious, especially when they come from those who are close to him. Although the film plods in spots, Kazan and Hart did well in playing up the silence-is-acquiescence aspect of bigotry - - no small point in 1947.

Aug. 2

*No Mah Nomah! Maybe I've been reading too much David McCullough, but it's tempting to cast Theo Epstein as HST, dismissing a MacArthurian Garciaparra when whatever likelihood of his continued effective service became overshadowed by his liabilities. It remains to be seen, of course, whether Nomar will fade away.
*Rather frustrating non-developments concerning rental apartment give way to a most pleasing introductory jam with new-found musical acquaintance Cathy, which may lead to a semi-regular gig. A highlight: For the first time in memory, I actually played rhythm for a slip jig in F-sharp.

July 29

*Now this is more like it. "This" meaning frequent musical indulgences. Could've been more, but as I learned to my great disappointment, the Friday night Hugh O'Neill sessions are apparently no more. So I had a consolation pint and went home�just in time to watch the latest episode of Red Sox futility against the Yankees.
Sunday saw a welcome return to the O'Hanlon's session, which to my considerable pleasure was being administered by Matt and Shannon Heaton, who besides being superlative musicians are one of the more amiable (and cutest) couples around. While I've played at a few O'Hanlon's sessions with Matt, I'd never had the chance of seeing/hearing Shannon at such close range, all the better to enjoy the absolute command and dexterity she shows on flute. In between, we talked about the places we live and enjoy, the condition of our guitars, and, oh, stuff. I do have to get out there more often.
*Tuesday, the Heatons were in an open-air concert under threatening skies with family favorite Halali, so daughters and I (regretfully leaving behind LW to grapple with our cantankerous computer) packed up blankets, bug spray and umbrellas to go see. And it was this occasion when I had a not-so-earthshaking revelation about seeing one's musical acquaintances perform. Wonderful as it might be to sit and play tunes with all these folks, it's equally delightful to simply sit back and watch/listen to them.
For instance, seeing how Matt and Shannon, much like Dave Webber and Anni Fentiman at Old Songs (see June 25-27 below), evince a personal as well as musical intimacy in their performance. And appreciating the rapport Halali's fiddlers three have with one another, different as they may be in terms of physical stature, temperament and style. And that Flynn Cohen is just such a great guitar player, whose attention to rhythm is the very model of a modern major accompanist.
YD and OD, meanwhile, loved the opportunity to serve as off-stage backing vocalists, for which Laura Cortese was highly grateful and gratified: "They are soooo cool!" she exclaimed later on.
*Festive Tuesday continued with a farewell party for Brooklyn-bound Halalian Lissa Schneckenburger, at which we were treated to a gender-switch Halali impersonation (i.e., three male fiddlers, one female axe player) of their signature "Too Sexy for My Djembe" medley. And a certain uninhibited cellist showcased his Michael Jackson dance moves. And a rendition of "Happy Birthday" (for Shannon) morphed into something between a prolonged primal scream and a faux-Eastern European folk song. "Wow," observed someone, "and to think a lot of these people make music for a living."

July 21

*FINALLY! Car is fixed, and so I celebrated with a trip to The Skellig for their weekly open session. As before, the craic is fine, as is the company, but it's just damn loud in there, and hearing yourself, let alone anyone else, can be a challenge.
*So Bill Buckner sang "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" at Wrigley Field. Didn't go that smoothly, though: When they gave him his cue, he missed it and it rolled between his legs.
*Why I'm a packrat: I was idly going through a drawer in my bureau, sorting through Christmas cards received from old friends, notes on family ancestry and various other memorabilia, when I came across the program for the 1986 Fleadh Ceol in Listowel, which LW (before she was actually "W") and I attended during our trip to Ireland that summer. So I look through the list of competitions and entrants and, my gosh: There's Niall Vallely (Concertina, 15-18 year old division)! John Joe Kelly (Lilting, Drumming, Bodhran, Faoi 12)! John and Alan Kelly (Duets, 12-15)! Siobhan Peoples (Fiddle, 12-15)! Brendan Bulger (Fiddle, Faoi 12)! Enda Scahill (Banjo, Faoi 12)!
There were also quite a number of familiar names in some over-18 divisions, e.g., Gino Lupari, Joanie Madden, Billy McComiskey, Brian Conway, to name a few. One of the best finds, though, was spotting the name of a harpist in the Faoi-12 division whom I met years later when she came to Boston on a fellowship.
To be honest, I can't be absolutely sure how many of these future "star performers" we actually saw in action at the Fleadh, since we only went for one day. And being somewhat jet-lagged and woozy, we kind of stumbled around from venue to venue just kind of taking in whatever happened to be going on; after a while, the performances kind of blended together. But all I can say is, if I ever meet any of these folks, I can reminisce with them about good ole Listowel '86.
*Viewing: "The Royal Tanenbaums" - - Talk about your literary conceits: Writers Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson fashion this dysfunctional-family-redeemed tale as if it was a John Irving novel (with a brief nod to "The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankenweiler") illustrated by Diane Arbus. That said, it starts out promisingly enough, with a laconic and quite amusing capsule chronicle of the Tanenbaum family's peaks and valleys, including the many sins of the father (played by the splendidly incorrigible Gene Hackman), the put-upon mother (Anjelica Huston) and the rise and fall of their talented, quirky children (Gwyneth Paltrow, Ben Stiller and Luke Wilson). But the familial rapprochement, perpetrated by Hackman, just doesn't come off as outrageously funny as it could, or should, be. A good part of this is the restraints on Stiller and especially Paltrow, who seems to be in a Thorazine haze much of the time.
*Book completed: "Krakatoa: The Day the Earth Exploded," by Simon Winchester - - A fascinating but at times frustrating depiction of the 1883 Krakatoa eruption and its many after effects, which went well beyond the destruction to parts of Java and Sumatra. As Winchester notes, the event was arguably the debut of a global media, thanks to the network of telegraphs installed in the years preceding; Krakatoa's aftermath influenced art, and may have even helped to foment an insurrection with far-reaching sociopolitical overtones. As a scientist, Winchester enthusiastically details the geological implications of Krakatoa, and offers a well-rendered overview of conventional and unconventional scientific thinking up to and after the eruption. But Winchester makes some missteps, too, some small, some large: His personal recollection of a visit to an arctic volcano site adds little; his frequent use of italics to emphasize things becomes rather annoying; the continual foreshadowing of the eruption wears thin (especially a chapter devoted to the anxiety of a visiting circus elephant, presented as a dubious presaging of disaster) - - and seldom has the word "lozenge" been utilized as a descriptive term so often. Still, his account of the eruption itself is unquestionably gripping, and his description of his trip to the "new" Krakatoa makes for a very effective and somewhat chilling coda.
*Musical acquisition: Rory Campbell and Malcolm Stitt, "Nusa" - - Piper/whistle player Campbell and guitar-bouzouki player Stitt offer up some occasionally fiery tunes, notably their pipes-guitar duet "Hunt," and sensitively delivered songs in Scots Gaelic, including the haunting "S'Fhada Bhuainn Anna." The musicianship is terrific, but the energy seems fitful, and sounds as if they're still hitting their stride.

July 9-14

*Semi-malfunctioning car putting quite the severe crimp in musical -- or most any -- activity for the nonce. Quite despairing to think of all the sessions and other events we/I have had to forego these past couple of weeks. The well-worn phrase "making up for lost time" may be much in use next week.
*Eye-catching little item from past week, as reported in the Boston Herald (emphasis added):
A Protestant march through a Catholic area of North Belfast triggered sharp rioting yesterday before members of the outlawed Irish Republican Army intervened to stop violence from spiraling out of control. No serious injuries were reported.
In scenes unimaginable before the 11-year-old Irish peace process began, top IRA men rushed to rescue a dozen besieged British soldiers from a stick-wielding mob of pro-Irish nationalists.
Many of the IRA men, along with top officials of the Sinn Fein party, endured heavy verbal and physical abuse from the angry crowd as they struggled to quell the intermittent rioting.
There's a song in there, somewhere.
*Viewing: "The Invisible Woman" - - Dumb, dumb, silly, silly "feminized" version (1940s feminism, that is) of the classic horror story. Actually, there is a kind of New Deal populist strain here: The lady in question, a fashion model played appealingly by Virginia Bruce, is out to take revenge on her exploitative martinet of a boss; so she volunteers for wacky Professor Gibbs' invisibility experiment. Somehow, this leads to a run-in with a home-sick gangster on the lam who wants to use the process so as to return to his dearly loved old stomping grounds. Mostly, though, the film is an excuse for the likes of Charlie Ruggles (as the gayest butler ever), Margaret Hamilton -- yes, that Margaret Hamilton -- and even Shemp Howard to indulge their comedic talents; and John Barrymore, as Gibbs, certainly seems to be having fun. Of course, the original appeal of the movie, probably to no small degree, was inviting red-blooded males in the audience to fill in the blanks when Bruce is invisible - - for which she has to be in the "altogether" (apparently, you couldn't say "naked" back then, at least not in relation to the human body).

July 3-8

*Pretty small-scale, low-key 4th. Even the hometown carnival and fireworks display had a downsized feel to it. Well, there is a war on, isn't there?
*Appropos of which: What a wondrous photo and video of our Colin Powell dancing and lip-synching to "YMCA" at a major international conference's traditional Skit Night. I suppose that if I were a far-right conservative religious type channeling Burgess Meredith, I would want to KNOW why a TOP OFFICIAL of our AMERICAN GOVERNMENT was PERFORMING a song that is POPULARLY KNOWN as a THINLY VEILED REFERENCE to and a GLORIFICATION of the GAY LIFESTYLE.
*Then, scanning the sports pages, I happen to glimpse a note about Friday night's game between the Cleveland Indians and Cincinnatti Reds, won quite convincingly by the former, 15-2. Not that I follow either team, but what drew my eye was this little aside about the winning pitcher, Kazuhito Tadano:

"He was one of Japan's top college pitchers, but didn't get drafted after a Japanese tabloid published photos of him appearing in a gay porn video."

After he signed with Cleveland, incidentally, he held a press conference to apologize for being in the porn video. His explanation was simple: He needed the money.
That's why I'm glad we have the Cape Cod League here: Now, college baseball stars can perfect their craft AND get paid for it, and don't have to be in gay pRon videos UNLESS THEY LIKE THAT SORT OF THING, or else they feel the video has a certain artistic integrity.
*Recent viewings:
=="61*" -- A pretty realistic depiction of Roger Maris' home run record-breaking season, and its impact on his marriage and on his friendship with teammate and co-Ruth-chaser Mickey Mantle. Director Billy Crystal does a good job of letting the story make its own drama, instead of trying to stir more up. Barry Pepper and Thomas Jane are quite convincing as Maris and Mantle, respectively, as are their interactions with one another and their teammates. If there are any characters who veer close to caricature, it's the sportswriters, who collectively seem to be arbitrary and petty in their coverage of the Maris-Mantle "duel." Not that there weren't some scoundrels in the bunch, but still�
=="Missing" -- A "Searchers" (or perhaps "Wild Rovers") for the New Millennium, as a quest -- in this case, that of a mother for her kidnapped daughter -- through the American West becomes A Quest, full of heavy meaning and philosophical underpinning. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Director Ron Howard adds a few other elements to amplify the story: There's a sociopolitical aspect at work here, with a renegade, possibly possessed Native American, stealing young girls to sell, egged on and supported by his white co-conspirators, and tracked by the determined mother (Cate Blanchett, in her full cheek-boned glory) and her estranged, Indian-wannabe father (Tommy Lee Jones). The possibility of redemption within the family -- Blanchett with Jones, and with her headstrong daughters -- brings a more familiar Howardian touch, but overall it's darker than usual territory for him.
=="Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl" -- Could have easily been a disaster, but its fantasy-horror plot devices and attendant special effects are well-balanced by the rakish fun its principal characters (and writers) continually remember to show, none more so than Johnny Depp - - sounding as if in a continual state of semi-inebriation -- as the dissipated pirate who teams with game but green Jack (Orlando Bloom) to pursue ghastly, ghostly Barbosa (Geoffrey Rush). Oh, and Keira Knightly? Perhaps the very model for 21st-century movie heroines. All in all, very much in a "Princess Bride" mold.
=="Men with Brooms" -- A not-insubstantial attempt to capitalize on the post-Olympic American curiosity with, or perhaps bemusement for, curling. Four friends with varyied lifestyles and levels of achievement reunite upon the death of their mentor and agree to pursue his dream of bringing curling glory to their small town. All the familiar bonding-underdogs thematic elements are in place, and most everyone -- from director/co-writer/star Paul Gross on down -- seems to know what to do with them. Still, the movie does stop considerably short of loutishness, and the cast, especially Molly Parker and Michelle Nolden, does have appeal. And Leslie Nielsen, in flannels and a beard?
*Books completed:
=="Snow Island," by Katherine Towler -- Towler tries, but doesn't quite succeed, in pulling together two stories taking place on a fictional remote island she's set off the New England coast, on the eve of America's entry into World War II. Sixteen-year-old Alice has become the head of her household, her widowed mother barely functional and scarcely able to run the family store. Middle-aged George, meanwhile, makes a yearly pilgrimage to the island in homage to the quirky maiden aunts who raised him. Both are haunted, in their own way, by memories of departed loved ones, and their ways of dealing with the sense of loss put them at personal risk. The book has a detached, albeit not entirely unsympathetic, feel to it.
=="The Boy on the Bus," by Deborah Schupack -- Odd and intriguing premise: What if someone who looked very much like, and claimed to be, your child came home on the school bus one day? So is the case with Meg, whose sickly, vulnerable son is apparently replaced by a healthier, rather more forthright boy. Schupeck seems to be making a kind of indictment of the much-discussed fraying American family; in this case, Meg's family is scarcely one at all -- she never married her kids' father, who is making a life for himself at a considerable physical and emotional distance, and her troubled teenage daughter is off at boarding school. Thus it falls to Meg, as the only one who "knows" her son, to figure out what's going on here. Not a lot of easy answers, or answers of any kind.

June 25-27

Our annual Old Songs interval, this one accompanied by YD's friend, a circumstance which may have reduced our overall personal space but hardly interfered with our enjoyment.
This was my third go-round at Ye Old Performer Hospitality area, and much like the kids have acquired a group of festival friends, so now I have a handful of acquaintances with whom to catch up, reminisce, commiserate as necessary. No great crises on my watch, fortunately, although late Saturday - - while keeping company with LW on her shift - - we found ourselves assuaging the heightened neurosis of some fella who had (or, though he might have) missed his ride. Cooler heads prevailed, I'm happy to report.
Not a lot of what one might call "big names" at the weekend, but rather a host of smaller-sized pleasures, if you will: Jamming for the better part of an hour with John Williams and John Doyle, for instance; the closeness of spousal singers Dave Webber and Anni Fentiman, not only in their voices but their on-stage demeanor; the on-the-spot collaboration between a duo of Breton bagpipers with Danish quartet Phonix, bluegrass-and-Klezmer-influenced mandolinist Barry Mitterhoff and whistle player Ray Wall, who looks as if he had emerged fully formed from a medieval Celtic engraving; and the tasty fiddle trio of Groovemama and special guest George Wilson.
More? Well, there was also pick-up morris dancing; a dance party with Margot Leverett and the Klezmer Mountain Boys, including the aforementioned Mssr. Mitterhoff, where couples and even singles could enjoy themselves; most of all, there was loads of fun in watching Footworks explore about every facet of clogging and tap-dancing, even at their dress rehearsal inside a grassy corral. Some of the Footworks folk also joined forces with the equally energetic "Tales and Scales" ensemble for some whimsical and often inspired music-dance-and-movement creativity.
And, yes, best of all, perhaps, LW and I got to lift our voices in song among fellow festival crew, vendors, performers and stray audience members after the Saturday concert. Yes, a very nice way to say "bye" to June.

June 18-22

*Lovely albeit brief visits with sisters-in-law and niece - - the kids saw far more of them than we did - - coincide with end-of-school-year emotional tumult, but everyone seemed to come through relatively unscathed. Little niece, by the way, is quite the precocious young lady, according to OD, who was treated to an overview of the triumph of Rosa Parks.
*Saturday, LW and I treat ourselves to several hours of playing tunes with some of the Boston Urban Ceilidh denizens, and a few members and acquaintances of Great Meadows thrown in for good measure. A lot more Scottish tunes, which was rather a challenge for LW's dulcimering, but we had loads of fun.
*Recent viewings:
=="The Draughtman's Contract" - - A very geometrical work by Peter Greenaway, from the intersecting lines that imperious artiste Neville (Anthony Higgins) uses in his craft, to the circuitousness in the plots hatched among members of his benefactor's household, to the soundtrack by Michael Nyman. The irony is that the landscape and structures seem to evoke more emotion than the calculating, self-obsessed people depicted therein.
=="Life As a House" - - Kevin Kline as doomed, and divorced, architect who belatedly reaches out to his disaffected son (Hayden Christiansen) by getting the kid to help renovate the shambling mess of a house which, yes, is meant to represent His Life. The cast, which also includes Jena Malone, Mary Steenburgen and Jamey Sheridan, makes up to some degree for the melodramatic story.
=="The Matrix Reloaded" - - KeWl. Don't even pretend to understand what's going on, but watching Keanu Reeves beat up on several dozen Hugo Weavings is like taking in a warped Busby Berkley set piece.
=="Lord of the Rings: Return of the King" - - Ultimately, you're more than ready for the end of the whole damn story ("Throw the blasted ring in, will you?" "Please! Just get on the ship and go, already!"), but Peter Jackson's weaving of the sub plots and overall vision of Tolkien is masterful.
=="Calendar Girls" - - Tempting to call this "The Full Monty" with estrogen, and somewhat unfair to the likes of veteran actresses Helen Mirren, Julie Waters and Annette Crobie, among others, who give quite realistic portrayals of middle-aged Yorkshire women. And the script by Tim Firth and Juliette Towhidi has its sharp moments, as well as others of some moral ambiguity. But there do appear to be quite a number of movies in recent years with a Northern England populist theme to them.

June 17

So, the past couple of weeks has seen a kind of inner tug-o-war between my responsible, get-on-with-it part of the brain and my memory cells, which have wanted to relive the trip to England as if my consciousness was programmed by HBO. That and Photoshopping various and sundry photos for various and sundry Web sites accounts for the lack of entries here. Some notes:
*I now have, technically, two high school-age kids. YD said farewell to middle school, with how much regret it is hard to say at this point. I suspect she is not particularly sorry to leave it behind, but nostalgia for "simpler times" is such a funny acquaintance, especially among teens. All I know is, she's a beautiful, intelligent, creative young lady, and much as I stand ready with metaphorical sword in hand, she's more likely to head off into combat (or something like it) with her own plan and resources.
*June 12 and 13 was one more love-fest with Great Meadows: First, helped out on their appearance at the Irish Connections Festival, i.e., trying to find them good performance sites around the grounds and fetching water. Unfortunately, this meant missing out on an astounding collection of groups and individuals I'd have much liked to see. But being around this group, even at their lower ebb, is no small compensation. Next day was the end-of-year potluck, which featured a pell-mell jam session that gave my strumming hand a right old work-out.
*Ronald Reagan's life and death has been the equivalent of a TV miniseries this month. My late paternal grandmother's assessment of him during his first term, I thought, always said a lot about his appeal for so many: "They always say how Mr. Reagan has trouble keeping up with things. Well, I have trouble keeping up with things!"
*The passing of Ray Charles was sad, true, but so was William Manchester's. Reading The Glory and the Dream during the summer before my sophomore year of high school probably did more to awaken my nascent interest not only in history, but the way history could be presented.
s *Finished off a few books in the past several weeks:
=="Truman," by David McCullough -- A good prescription for enduring modern-day presidential elections. Harry was hardly the most enlightened president, and a number of his decisions (Hiroshima-Nagasaki, loyalty oaths, steel mill seizure) are up for scrutiny. Yes he was aware not only of his limitations, but his capacity to grow, if not change. McCullough's research on the large and small, political and familial, is sterling as ever. Refreshingly, he doesn't attempt to make Truman unnecessarily modest - - fact is, the guy liked being president, liked the power, the attention, the exposure to fascinating men and women, and rather missed it when he returned home, the place where, really, he had to go.
=="Thief of Time," by Tony Hillerman -- The cutthroat world of anthropology and archaeology laid bare! Hillerman ably takes Native American lore and culture and integrates it into a modern mystery novel, this one of the disappearance of a researcher on the trail of centuries-old pottery; don't laugh, the stakes are pretty high, we learn later on. Along the way, our two protagonists -- a retiring police lieutenant haunted by his wife's death and an officer still trying to find his professional and personal footing -- offer a glimpse, but not an overarching pedantic one, into the tension between Native American and white culture.
=="Accordion Crimes," by E. Annie Proulx -- The travels of an Italian instrument maker's accordion through the length and breadth of late-19th to 20th-century America offers rich snapshots of immigrant cultures and mores. Proulx has the patois of each down, and her research on accordions and their master-players, from zydeco to Quebecois, is impressive.

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