Matt and my dad are on their first official date: the Willie Nelson concert at the Murat! I stayed home with Mr. Sunshine and we're watching lots-o-Backyardigans adventures. I recently "friended" Evan Lurie, musical genius of the 'Gans, as we like calling them. We own 8 Backyardigans DVDs, and Matt and I sing the music all day long in our heads.
Evan used to be in a NYC band called the Lounge Lizzards - remember them (kind of) well. I absolutley love social utilities. I don't go backstage anymore (although I am having lunch next Sunday with my friend Ken Bethea, an Old 97), but I still have the need to talk me some music with the professionals. After all these years, music is still my passion...I've simply added a few more.
My delicate little flowers are covered outside with bed sheets (what else?) because we're expecting spring snow, but the Bulldogs beat the Gators in overtime, so it's a good night. Sam and I want a slobbery bulldog. We're trying to convince Matt of their charm. I grew up with an English Bulldog named Sophia of Downey; she took a nap against me every day of my life until 5th grade, and I want to create such fond childhood memories for Sam, too. Matt grew up with a Domerman. Nothing cuddles like a Doberman. Whatever.
Time for the Swamp Creature. Some seriously good music. Thank you, Evan.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Spell Check
I'm loving this new writing gig! I've spoken to 10 PR people already this week, and I've let a couple know about the grammatical errors on their websites. ;)
I've already logged many hours, written many "pieces," and I can't get enough. Go English!
My schedule is beginning to need some juggling.
I've already logged many hours, written many "pieces," and I can't get enough. Go English!
My schedule is beginning to need some juggling.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Old 97s
Old 97's are coming to town in early April. Here's a review I wrote in 2004!
PREVIEW
The Old 97's
The Vogue
January 19, 2004
Come see the first good show of the year: The Old 97's. The hypersonic genre-mixers play the Vogue next Monday to their "we've been waiting two bloody years for this" fans. Once Dallas-based, the band now collaborates via 3 cities: lead singer and guitarist, Rhett Miller, is in New York and bassist, Murry Hammond, in Cali, while lead guitarist Ken Bethea and Philip Peeples hold down their Alamos in Texas. Rhett Miller recently chatted with me and, glutted with vigor and warmth, expressed the band’s hullabaloo for their upcoming album, touting a couple of songs to pique our interest. "Murry's chord progression is the cornerstone to the song "The New Kid," which, ironically, isn’t about my 2-month-old son, Maxwell," he said. The tune "Won’t Be Home No More," from the Ranchero Brothers (former Miller & Hammond band) is being brought in from the pasture and added to the kitty as well. But with five albums, they’re sure to play the old favorites Doreen, Big Brown Eyes, 19 and Timebomb too. Miller stated, "The audience often stands slack-jawed when they don't hear old songs; it's tough to try new songs out on the road, but playing them isn't so much for the audience as it is practice for the band."
Cowpokes with brains, the 97’s are all avid readers and the band’s eloquent writers, Miller and Hammond, construct most of the songs. "I sing the songs that I write and Murry sings the songs he writes—we're even getting Ken to sing a song which he's never done in his life," said Miller. Their catalog casts the net wide, bringing in styles from the Ramones, Jason and the Scorchers, Hank Williams and the band X. Miller's former band Killbilly purveyed his "deliverance" of Bluegrass and they all retain their native y'alt-country style. Hammond named the group from a song sung by Johnny Cash, The Wreck of the Old 97, though "accelerate" seems more their nature. Their music flies open like unfastened shutters in a Texas tornado, executing precision and flare with double-time alacrity. You arrive at their show tired and return home unable to count any sheep.
Miller, rock-n-roll's haute du jour, is the type of guy who answers, "Ah, shucks" to a compliment. Any girl who's ever had an interest in their music has secretly hoped he'd turn up as her mystery date, though he recently became Old 97s-number-4 to marry. Raised in a family of music lovers, he began playing guitar at age 12 and was playing Dallas gigs by age 15. Known as the "weird kid who played folk songs" (or so he said), he opened for the Pixies' Frank Black when he was a mere 18. He opened for Hammond’s band Peyote Cowboys in 1986 and the Old 97's was born. Collectively, the 97’s have all had solo or side projects; most notably, Miller recorded a 2002 solo album on Elektra, The Instigator, that won high acclaim as the perfect pop album. Several local radio stations picked up the single "Come Around," and I spun it a few thousand times myself. The album's infectious lyrics and charm are unyielding and frustrating to critics who love to pan, and its danceable mixture of rhythms forces even the most stubborn toes to tap. Miller should be performing surprise (oops, sorry) solo acoustic songs off Instigator at Monday's show (or so I asked).
The 97's have new management: Vector, to be exact (Lyle Lovett, Emmylou Harris) and after their January tour lite the band will begin recording their sixth album in February. It will arrive mid-summer 2004 on the New West label. Miller's next solo album, also on Elektra, will fall on the heels of the 97’s’. For now, Miller's greatest ambition and achievement are simultaneously the birth of his son. He sang me Maxwell's favorite song, the backwards alphabet, saying, "We call it his ZYX's – he loves when I sing to him." Ah, the beauty of rock-n-roll.
--Jill Brooks
PREVIEW
The Old 97's
The Vogue
January 19, 2004
Come see the first good show of the year: The Old 97's. The hypersonic genre-mixers play the Vogue next Monday to their "we've been waiting two bloody years for this" fans. Once Dallas-based, the band now collaborates via 3 cities: lead singer and guitarist, Rhett Miller, is in New York and bassist, Murry Hammond, in Cali, while lead guitarist Ken Bethea and Philip Peeples hold down their Alamos in Texas. Rhett Miller recently chatted with me and, glutted with vigor and warmth, expressed the band’s hullabaloo for their upcoming album, touting a couple of songs to pique our interest. "Murry's chord progression is the cornerstone to the song "The New Kid," which, ironically, isn’t about my 2-month-old son, Maxwell," he said. The tune "Won’t Be Home No More," from the Ranchero Brothers (former Miller & Hammond band) is being brought in from the pasture and added to the kitty as well. But with five albums, they’re sure to play the old favorites Doreen, Big Brown Eyes, 19 and Timebomb too. Miller stated, "The audience often stands slack-jawed when they don't hear old songs; it's tough to try new songs out on the road, but playing them isn't so much for the audience as it is practice for the band."
Cowpokes with brains, the 97’s are all avid readers and the band’s eloquent writers, Miller and Hammond, construct most of the songs. "I sing the songs that I write and Murry sings the songs he writes—we're even getting Ken to sing a song which he's never done in his life," said Miller. Their catalog casts the net wide, bringing in styles from the Ramones, Jason and the Scorchers, Hank Williams and the band X. Miller's former band Killbilly purveyed his "deliverance" of Bluegrass and they all retain their native y'alt-country style. Hammond named the group from a song sung by Johnny Cash, The Wreck of the Old 97, though "accelerate" seems more their nature. Their music flies open like unfastened shutters in a Texas tornado, executing precision and flare with double-time alacrity. You arrive at their show tired and return home unable to count any sheep.
Miller, rock-n-roll's haute du jour, is the type of guy who answers, "Ah, shucks" to a compliment. Any girl who's ever had an interest in their music has secretly hoped he'd turn up as her mystery date, though he recently became Old 97s-number-4 to marry. Raised in a family of music lovers, he began playing guitar at age 12 and was playing Dallas gigs by age 15. Known as the "weird kid who played folk songs" (or so he said), he opened for the Pixies' Frank Black when he was a mere 18. He opened for Hammond’s band Peyote Cowboys in 1986 and the Old 97's was born. Collectively, the 97’s have all had solo or side projects; most notably, Miller recorded a 2002 solo album on Elektra, The Instigator, that won high acclaim as the perfect pop album. Several local radio stations picked up the single "Come Around," and I spun it a few thousand times myself. The album's infectious lyrics and charm are unyielding and frustrating to critics who love to pan, and its danceable mixture of rhythms forces even the most stubborn toes to tap. Miller should be performing surprise (oops, sorry) solo acoustic songs off Instigator at Monday's show (or so I asked).
The 97's have new management: Vector, to be exact (Lyle Lovett, Emmylou Harris) and after their January tour lite the band will begin recording their sixth album in February. It will arrive mid-summer 2004 on the New West label. Miller's next solo album, also on Elektra, will fall on the heels of the 97’s’. For now, Miller's greatest ambition and achievement are simultaneously the birth of his son. He sang me Maxwell's favorite song, the backwards alphabet, saying, "We call it his ZYX's – he loves when I sing to him." Ah, the beauty of rock-n-roll.
--Jill Brooks
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Inevitable Vulnerability
The Ba-Ba Beenie Club was at our house today: Sam, Cole and Teddy. I made pizza for them, but Cole suggested "sugary cereal" instead, so they had Fruit Loops, with a chaser of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. I want them to like me.
Yesterday, I had a flashback of the time at the Blue Point Bar when Steve Simon said we should all tell of a time when we were the most vulnerable, an embarrassing moment in our lives. For me, these moments, these chocolate-sauce-dripping-down-a-new-white-shirt occurences are frequent, and I had one yesterday.
I'm very organized, but hugely impatient. Do it now, talk about it later. Go on, do it. Get it done.
Sam's teacher--the kind of person who deserves a "bless her heart" after her name--puts her "all" into Sam's class. She writes down everything the kids do each month, prints the reports out in color and does not leave one Painted Rock Day unturned. Sometimes I'm too busy for these lengthy accounts.
She sent a sheet home last Friday explaining that the kids would be making vegetable soup on Monday. Bring a vegetable. This is all I needed to know. I did notice an italicized "bring ONE," and I moved on to my next project after marking it in my brain index. One veggie. Monday. Next.
I thought it was a little weird, one veggie, and I even commented about it to Matt over the weekend. "Isn't that strange...one veggie? What if it's a mushroom? One mushroom? What about a green bean? One? How weird."
Never thought to re-read the teacher's three or four paragraphs because I already knew it all: Veggie soup. One veggie.
We bought fresh French-style green beans over the weekend, and I put two in a plastic bag. I took them into to Sam's class on Monday, telling the teacher and her assistant, "Well, they're French, so we brought two," as if we were being somewhat generous. The teachers looked at me incredulously.
I noticed that other moms were bringing in entire gardens of green beans, peppers, mushrooms. I drove my 8.5 miles home and re-read the memo. It read:
If the chosen veggie is a carrot, please bring ONE carrot, because I'll also be bringing carrots to class.
So, poor Sam represented two small French green beans in his class soup and, from what I hear, he ate most of it, too.
Matt almost choked he laughed so hard.
Yesterday, I had a flashback of the time at the Blue Point Bar when Steve Simon said we should all tell of a time when we were the most vulnerable, an embarrassing moment in our lives. For me, these moments, these chocolate-sauce-dripping-down-a-new-white-shirt occurences are frequent, and I had one yesterday.
I'm very organized, but hugely impatient. Do it now, talk about it later. Go on, do it. Get it done.
Sam's teacher--the kind of person who deserves a "bless her heart" after her name--puts her "all" into Sam's class. She writes down everything the kids do each month, prints the reports out in color and does not leave one Painted Rock Day unturned. Sometimes I'm too busy for these lengthy accounts.
She sent a sheet home last Friday explaining that the kids would be making vegetable soup on Monday. Bring a vegetable. This is all I needed to know. I did notice an italicized "bring ONE," and I moved on to my next project after marking it in my brain index. One veggie. Monday. Next.
I thought it was a little weird, one veggie, and I even commented about it to Matt over the weekend. "Isn't that strange...one veggie? What if it's a mushroom? One mushroom? What about a green bean? One? How weird."
Never thought to re-read the teacher's three or four paragraphs because I already knew it all: Veggie soup. One veggie.
We bought fresh French-style green beans over the weekend, and I put two in a plastic bag. I took them into to Sam's class on Monday, telling the teacher and her assistant, "Well, they're French, so we brought two," as if we were being somewhat generous. The teachers looked at me incredulously.
I noticed that other moms were bringing in entire gardens of green beans, peppers, mushrooms. I drove my 8.5 miles home and re-read the memo. It read:
If the chosen veggie is a carrot, please bring ONE carrot, because I'll also be bringing carrots to class.
So, poor Sam represented two small French green beans in his class soup and, from what I hear, he ate most of it, too.
Matt almost choked he laughed so hard.
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
A spoon full of medicine ball
I've been steadily working out now for nearly three months at my little gym where nobody knows my name. I love that. Cheers in reverse.
On the days Sam doesn't go to school, I've been trying to get up around 6:30 am and get my workout in before Matt and Sam even roll out. All other days I go right after I drop him off at preschool, and right before my venti latte and a stroll around Clay Terrace mall. JOKING.
The "trainer" at wee gym said that I should always begin with weights, but I begin with a run. I have to, otherwise the A.D.D. kicks in after weights and I can sometimes be found walking to my car. Gotta get the real sweat out of the way...the weights feel like pencils when my heart's already pounding.
I want to choke those people with 13.1 and 26.2 stickers (except my neighbor, who is very nice and therefore allowed to put any sticker she wants on her car). My brother's sticker would read 140.6. Go to hell with that kind of attention span.
But, strangely, I'm loving the treadmill. I can zone on a treadmill unlike on the street, where I have to keep track of my footing vs cracks, rocks, twigs and ants (I cannot kill anything). I can finally watch Fox News, which we all know I just wuv, or Kathy Lee and Hoda, equally as news-filled, without interruption! (Trainer Boy said that they once put CNN on, and two extremely old people never came back...haha).
My favorite part, though, is the Core. I love Dead Bugs and Mountain Climbers. I'm having a little love affair with the medicine ball. I don't think Matt minds this affair, either. : )
When I was sick a few weeks ago, Sam said, "Mom, use your medicine ball!"
I love that kid. True love.
On the days Sam doesn't go to school, I've been trying to get up around 6:30 am and get my workout in before Matt and Sam even roll out. All other days I go right after I drop him off at preschool, and right before my venti latte and a stroll around Clay Terrace mall. JOKING.
The "trainer" at wee gym said that I should always begin with weights, but I begin with a run. I have to, otherwise the A.D.D. kicks in after weights and I can sometimes be found walking to my car. Gotta get the real sweat out of the way...the weights feel like pencils when my heart's already pounding.
I want to choke those people with 13.1 and 26.2 stickers (except my neighbor, who is very nice and therefore allowed to put any sticker she wants on her car). My brother's sticker would read 140.6. Go to hell with that kind of attention span.
But, strangely, I'm loving the treadmill. I can zone on a treadmill unlike on the street, where I have to keep track of my footing vs cracks, rocks, twigs and ants (I cannot kill anything). I can finally watch Fox News, which we all know I just wuv, or Kathy Lee and Hoda, equally as news-filled, without interruption! (Trainer Boy said that they once put CNN on, and two extremely old people never came back...haha).
My favorite part, though, is the Core. I love Dead Bugs and Mountain Climbers. I'm having a little love affair with the medicine ball. I don't think Matt minds this affair, either. : )
When I was sick a few weeks ago, Sam said, "Mom, use your medicine ball!"
I love that kid. True love.
Friday, March 04, 2011
Cookin'
I do amaze myself. This week I cooked rack of lamb crusted with coriander, stuffed steak pinwheels, and chicken carbonara.
Luckily, I worked out at the gym every single day.
I'm enjoying the tone, especially since we're gourmands. My sister calls to see what we're whipping up each day - she said it's like calling a restaurant.
Luckily, I worked out at the gym every single day.
I'm enjoying the tone, especially since we're gourmands. My sister calls to see what we're whipping up each day - she said it's like calling a restaurant.
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