He's My Cousin...

Matt and I went to see “Goldie,” a cool local black jazz singer, last weekend. We’d seen her at the Chatterbox before and, after requesting something by Nina Simone, were surprised when she nervously said, “Someone else asked me to sing something by her…I’m not at all familiar.” Zak! That’s like an English major never having heard of onomatopoeia.

This time, Goldie seemed a little more comfortable in her skin (although she still didn’t manage one single Nina song), but she had this audible schizophrenic thing going on where she dipped her solos low into a crazy baritone, then lofted them high into a childlike soprano cartoon character. The act needed another dress rehearsal.

Sitting next to Matt, with his raised eyebrows and I’m-gonna-lose-it face, gave me the kind of uncontrollable laughter attack I used to get in church. When she broke into a soulful original about her love for her husband, and I thought she was singing about her cousin (it sounded like a drawn out “c-o-u-s-i-n,” I swear), Matt said, “Jill, I’m gonna lose it – let’s get out of here.” And so we did.

Learn some Nina. I’m just sayin'.

Swim Meet

Matt and I house hunted all weekend. I go for the charming, Old World, dark wood accents and pine floors; Matt wants to be close to restaurants. : ) All we know is we've gotta get out of the 'hood we're living in now. We're going to rent a house in Meridian/Kessler or Butler/Tarkington, both of which Matt calls "Broad Ripple." He said he could live on the corner of Kessler and Meridian and it would still be Broad Ripple, to him.

We did manage a night out to the Jazz Kitchen on Friday, and we "swung" by Jason's State Masters' swim meet held way out in Bumbletucky Avon on Saturday (he won all 4 events he was in, of course. Lane "5" in photo). Jason's friends nicknamed him the appositive "diamond" years ago. Jason was always the champion swimmer; I was the putz-around-the-pool-being-cool lifeguard/diver. If he is the diamond, I am the piece of glass you step on at the beach.

I hadn't watched him swim since his college years. It was so fun watching the next generation, Liam and Finn, screaming "D-A-D!...D-A-D!" as Jason glided through the water. It was just as wonderful having them climb all over Matt and me. Adorable little beasts.

Happy Birthday, Billy Collins

Billy Collins, Poet Laureate 2001-2003

Billy Collins was born in New York City. He is one of America’s best-selling poets. His books include “Sailing Alone Around the Room: New and Selected Poems” in 2001, “Picnic, Lightning” in 1998, and “The Art of Drowning” in 1995. In October 2004, Collins was the inaugural recipient of the Poetry Foundation’s Mark Twain Award for humorous poetry. He has served as a Literary Lion of the New York Public Library and he is a distinguished professor of English at Lehman College, City University of New York, where he has taught for the past 30 years.


Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.

Billy Collins

Memory: Luna

I keep threatening to put more of my concert reviews on this blog, just like I’ve been threatening to post every single band photo I’ve ever taken (well, almost every single) on Flickr.com. I’m not lazy, I’m just busy. Where in the hell do these myspacers find the time?!

I’ve been listening to Luna at my desk today: the perfect rainy Monday music. Sadly, the band threw in the towel a couple of years ago, but I'm reminiscing having beers with Dean, the lead singer, in Chicago one night several years ago with my (that particular night) extremely intoxicated friend Alex. Star-struck days were so fun.

The funniest Luna story, however, was when I finally got to see them in Indy. A pretty girl started screaming at me out of nowhere about her boyfriend, with whom I’d had three dates (and, of course, he hadn't mentioned her). As a rule, I never argue with crazy people, and I simply said, “Thank you for the information.” She stood there continuing to tell me recent stories about the two of them and I said, “Look, thank you. Boyfriends come and go, but Luna has never been to Indy. You’ve paid your money, so you’re welcome to stay, but the band is about to take the stage so please remove yourself from my view” (oh, Jill, so quick on your feet!).

Her face went white. Shucks, I'd disappointed her; she was hoping for a fist fight, I think. She left, missing one hell of a show. I still remember her bright red lipstick; I forgot to ask her the color.

Perplexed for about 12 seconds, I wondered how in the hell she knew where to find me. Ah-ha, the preview:

Nuvo Newsweekly
Luna Preview
Feb 4 - Birdy’s

Despite the bleak dull-gray of winter, a full moon rises: The softcore rock band Luna will play their inaugural Indy show at Birdy’s on Tuesday, February 4. You there, romantic and pining sap…you don’t want to miss it.

Forming Luna in the early 90s after leaving his band Galaxie 500 (the predecessor to Luna’s delicate rock), lead singer Dean Wareham is still lead singer/guitarist/protagonist, though the cast of band characters has changed several times throughout the years. Drummer Stanley Demenski (The Feelies) has long since been replaced by Lee Wall; Justin Harwood (The Chills) by beauty Britta Phillips, yet Sean Eden holds his own on lead guitar. Hardly label allegiant, Luna recently set up camp at Jetset Records and, derivative of Galaxie 500, keeps producing gorgeous, restrained torpor in their own kind of Velvety Underground. Their 2002 release “Romantica” is followed up by their seventh wonder “Close Cover Before Striking.” Strikingly so, is a familiar template of their soft melodic flux. Harvard graduate Wareham’s unique, attentive voice forces most radio stars to keep beating the hackneyed dead horse. His timbre is melancholy and sweet, like an organ pipe that’s allergic to candy, and many of his lyrics border the insane: “Is there a doctor in the house? In the house of pancakes…”

Luna derived its name from Diane Keaton’s character in Woody Allen’s movie “Sleeper,” and ‘sleeper’ terms an apt resolution for Luna’s slowly advancing popularity, but that’s what makes cult bands good—right? Myself, and three others, once waited to meet Luna in a dismal Chicagoland alley after they played a show: the three of us, strangers, were from Indy, Bloomington and Terre Haute. Wareham, probably surprised that the Hoosier hand he’d just been dealt was not, in fact, euchre, grinned and said, “I guess we’d better get ourselves to Indiana.” And so they are, and they’re so worth your Tuesday night.

Lady In Waiting

My honey is on a jet plane heading back to me – I pick him up first thing in the morning. The week went by so quickly. Forget Skype: we talked 1-2 times a day from his cell phone (cannot wait to see that bill, charged to his company, of course). He had some pretty interesting stories of the astounding socio-disparity between Dubai and Delhi: marble streets in Dubai; cows in the streets of Delhi. Told me some other pretty interesting stories too. We can’t wait to hit “resume” on our life tomorrow.

Ironically, I heard at least 4 stories on NPR this week about Dubai’s corruption. Each time Matt called, I’d fill him in, and he’d say, “Doesn’t surprise me.” Single women from Indonesia, Philippines, etc. go there to earn a buck for their starving families. They end up as housemaids, where it is written into the law that they have no rights because they’re “family.” They’re beaten, sexually abused, and work about 20-hour days. Horrible. Matt said it’s not a place he’d care to see again.

While he was gone I bought a banjo…ah, she’s a beauty, a 5-string Fender. He called to tell me about his last day in Dubai, and I said, “That’s nice, I visited Sam Ash music; $400 later, I own a banjo.” Matt started laughing and said, “You’re kidding – that’s so cool!” Talk about disparity, but that’s why we get along so well. He’s the serious (although, for an attorney, wickedly funny) merger/acquisition type, and I’m the artsy one who starts a new instrument on a whim. Last night I sent him some photos of me holding my banjo, and I guess I’ll take some blog-friendly photos soon enough. : )

I’m researching vacation destinations today, and when he returns we’re running off somewhere for a week together. No family, no Treo (ok, probably the damn Treo, but we’re not answering it) and absolutely no one bothering us.

Maybe we'll go to Springfield, Illinois.

Matt's Underwear

Recently, Matt purchased some silky, sexy colorful new underwear. He got them home, ripped the tags off, tried them on and decided he wanted the next size up (perhaps I feed him too well?).

Since they couldn't be returned missing the tags, Goodwill does not take underwear, and they weren't really used, I gave them to my brother, who is exactly Matt's height, same build, just a little leaner (just a little).

Today, Jason sent his wife and me an e-mail with this subject line: I'm wearing Matt's underwear. He continued, "They're silky and soft and nice. Fit like a glove. Thanks."

I'm still laughing. No photos with this particular post.

Hip Day!

Gord Sinclair did a radio interview this week with local station WTTS. The DJ said, "We're getting a lot of calls regarding your new album and your upcoming show at the Vogue." Gord replied, "I think I know who's calling..."

The Hip were in town Tuesday so I took the day off (and the following day, too). They were stuck at Conseco Fieldhouse for the day, so I picked up Gord and Rob and took them to the art museum for the afternoon. Rob and I went head-to-head on our art history, and I had to rebuff a couple of his “facts.” We grabbed a late lunch at Wolfgang Puck’s and I gave them the Meridian Street tour, then I returned them to their rock-n-roll setting for sound check.

I attended the concert solo, and I give Matt so many cool points for this. Not many men are confident enough to allow their girlfriend to run off with 5 guys in a band, but I talk about/to them all the time, and Matt knows we’re friends. Besides, poor Matt was working late, but he trusts me completely. He and I keep growing into this amazing perfectness and, silly as it is, we text messaged all night. I’m with the guy every single day, yet I text message with him during a Hip show. Who am I, and what have they done with Jill? I’m taking him to the next show, for sure.

The show? Oh, amazing. The band let me sit in their guitar pit, just off the stage. I parked it right behind the Who’s wealth of guitars. There were already hundreds of people at the show, either there to see the Hip (I heard many scream-outs), or waiting for the Who to take the stage, but I was too shy to look out…I was basically sitting in front of everyone. The Hip only played a 50-minute set, but I sang every word and they all smiled and nodded to me throughout the show. I felt kind of, ya know, spoiled.

Their entourage wasn’t there since, after all, they were in Indy, so I got them all to myself backstage, where we sat, drank beer and talked until the Who finished. I got to be witty and bubbly with no outside interference!

A cute African American woman (I’m socially conditioned never to say “black” anymore, although I’m almost certain this woman had never been to Africa – another blog) was sitting outside of Roger Daltrey’s room, guarding his privacy. I walked by and said, “Cool job!” She admitted that she’d never heard of the Who until THAT DAY, and I said, “Oh, honey, you are sitting outside the room of a very famous person.” She smiled and asked, “Really?” So, so cute.

I am not a Who fan. Gord and I walked across the street to Mo’s, and I caught one song from backstage, the “Whoooooooo are you, who who, who who” song. A conversation ensued:

Gord: You like this song, don’t you?
Jill: Um, I know this song. Not my thing.

We had one beer at Mo’s, and they were off to Rochester, NY. The boys are back in May, and Matt’s in for such a treat....since he likes when I'm witty and bubbly. : )