The Go! Team

The Go! Team
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Wow, The Go! Team!

Todd and I made the trek to see modern music's best hope in Indy, and they were faaaaantastic!!

We both agreed that there seems to be a new work ethic in rock music, and it's about damned time. After all, if you want to be a big rock star, you oughtta be willing to do a little bit more than come out in a wrinkled tshirt and stare at yr. god-damned feet all night.

The kids in both Autovaughn (from Nashville) and The Go! Team seemed to understand that they were expected to get up there and give the audience 1000% of rock star guitar-flinging, bombastic outros, and spastic flailings. All hail, the rebirth of rock attitude.

A few more pix from my camera-phone are here!

Strange statues around the world | haha.nu - interesting findings over the net

I think a great excursion would be to travel around the world, in search of Strange statues. Based on this guy's collection of pix, there seems to be no shortage!

Mull of Kintyre test

So every now and then, about once a year, I find myself humming "Jet" or "Another Day" or even "Mull of Kintyre" and need to dig out Wings Greatest, one of the first LP's that I ever loved on my own, without trying to copy anybody else's opinion.

You know what I mean? Sure, I thought I liked Lynn Anderson or Tony Orlando and Dawn, but really those were just echoes of my parents' record collections. When I got Wings Greatest from Columbia House record club, I came to love nearly every song on it, with the puzzling exception of "Mull of Kintyre," which for a kid of about ten, was bafflingly un-rock. This was compounded by the fact that it is sometimes referred to as an "international hit." Huh?

Anyway, I was having my annual revisitation with Wings Greatest, and in my—ahem—wiser years have come to love "Mull of Kintyre." Still, after all these years, amazingly, I was singing along wondering once again, "what the heck is this about?!" and finally decided to find out. And discovered that it's a kind of love letter to a region of Scotland where McCartney owned a home and a recording studio.

What was more surprising, though, was finding out about the Mull of Kintyre test, a longstanding (though now obsolete) obscenity test in Britain that used the phallic shape of the Mull in determining the relative indecency of movie content. Those wacky Brits!

Blake's bday

Blake's bday
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

It's Blake's b-day at cheapside!

The madcap's last laugh

A nice little tribute piece here, noting the death of Syd Barrett, at age 60, the founder and legendary drug casualty behind the original Pink Floyd. As such, he was an architect of the British psychedelic scene, but quickly opted out of stardom, and died a recluse, a casual painter and gardener.

Also, there is a wonderfully in-depth look at Syd's life and impact here.

Syd Barrett, R.I.P.

I've got grill fever!

Did I really just say that?

"I've got 'grill fever'"?

No way. Or so I've long thought. In fact, one could say that my fear of Two Things Domestic has always been:

1. The two-car garage
2. Grilling

"Why the fear of grilling, Mick? It's just the harmless outdoor cooking of some meat!" you might claim.


Oh, sure—it sounds harmless. But it's always been the symbol for me of suburban domestication. And don't tell me about all of you—my friends—that have grills and have thus far avoided this kind of marginalization, because if you do, I'll just say you're exceptional. Me, I didn't want to be part of the grill people. I'd happily go to your backyard barbecue, of course. But now, I have a disturbing invitation to extend:
Come over. We'll cook out. I've got a juicy chicken breast on the rack right now.

Because, if you didn't feel it, there was a 'great disturbance in the Force' yesterday; it was me buying a grill. And just to cross the "t" and dot the "i," it's gi-normous. And while I'm sure there are bigger grills, I was always sure that I'd be content with the classic Webber (the—let's face it—it's the Designers' Grill, if there were such a thing. It's the VW Beetle of the Grill World—a classic.

But let's also face this: I didn't buy a Webber. I bought a gi-normous four-burner shiny shiny suburban gas grill. Outside the back door, it sits regally, cookin' my dinner. Let me justify my self for just a moment: This is an exceptional scratch-and-denter. Come over and I'll show you the signature orange paint where some forklift boy plowed into it after too many diet cokes. Which got me a hundred dollars off retail. Aw, yeah…

And that's where, friends, I'm being swayed, even on this, "the private audition," in advance of our July 4th cookout. (Whoa—did you feel that? Another shuddering disturbance in The Force?" Well, wait—a cookout is a party, ain't it? And I love parties, d'ain't I? It's just the grill party that I've been afraid of.) I mean, that thing is cookin' chicken for me. I'm sitting here writing and it's cooking chicken.

How can a reasonable person really argue with that?

You can't, that's how. And so I'm 'coming over.' I mean you're coming over. To my house. To grill out. Even if I get tired and you have to leave, I'm still going to grill out and watch TV. Nobody talks about the joy of grilling out and watching TV. At lunchtime on a weekday. So that, I reckon, is my territory to explore.

Sifting the Pix!

Hi friends and friends and friends: Lucy and I are back from the Honeymoon, we're sifting jillions of pictures and they're accumulating over at Lucy and Mick's World Wide Wed
If you've got something to share, please drop us a line or post your pictures to the Flickr Group I set up for this exact purpose!

Thanks and LOVE to everybody!

come on over!

New posts on Lucy and Mick's Wed Site, folks! It's the Honeymoon update from Belize!

taste of thai bachelor party!

mike and kim
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

My pals Mike and Kim are among the diners and others who made it out for a celebration this past weekend. It was my bachelor party! You know I'm getting married, right?

On Sunday!

Myla Pogue, Robert Deniro and a treatise on the benefits of bumming a smoke

I've been meaning for years to tell this, one of my favorite stories. It's not short, but revel, won't you, in the absolute strangeness that can be found by simply bumming a smoke. (Just for the record: I quit smoking nearly a year and a half ago; I never regret that decision, but the fact remains that grabbing a smoke will always be a quintessential social phenomenon, and I do miss that sometimes.)

In the fall of 2001, I did the unlikely and went on a 7NC with some friends. It was a glorious and weird trip that convened in San Juan, Puerto Rico and took us to a variety of islands and escapades. I've told a story about that before, and could tell a million more. But the best story concerns my trip back from that trip.

I flew from San Juan to Atlanta and had a hefty layover there, which was fine with me—I've been an early laptop adopter (laptopter?) and enjoyer of the airport bar life. Give me a stool and a drink and a smoke and I can sit in an airport for really any amount of time. Only problem was, the carton of Marlboros that I'd bought at the duty-free joint in San Juan was—of course—packed away in my stuff.
Waiting for my flight to LaGuardia (I lived in NYC at that time), I decided that a smoke was imperative, but for obvious reasons, didn't want to buy a pack, so I started watching my bar mates for a likely benefactor. Seeing three women chatting jovially at one table—and smoking—I ambled over to bum one. They were plenty nice, and we talked for a minute. I asked where they were going and I've forgotten where the first two said, because the third woman said, in a thick Southern accent: "I'm going to New York to meet Robert Deniro." Which was fascinating, and mildly thrilling in a vague six degrees way that I'm only a little bit awed by.

Her name, she told me was Myla Pogue, from Pensacola, Florida, and little did I know that the rest of my trip would not be at all what I had expected. She was an actress, she said, and she was dating Robert Deniro, who occasionally had her come visit him in New York. I told her that I was going to LaGuardia as well, and she replied that "Bob" was picking her up at the airport and maybe I could MEET him. "Really…" I said, and sat right down and ordered another drink.

We had a couple, in fact, and ended up semi-shambling onto the plane after "LAST CALL, LAST CALL FOR FLIGHT ____" had rang out in the terminal for a little too long. It was a rather late flight, and we weren't due into Brooklyn until 12:45pm. The plane was also only about half full, so when Myla suggested that I sit beside her, I thought "sure, why not for a little while?" I like my private airplane time, but I assumed that I could bail to another row at any point.

Myla was a piece of work. Semi-drunk and much more excited than I had initially realized about her impending rendezvous with "Bob," she was a non-stop stream of blather. After, that is, she jumped up and ran to the bathroom, right as the plane was taking off. When she came back, over the substantial protests of the flight attendents, she was, ah, a little sniffy, if you ask me, and had much to say about her life, how she and DeNiro had met, and—most shocking—what her family thought of him.

And that, kind reader, is where we shall pick up next time.

* (2/10/2009) I've had a number of comments here that run from vindictive to supportive of my story and its centerpiece. It has never been my intention to defame the woman in my story. I just tell true stories from my life. But out of respect for my subject, I've changed her last name and deleted all comments that reference her by last name. I'm sorry that I couldn't just edit the comments, but since that is technically impossible in Blogger, I had to delete some of them. Also, I deleted the hurtful ones that seemed to be somebody grinding an axe, with no reference to my writing.

WRFL's Trivial Thursdays! Mick and Emily

WRFL's Trivial Thursdays! Mick and Emily
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Ever listen to our long-running morning radio show? We'd love to have you join us! It's Trivial Thursdays on WRFL-FM in Lexington, KY! We're on from 7-9am every Thursday, and you can even listen online anywhere on earth!

Keeping Coffee

This is the story of keeping coffee warm. It is a story with many twists and turns, but we shall strive to simplify, simplify.

The story begins years ago with a fabulous device sold at Toddy Coffee. I bought one because Jenny Toomey said it was great, and I think Jenny's great and so her coffee must be, too. And wow, was that an understatement! I mean, just take a look at the specs. I don't know what the easiest thing is to call this coffee that has so completely engrained itself into the Campsie Lifestyle; I guess "cold-brew" is the most accurate term. Lucy and I enjoy this coffee nearly every single day of our lives. It's that good.

The only issue (and there is always an only issue, right?) is keeping it warm. First there was the thermos, a vintage Aladdin just like this one. But that seemed somehow clunky and inelegant, although it was effective, heat-wise. Next, was the Ebay foray into acquiring a beautiful vintage West Bend Thermo-Serv, which was elegant and cool, but didn't keep the coffee warm enough long enough. Curses!

Now, friends, we come to the salvation.

While recently dining at Perkin's Family Restaurant, former employer of my daughter, Lucy and I both fixed our eyes on the wonder of their table-top coffee pitchers. They were vintage. They were institutional. They kept the coffee pipin' hot! I had to have one. I asked our server if I could buy it. She laughed. They were not for sale. She said "no." And then she laughed some more. Not to be deterred—hell, I could always steal one, right?—I took it to the counter when we left and sat it down with my bill and asked the cashier if I could buy it. She, too, said "no," but she didn't laugh. In fact, when I pressed the point, she kind of snarled. So I stepped back.

As we were leaving, darling daughter Lauren visits with some former co-workers and comes out to tell me that Jackie, the manager said that I could have one, if I'd just call next week when he was scheduled to order some new ones. JOY!

I dutifully telephoned on the appointed day and missed him. Called back the next day and he said "call back next week." And thus began a fairly complicated game of phone tag. I wondered whether or not this was going to pan out. I had to have that coffee server. It was going to change everything.

And now I've got it. Today, I called and Jackie said to come on out. Today, I'm kind of busy, so I said 'how's tomorrow for you?" Jackie said: "Oh, tomorrow I'm going to Florida for a week."

Fine. No problem. I'll be there in…in…hell, I'm coming right over."
And I did. And here you see the fruits of my labor. Things are really gonna start lookin' up for me and Lucy now that we've got this new coffee pitcher. Oh, they most definitely are…

Eames Curb Find!

So the other day, I was driving along in my old neighborhood and totally found an Eames Ottoman sitting on the curb. What kind of people throw out an Eames Ottoman?

Of course, you could argue, "What kind of people pick up a dank orphaned foot rest?"

Guilty as charged!

Wedding updates!

A little bird says there's much activity over at Lucy and Mick's World Wide Wed, feathered friends and fiends!

And things are happening at The Campsie Project, too!

is this so wrong?

is this so wrong?
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Sure, it looks all wrong. But what really is the problem?

As a certified master of succulent plants like Jades and such, I'm going to give away one secret, then another.

The first secret: Bottom Watering is ideal. The succulents seem to prefer sucking up the good ole H2O from below, so I'm constantly filling tubs and pots that I can set my plants in for a nice soak. Secret #2: Well, check out the picture.

I think that most all houses have at least one persistent standing body of water that any succulent plant would think is just fine. Hell, the dog likes it good enough. (disclaimer: Oscar is not nor has he ever been a toilet drinker. Not that I know of. Not that I could prove.)

Help Wanted: Jet-setting hotel deejay.

Stéphane_Pompougnac is kind of my hero. Well, if not "hero," then trajectory model. This is the guy who puts together these Hôtel Costes mix compilations that are apparently the product of his affiliation with the ultra-snobby Paris hotel. Think I'm kidding? look at their incredible lack-of a web site. A sure sign of snobbiness is having a sparse non-web site, I assure you.

What does it take to be a hotel music guru? I would like the opportunity to find out and be compensated accordingly.

Laryngitis?

I thought that was something you only got on TV.

I have mild laryngitis. Can you imagine the effect on somebody that likes to talk as much as I do? People calling on the phone: I cannot answer. I can't even leave a greeting saying "I have laryngitis. Please email me." I tried to leave a message, whispering, on somebody's voice mail and it just cut me off!

So when I say, "I can't talk about it," I'm not kidding. I've actually had to cancel appointments today.

Mardi Gras Lexington 2006 Pix are up!

mardi gras cowgirl princess
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

We had a fabulous time this year, of course…

If you weren't there, check out some pix from the 3rd Annual Lexington Mardi Gras Parade, brought to you by a lot of cool people and one super cool dance studio and a rare-form collective.

Click on the Mardi Gras Cowgirl to see the entire set on Flickr.

Where's my right-hand megastore?

Things ain't looking so good from my morning trip to the 'Burbs.
I try to stay away from there, but I'm as much of a megastore shopper as anybody. The thing is—I know I got my dog food somewhere before Petsmart, but where? Okay, I didn't really go to PetSmart. (and I'm certainly not going to link to them.)

But there's this new thing that I had to try: Bought some blank DVD's at BestBuy.com and specified in-store pickup. 'Cause, y'know, I've got 30-plus blank DVD's but I need 50 more, right now… especially since P2P may get sued out of existence soon. I've got to get the entire Planet of The Apes oeuvre downloaded, right?

By the way, late morning is definitely the best time to cruise into suburban hell, I confirmed. Lots of people are either safely tucked away in their workplaces, or maybe they're at home planning the big afternoon foray to the mall.

So there's this quickie mart out there, and there's a sign out front that says "Red Bull in stock, or yours is free!" Excuse me? What a fabulous tribute to the brain-rotting effects of too many Raging Bulls, eh? Just tell me where to go to get my free Red Bull that you don't have in stock!

Next up, could it be a new Walgreens? Sure, pard'ner! One of the great surreal late-night spots (just visit any Walgreens at 3:30am and not see some kind of weirdness, while toe-tapping to the most neutralizing muzak mixture ever to dribble into your ears). The thing is, this sign: "Coming Soon! Walgreens!" is about a hundred yards down from—wait for it—a Walgreens. I guess this ones going to be even super-er than its predecessor.

I have to take my fair share of the blame for this bloat. Fleeing back downtown, I privately lamented the lack of a mega-grocery on the right-hand side of the road; Because I coudn't be bothered to —you know—turn left to go to the mega-Krogers and just rolled on by.

Am I Working in a Department Store?

Sometimes I feel like I'm working in a department store.

It's all this damned techno that I listen to. Actually, I'm typically at home working in my pajamas; But by the sound of it, you'd think I was working in some windowless cubicle at Barney's or something. I can't figure it out—You know the old saw: "Television will rot your brain;" Personally, I'm more concerned about Hotel Costes, Cafe Del Mar, and a jillion other fluff electronica series that I —for some reason—continue to put on as my work soundtrack. The other day, I was on the verge of apologizing to Lucy.

If you're married and/or work at home, you could find yourself in the same boat: "Honey, I'm sorry about all the electronica…"

Truth be told, there is a reason, or at least, an excuse: I'm gradually aspiring to be a snobby art gallery DJ. With some success, too. So I act like I have to listen to this stuff, y'know, to keep up. I'm still embarrassed sometimes.

One of the finest (non-electronic) tracks last year was The New Pornographers' "Sing Me Spanish Techno." Now, nobody knows what Carl Newman is talking about at any given moment; even he claims the lyrics are frequently non-narrative. But I like to think that song refers to a couple of friends: One hates techno, the other loves techno. His favorite (of late—because it's always 'of late') is Spanish techno, in particular. His techno-hating friend is put out over the fact that all techno sounds roughly the same and —it's not even music, right?— issues the challenge: "Okay. Sing me 'Spanish techno.'" Exactly.

Somebody get me an electric guitar, quick.

full disclosure: this post written while "grooving" to the sounds of Man Ray Vol. 4

Good Day, Sir/Madam…

Woot is the hilarious "one day, one deal" site where there is ONE THING for sale every day. Each day, a different thing. The real charm of Woot, though, is the spectacular copy-writing each day for the particular deal. Somebody has a great deal of fun with this (actually sometimes extending to an ad-hoc song connected with the product).

This one made me laugh out loud today, as virtual art imitates virtual con-artistry—a parody of the myriad of "help transfer my fortune out of [insert destabilized African country] and you'll be handsomely rewarded" emails.

Have a read, have a laugh and check back daily for more Woot fun!

You Fortune Awaits…

Hey! Here's your chance to make a difference in somebody's life, and find your fortune, too. You can do both of these things by leaving your own message in a Fortune cookie, courtesy of Enid's Discovery, a "community-driven artwork" on display at LexArts Gallery in February 2006.

Lucy and Mick's World Wide Wed

Welcome, friends to Lucy and Mick's World Wide Wed!

I just put up this new blog, which is located at lucyandmick.com. This is where all our matrilicious plans will be conveyed to you, gentle reader! Salut!

Bringin' home the Lucite.

Friday night was The Addys, which I admit kind of snuck up on me. By Friday, after 5p, I'm usually ready to hit the couch, and I wasn't exactly wild about the prospect of gettin' fancied up and heading to the Marriott for intense schmoozing… especially consider that the invitation said "black tie" and my attire was…somewhat less than formal. I know enough to know what black tie means, but had my doubts about whether people would actually embrace this. (As the hour approached, I was really mostly interested in conclusive evidence that I wouldn't be the only one who wasn't wearing black tie. At one point, I had this idea to tie a black shoe lace around my middle finger in case anybody asked me where my black tie was.

Anyway—long story short, to quote my brother—I wasn't the only one (though most definitely in the minority), and I won two Addys!

I was looking for an image online of the li'l Addy trophy to illustrate my glory, and was surprised to not be able to find one; But I did find this image from somebody else's Addy victory that was close enough to mine that I got a few laughs out of just "marking it up."

By the way, I had fun— I was worried that it would be a stiff drag, but I forgot that I love to schooze as much as anybody, and did my fair share. My favorite thing (that wasn't me winning a Gold Addy): trying to wheel and deal with a couple of adjacent tables to get them to swap our table a bottle of (gross) blush wine for their seemingly untouched red wine. No dice, but some good laughs.

Congrats to my other KET peeps, who helped the agency take home a decent handful of awards. Also to Elevation Studios, who mopped up the place for a second year in a row.

June 11, 2006!

It's official, friends! Lucy and I are getting married on June 11, 2006, in the glorious heart of the Bluegrass!

More info coming soon!

LMA WLAC - Past Champions

While it is true that I'm at this moment working on a couple of articles for the Kentucky Cattlemen Association, that seemingly coincidental activity does not diminish the fact that auctioneering is one of the greatest and strangest abilities of human beings. And I found a web site where you can hear audio of World Livestock Auctioneer Champions for the last 30 years. If you're looking for a little pick-me-up, this is it, pardner!

Murphy and the Greenhouse

Murphy and the Greenhouse
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

I'm having some kinda fun with my Holga camera. My second expedition with with Mr. Murphy. Click on the picture to read some more about the process. Viva, La Holga!

My new favorite toy (camera)

Sparkle and bowls (Holga)
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

One of my greatest xmas 2005 delights was the Holga camera that TT gave me! Yay! A Holga!

I've wanted one for years now, but the desire has never manifested itself in me bothering to actually get one. I mean—it's not like they're expensive—I could have bought one. The thing is, I think I'm having more fun with it on account of somebody having given it to me. If I'd bought it for myself, it might well have ended up on my "stack of cool things." Truthfully, it might still. (Hello, short attention span)

But right now, I'm having some fun with it. This picture—of TT's kitty Sparkle— was taken a few minutes after the unwrapping, and followed by a trip out to the country and to one of my fave places, The Pet Cemetery.

Sparkle, of course, is quite alive in this picture. And I feel alive as a photographer with my new toy camera!

T'anks, Tessa!

Look y'all! It's Lila Frances, just arrived!

jennifer and lila
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Jennifer and Travis had themselves a critter! Finally!

The adorable and serene (at least during our visit! ;-) Lila Frances Robinson arrived here on Planet Earth this Saturday morning, January 7th, at about 9am.

Click here to see more pictures!

Feeling silly?

Ever wonder about the logistics of dealing with an eighth of a ton of Silly Putty? Ever wonder what occupies the minds of young internet professionals? Check it out.

I could tell a million stories about "The Cruise."

Once I went on a cruise with 3 friends. I always theoretically disdained the idea of a cruise. So cheesy, so tourist-y, so…well, you get the idea. But the fact remains: I went on a cruise with three friends and we had some crazy fun.
The thing I loved was this: We went on Holland-America because it's all oldsters. Fuck Carnival or any of those lines that cater to "young people." I don't want that. I want:

• no screaming kids (or screaming anybody, really. Except me—I reserve the right to be the Screaming Guy)
• lots of quiet oldsters
• many many interesting conversations with above-mentioned oldsters

I may have to come back with some cruise stories. but the thing I was waxing about today was the prat fall. For some reason, I was addicted to this around the time of my cruise. Probably because I was in the company of Jason, a friend and one of my favorite physical comedians of all time.

Anyway, the ship, of course, was gi-normous. And around its hulking gi-normousity, my favorite activity, undoubtedly, was wandering with a drink in one hand and a smoke in the other. Looking for a piano. And there were pianos all over the place. My dream come true. Even now, I want a drink and a smoke and a piano just thinking about it. (these days, I'll have to settle for a drink—some eggnog—since I quit smoking and my piano's in storage.) The decks and decks and promenades and promenades…these ships are very nearly cities on the water. Most everywhere—especially the lido deck—there were miles and miles of teak loungers, exactly like this.

And we would just be walking around—like ya do— and I would come across a run of unoccupied teak loungers. And the temptation would be irresistible to… TRIP AS HUGELY AS POSSIBLE ACROSS AS MANY CHAIRS AS POSSIBLE.

I would approach my target casually, continuing the conversation at hand. Uh-huh…oh, sure! Hey, I totally agr—blam! crash! tumble! And then there I was lying across the top of of pile of wrecked deck chairs.

We'd set them back up—kind of like bowling pins—and continue on our way.this was a nearly sure-fire recipe for nearly deadly peals of laughter.

And so, today's lesson: the Prat Fall. A wonderful way not to take yourself to seriously (because you will be laughed at by strangers), and entertain others at the same time.

Inspiration and recollection credit to the great Jules— Vettro, Professor Emeritus.

From the archives: Mick's Big Fanboy Moment

One the main purposes for my blogging is to chronicle some of the more memorable moments in my life; There are lots of stories "upstairs," but getting them into written form is a task that will likely never approach being completed. Nonetheless, I'm making an effort. Here, for instance is a story that I stumbled across while trying to make some sense of the piles of paper around my office.

(from an email to Jennifer and Jill—Oct. 8, 2002)

Oh, man-- this is funny. Last night, I actually kind of had dinner with Victoria Williams!

Sort of.

She played at the Kentucky Theater, see—and I was so excited, I went down there several hours early and sat in the theater, working on my laptop, mindin' my own beeswax..... waiting for…my moment. The time came, and I basically schmoozed my way into her presence and ended up escorting her to a nearby chinese jernt and sitting and chatting with her while she sucked down some hot and sour soup. Just me and Vic. She was mighty funny in a "bless her heart" kinda way.

For instance, she got some tea. It was about to be served up in a styrofoam cup, and she politely and somewhat anxiously smiled and asked if there was another kind of cup. The owner—an Asian gentleman who was almost certainly perplexed by this request— said that was all they had. But she coaxed him into letting her use his personal ceramic mug, volunteering to wash it in exchange for the privilege.

Kind of a dream come true really, you know, as fan boy moments go. She was exactly how I imagined her to be: Sweet; more than a little dizzy; kind and courteous to all around her. An authentic person. She and husband musician Mark Olson live in the Mojave Desert. Also, neither she nor Mark seem fond of hair brushing.

The Harmony Ridge Creekdippers played on the Woodsongs Radio Hour. They did some cool stuff, including "Moon River" and before the last song she said "I said I'd play a request for somebody" and played "Love." That would be a request for ME. :-) I asked her, as we were leaving the chinese joint if she'd play a song for me.

I am such a goober. But what a big thrill for me. I'm such a lover of her voice and songs and general demeanor. and I really REALLY don't act like this anymore. ;-)

a couple of addendums:

1. After the soup and before the show, I dropped her off at the dressing room, and she said, "thanks, Mitch" and I gently corrected her and that led to one of my favorite party questions: "When people get your name wrong, what are the most popular variations?" Then I backed up, thinking out loud: "Oh, maybe that doesn't happen to you, since you're kind of a celebrity. <duh>" Anyway, she laughed and said people got her name wrong all the time, but truth be told, I was so happy to have gotten a laugh out of her, that I didn't hear what she said. 20 minutes later, Michael Johnathan, that stooge, calls her "Victoria Wilson," into a live mic, not once, not twice, but thrice
2. Lucy and I had barely been going out for any time at all at this point. And when I called her in a delighted panic to let her know that Victoria Williams was in town and I was going on a special errand to get soy milk for her, Faced with this side of my personality, Lucy was the portrait of well concealed trepidation. To this day Lucy insists, of VW: "She thought you were a stalker." I have a picture of Vic and I that Lucy took and—okay— she does have a strange look on her face. Like, maybe she thought I was a stalker.

Egg Nog of the Stars

I don't know where I got the recipe.

It's been lying around for at least a year, maybe two. I think it either came from ReadyMade or Real Simple. But it purported to be The Finest Eggnog, and I had to give it a whirl. The kicker for me was the last bit of the recipe: Refrigerate for three weeks.
Three weeks?! Jeez, that better be some pretty damned good eggnog.

Well, December has snuck up and I nearly panicked when I noticed the recipe collecting virtual lint in my Palm pilot. I finally got out today and got the incredible amount of booze required, and the other things and got home and set to work in the lab—I mean—kitchen. Temporary kitchen, that is. (Fortunately, the eggnog does not require an oven, as do not any of the dishes that Lucy and I cook in our "temporary kitchen.")

Mixing, mixing, separating eggs, mixing assorted dairies… mixing assorted boozes…

So I got it all together without any curdling (a great mystery to me, that curdling), and decanted it for it's sleepy incubation period. But you know, I couldn't resist it. I had to try it. And I did. And verily and forsooth, it is suh-lammmin'! And that's after only 10 minutes!

By Christmas time, it'll be good enough to slay. I mean "sleigh."

Then we'll see what makes Santa jolly…

Oh, you want the recipe? Here y'go…

The Finest Eggnog

• Separate 12 eggs in 2 cups of sugar
• Dissolve egg yolks until creamy
• Add 1/2 pint of light cream
• 1 quart of milk
• 1 fifth of bourbon
• 4 oz. Meyer's Dark Jamaican rum
• 4-8 oz of cognac (use good cognac)
• A pinch of salt
• Refrigerate for 3 weeks.

The Power of Lint

Well, I threw away my lint ball today. Really.
Yes, I have—had—a lint ball. I'd been collecting lint since learning—at some manic point in the past, during one of my many minor obsessions—that one could make paper out of dryer lint. I mean—hell—some people make sculpture out of lint, so maybe I could eventually, you know, make some paper. So I started saving for the magical day when I was going to make dryer lint paper; and I guess I've been saving for three years. But I tossed it in the mind-draining Bassett house moving effort. So I didn't make the paper.

That was hard to accept, like so many moving moments. A few weeks ago, I tried to purge my file cabinet of "unnecessary things." Wow, that was anxiety producing. Just like moving. For me the challenge lies in confronting so so many things that are reminders of forgotten passions, imagined yearnings, intended explorations. I've got jillions of 'em. I want to do everything. Everything. And I've got scraps of this or that for the special occasion, should it arise ever. Hence, the lint.

I like the cartoons where the protagonist has a tiny devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other; Me, I've got just one familiar, one who's only sentence is: "you might need that!" Whether it's some lint or some running shoe inserts or a box of bolts. Really, these are all things that I have had to ponder—seriously ponder—whether to keep or not.

I guess it's liberating, too, though. "Okay—he's liberated by throwing away a ball of lint. Check." you might be thinking. But mostly it's the occasional realization that I can come up with more passions and yearnings, and it's likely some will be even more gratifying than making paper out of lint. So I'll just continue clearing house and wait for the next truckload.

PS: Fortunately, I found at least one person on the net who cares about lint as much as I (thought I) did. I pass the crown, then…

Morning reading

Morning reading
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Look closely: This is an actual candid of my sweetheart having breakfast, reading a picture of the side of a box of cereal.

Hello, is this hilarious to anybody else but me?

I'm Engaged—Film at 11.

Well, people, I'm engaged.

Pictured is my mom's Star Sapphire, which I gave to Lucy—via waitress—at the Causeway Café at Wrightsville Beach, NC on the day after Thanksgiving 2005. I love Miss Lucy and certainly have a lot to be thankful for this year. If you want to see pictures and words, here are pictures and words. Extra credit to Wyn and Lolli who correctly sussed what the Sapphire entries on my blog must mean.

By the way: We don't know The Date. Deal with it. ;-)

BUT we both love our many glorious friends, far and wide, and look forward to coming up with a special occasion for us all to convene.

The Golden Age Star Sapphire

The star sapphire is that variety of sapphire in which, when the stone is cut and rounded off horizontal with the dome of the crystal, the light is condensed across the three lines of crystalline interference. Three cross lines produce a star which moves as a source of light, or as it is moved from the source of light. Star sapphires very rarely possess the deep blue color of the fine blue sapphire; generally the color is somewhat impure, or of a milky-blue, or else a blue-gray, or sometimes almost a pure white. The blue-gray, gray, and white stones frequently show a much more distinct star, possibly from the fact that there are more inclusions between the layers of the crystals than with the darker blue stones, as it is the set of interference bands that produces the peculiar light.

The great Oriental traveller, Sir Richard Francis Burton, had a large star sapphire or asteria, as it was called. He referred to it as his talisman, for it always brought him good horses and prompt attention wherever he went; in fact, it was only in those places where he received proper attention that he would show it to the natives, a favor they greatly appreciated because the sight of the stone was believed to bring good luck. The fame of Burton's asteria travelled ahead of him, and it served him well as a guiding-star. De Boot, writing in the seventeenth century, states that such a stone was called Siegstein (victory-stone) among the Germans.

The remarkable asteria, known as the "Star of India," in the Morgan-Tiffany Collection in the American Museum of Natural History, has a more or less indefinite historic record of some three centuries, but after its many wanderings it has now found a worthy resting-place in the great Museum. Its weight is 543 carats. (The subject of the origin, development and reform of the caratweight has been fully treated by the author in the Trans. of the Soc. of Min. Engineers, 1913, pp. 1225-1245, "The New International Metric Diamond Carat of 200 milligrams.")

The asteria, or star sapphire, might be called a "Stone of Destiny," as the three cross-bars which traverse it are believed to represent Faith, Hope, and Destiny. As the stone is moved, or the light changes, a living star appears. As a guiding gem, warding off ill omen and the Evil Eye, the star-sapphire is worn for the same reasons as were the oculus mundi and the oculus Beli. One of the most unique of talismanic stones, it is said to be so potent that it continues to exercise its good influence over the first wearer even when it has passed into other hands.

What's this?

It's a Star sapphire.

On the road and geekin' the Best Western

Another trip across the mid-south, folks, what does it mean? It means more blogging from the road, that's what! This used to be hard. Now it's getting easy. That probably means I'll soon grow bored with it. I hope not. My dream is to find something that I'm so obsessed with that I never grow tired of it. No dice, so far. But I can dream, right? Actually, blogging seems to be in first place for a while now. Especially during traveling jaunts. Incidentally, I'm sitting in the lobby of the Chapel Hill Best Western, amid the fetid florid furniture. "but why, mick, aren't you in your room on the back of the deserted hotel?" you must be asking. Well, it's like this: Lucy, she gotta watch Lost. And I'm not proud—I've got to watch it too, but I'm behind and cannot watch it right now. Must. Avoid. Thus, The Lobby Technique. So got the frick out. First stop: Whole Foods – Durham! A dreamland, I tell ya, of granola-esque deliciousness! I went in to get a variety of items (okay, okay—sauteed kale, tofu pad thai, barbeque turkey burgers and all kinds of olives) and a bottle of cheap red wine. I actually found it: Cheap Red Wine. That's what it's called. Perfect. We've been kind of wrapped up in "Two Buck Chuck," and I think it's sinking in. Me? Looking for wine? God help us all. Talk about The Next Thing…this one could last for years if it takes hold. Please—don't talk to me about wine. I don't want to. I don't want to talk about wine. I just want to drink it.

Salut!

Lucy and I goofin' at the fabulous Lexicon Project Mobile Studio, in front of the Dame after the recent Mecca benefit! Thanks, Lexicon Project!

The benefit went swimmingly. Mecca—who's home has been in the heart of downtown lex for six years—has recently moved to their new home. The cost of that moving—we're talkin' new dance floors, y'all—has not been small, and so a benefit was in order. Interestingly, in spite of all the wonderful things that Mecca has done for the arts community, I can't recall there ever being a previous benefit for Mecca. And talk about a shoestring budget… sheesh!

Let's see, we had the always-fabulous Rakadu performance, as well as more super-duperness from Big Maracas, Club Dub and Big Fresh, who get extra props for including a lecture on prime numbers in the middle of their set, with guest lecturer, Stereo Apple and Marble Robert Schneider. I learned so much, guys…

My favorite part of the evening was kind of a hilarious come-uppance that could remain private, but I want to share because Carlin and Chan said they actually read my blog, so I gotta offer up…um, something.

There have been a variety of Mecca related events at The Dame where I get to DJ. I love to DJ, and when it's a Mecca thang, it's usually a vaguely Middle Eastern Bossa Nova techno affair. Then afterwards, it's not unusual for me to be asked to DJ for a bit to the loyal crowd. Last time I did this, I got to play 70's disco to a very appreciative dance floor until 2am or so, and it was such a feeling, to quote-unquote rock the dance floor.

So I'm thinkin' 'yeah, some more dance dj action,' gettin' some tunes queued up (blondie? no, no… Pilot? what? what?!)… I'm standing in the soundbooth next to Mikey Tev, who's poised to flip the board over to the DJ as soon as Big Fresh finishes up their wackiness. Nick, the Manager, is standing behind us and when BF wraps, he's gonna cue Mikey to swap over to the DJ. I'm considering my first song choice once more (this is all on laptop, by the way, so I can change my mind pretty quickly). Then, my time has come: Nick cues Mikey Tev and he moves this slider and that and I wait for Pilot's "Magic" to come boomin' across the PA—what a sweet sound it's gonna be—but instead I hear…Heart? Magic Man??! What the fuh?!

I glance around the club, everybody's rockin', and I look over to see…my nemesis! Mikey Turner, friend, RFL hipster, Warmest Milk, on the wheels of steel at DJ station #2!

Damn!

Foiled!

I had to laugh. Apparently, I was the only one that thought I was DJ'ing after the show. And I realized that I hadn't actually bothered to ask. What's that about 'assuming?'

Never mind, I got it.

BetOnIraq.com

I can't explain it, but I'm strangely transfixed by the Bet On Iraq web site, where you can buy Iraqi Dinar for fractions of a penny on the dollar—I mean, dinar.

"So, as long as we've already invaded Iraq, it's alright to invest in the currency, since our invasion will cause it to one day rise again?"

Is that it? Is this a vote of confidence?

I don't know but I might need to buy some Dinar. You know, just in case…

Fear and Loathing in the Mystery Machine

All hail the Internet! Where else can you find Hunter S. Thompson insinuated into Scooby-Doo? Nowhere, that's where! Take a break. Read Fear and Loathing in the Mystery Machine. If HST were alive he might say: "I've never met those iowahawk kids, but if I ever do, I'll set them on fire!"

Wildwood Inn

Well, this looks like my dream hotel. At the very least, let's hear it for some fabulous interior decoration at Northern Kentucky's Wildwood Inn! Check out the 360 degree panarama views!

Public spontaneous pillow fight. Now that's my kind of fun.

The latest rendition of the "flash mobs" phenomenon is one of public pillow fights. Ya just gotta love that, right? Excerpt from the rules: No hard pillows! Only hit people with pillows! Don't hit people with cameras!

Somebody spot me some cash…

Here's the thing. I need to buy Brian Eno's synthesizer. It would make a really great christmas present for me. Please?

Coverpops

Welcome to the world of Cover Pops, a concept developed by artist Jim Bumgardner. Just look at this coverpop of MAD Magazines. It's pretty engrossing. If you want to know "why? how? what?!" as I instantly did, go check out the faq

Mick turns 40. Film at 11.

People—I have just had the most excellent 40th birthday…season. One of the things I like about my Oct. 25 birthday is that is five days after my sweetie's and seven days before Halloween. Lots to do. And it's in the height of autumn, my favorite season. Until Spring, that is.

Well, I turned 40 this year. No real drama to speak of. I think it's too easy to dwell on these things, and I've probably done my share of hand-wringing over it in the "lead-up," but not really so much. I mean—what do they say?—beats the alternative. Yup!

And I've got so many friends. They threw me a surprise party under the devious organization of Lucy. Back to that later.

There was breakfast at the Meadowthorpe Café; there was the New Pornographers (early, true, but I really highly encourage you, gentle reader, to celebrate your birthday season.) There was Lucy's birthday. There was a trip to the drive-in.

And there was my wonderful and rainy actual birthday which featured thrift store visits and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Then sushi and friends. And, as I said, then there was the surprise party. Which didn't come until friday, just long enough that I didn't suspect a single thing. I mean—hadn't I already had quite enough fun for one person? Well, I've always been a bit of a glutton for fun.

So, friday, the plan was to meet Jennifer and Travis for a drink, which sounded like plenty of fun. I was kind of stressed because of my impending yard sale, the next morning. Ad in the paper, yada yada. Had to do it! Lucy had proclaimed repeatedly her desire to go out dancing to The Big Maracas, Lexington's fine fine salsa/samba outfit down at The Dame. I had been caterwauling about the yard sale, the yard sale, but in the end had finally conceded that dancing seemed like a better idea than walking around Bassett house, wringing my hands over the coming morning.

We walked the breezy fall night air stream a few blocks to The Dame and right inside the door, a chorus of mashed-up "Surprise!" and "Happy Birthday!" And—I've got to tell you—I didn't know what to think. My first thought was "Oh! How nice to have everybody at the bar wish me a happy birthday. I wonder how they pulled that off…"

Stupid…

So let me get this straight—
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

I actually had to first realize that I knew basically every person I saw, and then talk to a couple of people before grasping that this was a surprise party for me. My next thought was: Woo-hoo! TT was there to instantly hand me a Gin and Tonic. T'ank yoo, dahlink…

The rest of the night was spent dancing and laughing and talking. Well, here's some pictures, if you're curious. Oh yeah—I got to bed at about 3am, got up at 5:30pm and shagged my sorry ass over to Bassett for my yard sale. Hurtin'!

Of course, it was so very worth it.

Thanks to all my wonderful friends. Thank you!

Western Omelette

Western Omelette
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Had a fabulous weekend in Northern Kentucky seeing The New Pornographers at the Southgate House. Wheeee!

In between, we had time to eat at two of Newport/Covington's legendary 24-hour diners, The Anchor and The Pepper Pod, bot of which are featured in this story.

The girls here, in rare "morning-after" form, at The Pepper Pod in Newport.

I've been perusing Edward Weston books lately, and am rethinking what I toss and what I keep. I think I have plenty of "Smile!" pictures. Alternately, I love this picture because of the variety of expressions on the girls' faces… Thanks, ladiez!

Additional note: Mary and I had been to the Pepper Pod merely six hours before this, on a late-night breakfast binge. Upon crashing and getting up with the rest of the posse, we shrugged and headed back for another round of eggs!