Consortium of Seven: Year 2

 by whiteray   Mother Earth came to me in a cardboard box. In the last years of the 1980s, most current music – the stuff I heard on Top 40 radio – left me cold, So I moved backward, taking a look at things I might have missed during the late 1960s and into the 1970s. I figured I had what is now called “classic rock” pretty well covered on my shelves. I had my Beatles and Bob Dylan sets nearly completed. I had enough Van Morrison, Eric Clapton and Springsteen for the time being, and I had enough Led Zeppelin and other metal to satisfy me. I also had the mainstream archives: The Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, Chicago and all the rest. And I had a good supply of the quirky, having always loved one-hit wonders. I was living in Minot, N.D., at the time, and one Saturday in February of 1989, I wandered out to the flea market at the state fairgrounds. A record dealer from Bismarck – from whom I’d bought a few things during my two years in Minot – was at the market and was selling off

  Friends have been posting photos of clothes they've worn and loved and it made me think of some favorite threads over the years. Comfort and simplicity have always ruled in my case, though I loved clothes and fashion as much as my well-dressed mother. When very young, I loved my cotton striped seersucker shorts. I had a couple of pairs, green and yellow.  My favorite dresses were brown. One a brown with white collar and a little embroidered rose, the other a brown and blue plaid. Our mom bought me and Kim the cutest pants with a small-flowered print in 66-67. I was in love with those pants, they conferred cheer. Mine were greens and Kim's were golds.  I distinctly recall how nice the store display was. It made me think of the Beatles, there in Ivey's in Greenville, SC.  After moving to St. Louis in 3rd grade, I recall just a few outfits until 8th grade There was a soft cotton blouse my grandmother sent, a natural green and cream combination. She'd made me a wool skirt

Throughout art history, the cheapest way to obtain a model was always to have made a self-portrait. Perhaps the self was dressed up to depict an allegory or biblical scene, nevertheless the model was easily acquired & cost not a penny to hire. It must have been a similar situation with artists that have painted other artists.  There you are with your arty pal, perhaps painting outdoors, sketching on holiday or preferably the pub & you have an easy subject just sitting alongside you. Alternatively, you admire the other artist & wish to convey your reverence in art. You might be able to persuade them to dress up or pose in an awkward position & derive a great deal of hilarity in doing so. If the model is your friend, there’s a chance however that you’ve fallen out over a bill, or a partner or even the difference between yellow ochre or cadmium yellow & the representation of your “friend” takes on a whole other mood. Hopefully by the end of the sitting, in whatever for

    Thanksgiving this year's an overly-concentrated attempt at comfort, and a personally exhausting one with all the food prep and accompanying busy-ness. The follow-through of a self-pummeling with dense, high-caloric foods -- one plate of which put me down for a few hours Thursday, only to recover enough to go back for round two about five hours later. The driving hunger far more emotional than physical, as I certainly didn't need any more food that soon. It felt obligatory, though.     Some of it's meant to acknowledge all the prep time - though as the one who put that time in it's not as if I was obliged to someone else - and some of it's a nostalgia for the days when my body could abide and quickly shrug off such culinary self-abuse.       My recent viewing, aside from keeping up with the latest episode of Star Trek: Discovery (CBS All Access) as it moves through its so far very solid third season, ...and finally getting around to starting to watch

Happy Thursday!  For all of our USA readers, happy Thanksgiving and I hope it's a good one for you.   Before we get to the thrift stores, let's all do my Thanksgiving tradition and listen to the best holiday song ever! Now, on to the random nonsense I picked up this last week. Linda Holmes is an NPR writer and podcaster who I've been reading and listening to for nigh-on close to 20 years now, ever since she was recapping TV for Television Without Pity.  So I was quite excited when I found out that she was writing her first novel, and hoo boy I was happy to run across another copy of this last week.   It's a lovely novel about a woman dealing with the recent death of her husband who falls for a major league pitcher who's come to town to get away from the media after he fell prey to a case of the yips (a weird malady that occasionally strikes pitchers who simply lose their skills, sometimes in the middle of a game; Steve Blass, for instance, has talked about how insan

  Each light, a memory of kindness I remember making Thanksgiving dinner for friends and family. I remember that they all went out for a walk and I stayed to clean the apartment kitchen. I remember lying down, so tired that I said goodbye to my guests through thick fog.  From there, it was a long journey back to health. This Thanksgiving of pandemic virus and loss and unexpected gifts in quarantine, I remember those who saw me through it all. There was the nurse from my doc’s office who called to say I had mono and offered this advice for my care: “You will be sick until you don’t need to be sick anymore. Why do you need to be sick?”  I found this less than helpful.  But my friend, Ann , a no-nonsense woman and registered nurse came to see me and said, “Listen to me. Mono is dangerous for you because you are middle aged. Don’t mess with it. Do not go to work, do not push yourself. Rest and eat well and drink a lot of water.”  She looked me in the eye and said it all again. Then she ope

  Movie trailers in the Golden Age of Hollywood often touted the bestsellers from which their scripts were drawn.  Of course, just because a book was the source of a film, the movie itself didn't have to follow the author's storyline closely.  For example, "The King & I" is very different from its source.  This is also true for The New Prometheus and "Frankenstein." The book the monster is eloquent, and in the film, he can only moan and snarl.  On the other hand, if a film's script was written by the director, quality may suffer.  Even worse, the director may dispense with the script almost entirely and just have the actors improvise. You ever seen this stinker? Skilled scriptwriters, of course, can use sources other than a book to create scenes and dialogue. Here is a list of three very different flicks, each from a different genre. None were sourced mainly from the written page.  1. Dark Victory This tale of a spoiled socialite learning the hard le