Better Than Good. And Even Best.

Mark Twain urged caution about choosing the right adjective. He said "A man's character may be learned from the adjectives which he habitually uses in conversation." If you listen to how people talk, you know what he means. The same can be said of how a writer writes: check out his adjectives. For me, that's one of the most difficult parts of writing (hardest? stressful? laborious?) And too many times I find myself drifting back toward the old stand-by's "good" and "great" and "fast" and "tall." All those vague and tired words. (Are "vague" and "tired" vague and tired? I don't know.)

So it was with relief that I came across, while enjoying a bowl of Shredded Wheat, some marvelous adjectives in a recent New Yorker magazine. "They sure have a way with adjectives," I thought. "I should share these." So, here they are. They were used in the magazine's capsule reviews of "Recitals." I don't know why I was looking in Recitals. I'm not interested in going to one. Most of them are painfully long. And I don't even have plans to go to New York. Shows you how Shredded Wheat can dull the mind.

First there was an "admired violinist" from Japan at Zankel Hall. I wonder who admired him.
Then there was "The superb Baroque ensemble" at Columbia University. I firmly believe that a Baroque ensemble must be "superb" at the minimum to hold an audience for more than six minutes.
Next was the "magisterial pianist"who has thrilled audiences for more than four decades. He's at Carnegie. Is he "magisterial" in the way he plays? Or maybe how he walks or how he dresses. In a cape, perhaps.
Their imagination began to wane here, because the next act was a "superb young British foursome" doing their thing at Alice Tully Hall. I assume "superb" is the minimum price of entry into these pages.
After that came "the renowned group"that performed music by 3 composers I've never heard of, also at Alice Tully Hall. Again, renowned where? New York? London? Zaire?
And finally we have "three distinguished keyboard colleagues" appearing with "the musical major-domo" of something or other. I'm not sure what a "major-domo" is, but it's got to be worth seeing.

You've got to admit, those are better choices of descriptors than "interesting" or "fine" or "really good," even surpassing "popular" and "cool." All you need is the right word to fire the public's interest. Again, to quote Twain: "The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between  lightning and a lightning bug." Ladies and gentlemen, choose your words.

Spring Snow: A Long Winter's Tale

I've been sitting here for several minutes, feeling the urge to post something, wanting to say something poetic and uplifting about what I see out my window right now. But I'm not up to the task. I've seen the scene too many times in the past 3 months. Feels more like 6. And there is still white stuff coming down. If I truly had the soul of a poet, I could find comfort and beauty in the scene. Like, say something about delicate dusting of pine trees with nature's frosting. Or the silent drift of countless snowflakes blanketing the lawn, covering up little yellow flowers that no longer stand a chance at making it to summer. Even confusing the robins, making them think they returned to the wrong latitude. I wonder if robins like frozen worms. We'll find out.  To show you what an optimist I am, I dashed outside mid-week, when the sun was out and the temperature hovered in the high 60's, uncovered our deck furniture and arranged it to welcome Spring in all its glory. It's like throwing a big party and nobody comes. I should know by now: you don't do a thing for spring in St. Louis until mid-April. Still, with global warming in full swing, I thought, sure, we'll have an early spring. Notice I can't bring myself around to capitalizing S(s)pring every time. It's unworthy.

News flash: These photos are outdated. The snow is even deeper now. I think I'll listen to some music, pull out some old standards, like "Spring will be a little late this year," and "Spring can really hang you up the most." Yep, I'm hung up. That's what I'll do now.

The Final Frontier: e-books

MAJOR LITERARY ANNOUNCEMENT: With the help of an excellent book designer, Cathy Wood, I am happy to say my novel is available as an e-book. Which means my words can now be carried in a Kindle or iPad or Droid or wherever the hell these things end up. And think of all the trees that will be saved. The title, as you probably know by now, is "Shadow and Substance: My Time with Charlie Chaplin." 

  

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/47143

Good-bye, Jay...and thanks for the good times.

Jay Landesman was an integral part of the cultural scene in St. Louis for many years, and a big part of my directionless youth. Not that I was a pal of his. I knew who he was, shook hands with him whenever I had the opportunity, but I doubt if he knew my name. That's okay. He was cool. I spent a lot of time in Gaslight Square. Cool jazz at the Dark Side, the Other Side (Spider Burke's place), and Georgie's; dixieland jazz at Smokey Joe's and the Tiger's Den (the swinging two-beat temple of Sammy Gardner and the Mound City Six); hip and hilarious comedy, distinctive bars, and a vibrant street scene. Like a small rendition of The Village. 

Mary Lee (my wife of several years) and I used to celebrate TGIF there after we got off work at KMOX-TV (before it was KMOV). Olive and Boyle was a great gathering area, and Jay was largely responsible for inspiring it...thanks to his Crystal Palace. I have clear memories - at least they're clear in my head - of that place, where I saw the Smothers Brothers, Lenny  Bruce (it was the first time I ever heard the "f" word on a stage), Jack E. Leonard, a nerdy and nervous Woody Allen, Nichols & May, and others...including a very young and shy Barbra Streisand. When I saw her, as the opening act for the Smothers Brothers, I predicted, "She's not very pretty. She'll never make it." That might have been the same year I bought an Edsel. Thanks to the wonderful comics and satirists and improv geniuses, I developed a love and appreciation for slightly off-center humor. Okay, more than "slightly." 

Jay had a full-time piano player in the bar named Tommy Wolf, who wrote songs with Jay's wife, Fran. Strange: the more I'm writing about Gaslight, the more I remember. Some other time, maybe.

Yes, St. Louis had a Golden Age once, and its name was Jay Landesman.

Thanks, Jay. Whenever I think of "cool," "hip," and an inspiration, I think of you.

 http://www.stltoday.com/news/local/obituaries/article_85d046b6-63cb-5544-a689-d286b2debddf.html

AARRRRGGHHHHHH!!!!!

I woke up this morning and looked out the window. IT'S BACK!!!!!! Words fail me.

                

The Call

I’m waiting for the phone to ring. It will be the vet.

He will tell me that he has good news.

I will ask him what it is.

He will say, “That neuromuscular problem with Hannah? I think we can treat it.”

“But,” I will say, “You’ve already euthanized her. On Monday.” I can barely get those words out.

“No problem,” he says. “We have reversed the effects of the injection. She’s back. You can pick her up tomorrow morning. Good as new.”

And that’s where the fantasy fades.

The neuromuscular problem was myaesthemia gravis, two words forever seared onto my soul. The prognosis was grim. 

How do you know when to say, The time has come? Hannah was 12 years old. That seems to be the magic number for Golden Retrievers, the genetic time bomb. I always thought she’d go the way most Goldens go - from cancer. Okay. No more medical talk. I don’t like writing about it or even thinking about it any more than you do reading about it.

I’ve been trying to figure out what hurts the most. Possibly the loss of one of the best friends I ever had. Maybe the sadness at seeing a beautiful creature come to the end of the trail much too soon. Then there’s the sheer habit of having her around, developed over twelve years and thousands of miles of travel, including New England, Florida, Chicago, Colorado. Finding motels that took dogs, and sneaking her into those that didn’t. If we drove, she was a passenger. Even scoring the front seat on several occasions. She would watch the road as carefully as I. And she knew the landmarks in town. Where we turned off I-44 for West Tyson County Park and our hike through the hills. Where we pulled in at Weldon Spring State Park and walked to the river. What part of Forest Park we were headed for, where the cops couldn’t see her off- leash. Where she could expect a treat to come sliding down the chute in the capsule. Answer: Walgreen’s Drive-thru Pharmacy, U. S. Bank, and MacDonald’s. But not White Castle. So I’d order an extra burger for her. No pickles, please.

The loss hurts for so many reasons. But the one that hits closest to home is most beautifully conveyed in a quote that a good friend sent to me after she heard of Hannah’s passing. It’s by John Galsworthy, a British writer best known for “The Forsyte Saga” and winner of the Nobel Prize in 1932. But you knew that. Here’s the quote. 

“Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is that they carry away with them so many years of our own lives...”

I like that. It is true. He understands. “...so many years of our own lives...”

We have not only lost a loved one. We have lost part of ourselves.

My beautiful Golden girl is gone. But somewhere, lodged deep inside me, mingled with memories of a youth immersed in fantasy and science-fiction, of knowing the impossible is sometimes possible, I still wait for that phone to ring.

A Sports Talk Show I Can Live With

Sports "Talk" is really a misnomer. It's actually Sports "Shout." That's where these 3 or 4 guys, dressed in ties and jackets, sit at a long desk, kind of like a counter at a diner, and shout each other down on all the various aspects of sports. I can watch about 3 minutes of it before I realize I AM ANGRY! At what? I'm not sure. Because I don't care who wins the Stanley Cup or the NBA Championship, or who's playing in the Final Four or the fact the A-Rod makes too much or some NFL coach tripped a guy on the sidelines. I really don't care about all this.

But I do like being entertained. Which is why I'm so enthused about a new sports "talk" show that begins tonight on Comedy Central at 9:30 CST. It's produced by The Onion, in my opinion one of the funniest publications and websites on earth. I check them out frequently or, when I'm in Chicago, pick up The Onion newspaper, which is available just about everywhere. My all-time favorite Onion headline: "Lou Gehrig Dies of Lou Gehrig Disease."

So if you enjoy sharp satire, if you appreciate The Daily Show or The Colbert Report or The Office, for instance.... if you like Monty Python TV and SCTV and the musicals "Spamalot" and "Urinetown" ... if you'd like to get away from SportsShout, check this out. Mind you, I haven't seen the show yet - it premieres tonight - but I know it just has to be good. I've attached a couple of links. http://www.onionsportsnetwork.com/channels/sportsdome/
http://tv.nytimes.com/2011/01/11/arts/television/11onion.html?scp=1&sq=the%20onion%20sportsdome&st=cse