A funny thing happened on the way to the Casbah

Man, do things get weird and weirder.

I'm in Florida, in case that hasn't been established. And the trail of hilarity, unexpectedness, good times, gratitude, sun, beach, and so forth just continues to pour forth. And some of it, is rather wacky. I cannot seem to relate fully the bizarre things that have happened here, so I'm going to focus on one for this post. Read on, gentle reader!

I swung by the Spirit workshops to make an official introduction to grease the wheels of one facet of my trip: taking pictures of belly dancers—only to be severly rebuffed. No pictures. No! None! Do not! Take! Pictures! Not now, not tonight, not tomorrow, not at all. Kinda hurt my feelings and I'm not totally over it; Trying to accept that it's got nothing to do with me, but I know how much smiles some of my belly dance pictures have brought dancers and I was lookng forward to that again, with an audience of several hundred avid dancers. Not to be it would seem.

I came back to the condo, and said, "At the beach, no problem here, right?" I got a gyro from the same place around the corner that I last night got some hummus and baba for the trip to boca raton the night before.

And then a funny thing happened.

Deciding to enjoy the privacy for a moment (no disrespect to last night's Venician mansion and its ultra-kind owners with 87 rooms, wi-fi, a mechanical butler, etc. More on that later.), and lay down on the couch. Bang, the phone rings; it's my trusty other-continent customer support dude calling on behalf of my bank to confirm that I'm in fact swiping my plastic all over southeastern florida. Which I am. And, honestly, I have to remember to be thankful for this no-charge service that my bank provides, even though it can be purturbing if I'm in the middle of something else, like an attempted nap. The funny thing is, when they call, they'll run down a list of charges: "Did you spent $6.73 at foodway? (yes) Did you spend $14.83 at cocktailsRus? (uh-huh) $2.46 at Nuttier Than All Other Nuts? (yup)

And so on.

But the weird thing was this: two transactions to the mediterranean restaurant right around the corner. One being for the gyro I bought just 20 minutes ago. The other for the hummus from last night. And both amounts totally wrong. North of wrong. Double plus north of wrong. And that, my friends, is how I am currently involved in a credit card fraud case whilest simultaneously movin and groovin on the beach.

It's been rather fun I must say. The owner claims total innocence but in a kind of belligerent way that makes me thing either a) he is one guilty motherfucker or b) his people skills are seriously compromised. We've had at least a couple of smiling yet confrontational encounters since this happened. yes, some chest-puffing, yes, some finger wagging. I'm grateful that I've been able to do this without raising a fever, you know? And in a weird way, I'm taking my cues from the owner. but I think the sum-bitch is guilty. Last night, Mr. Mikey T was here and we were walking and I just couldn't help—couldn't help!—marching into old dude's restaurant and having about a ten minute chest-puffing session with the guy. It was quite exhillarating, I think, because the sums aren't really anything to lose sleep over (you're dying to know, aren't you? read on) But it's kind of cathartic to walk in, have this preposterous little debating session (him: "look here! see this number [pointing at my charge slip]? This is how much we charged you! If you were charged more, it's your bank's fault!" Me: "Well, that's very convenient for you, don't you think?" [ensuring laughter and head-shaking] And again, there's not really any blood boiling, but there's some finger-wagging (mostly me) and so forth.

And you know what else?
I probably wouldn't even be bothering with this if the guy hadn't said the first time I went down, "You call your bank, and when they figure it out, you will come back down here and apologize to me."

Oh. My. God. Did this guy really say that? He backed off of it real quick actually. I was completely slack-jawed over it. "Wow," I said. "You have an amazing amount of nerve! Me? Apologize to you!?" And this all said with a certain amount of incredulous laughter. I mean— even if the guy is completely vindicated, there is no excuse for his swagger, at least, not as a businessman who, you know, wants to sell food to people on a daily basis.

So the saga continues, but today, I look forward to a swim, some sitting around, maybe an argument or two with my neighborhood credit card swindler, you know—the normal stuff.

Stay tuned!

Headed Out! Spirit of the Tribes in FLA!

Wow, all of a sudden, I'm going to Florida!

"Excellent…" as Mr. Burns would say.

I'm delighted to report that I am honored to accompany my world-class bellydance pals Rakadu Gypsy Dance to Spirit of the Tribes 2007 in Ft. Lauderdale, thanks to the ceaseless proddings of sRi TaraSita. "Over 100 performers! Featuring Tribal belly dance groups and instructors from all over the country!" the press page sez! Including pals and Lex visitors Dalia Carella and Rachel Brice. Which is cool enough in and of itself. And let's not forget that Rakadu is basically the closing act for the entire event. Not too shabby, dahlinks!

As for me, I'll be acting as some sort of laptop adjunct musician slash entertainment consort slash cocktail consultant slash errand guy.

But the real junk is that I get to have my kick-axe photog shit blowin' up amongst the world's best bellydancers. Oh, yes, there will be photos to come. Oh, yes, there will!

(Editor's note: Extra thanks goes out to Mick's ever-patient wife and love, Lucy, for putting up with such dalliances. [in other words: she said I could go])

No one belongs here more than you. Stories by Miranda July

If you are looking for an innovative and delightful design for your web site, it just doesn't get any better than this one by Miranda July, an author promoting her new book.

How incredibly cool.

Pezhead meets Rachel Brice

Pezhead meets Rachel Brice, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Oh friends, there's been much doings! While short on words, I've been thousanding them together in pictures, you know. I've been super happy with my new camera setup and have been putting it to some good use.

For instance, maybe you want to check out pix from Mecca's Dancing Lotus Lounge event, featuring the amazing Rachel Brice!

Some good news on the Environment!

I know I've been a little un-bloggy lately, but I'm coming back, I swear. In the meantime, this is the best news I've heard in many a moon, concerning the worrisome state of the environment and the fuck-headed attitude taken by many "in charge" in our country. Check it out, read the story, it's a big deal.

High Court rebukes Bush on car pollution

Now, if somebody can only explain to me why this story was in Yahoo News' top RSS feeds for less than a day, before being replaced by important news about Justin Timberlake.

Mushrooms grown by me!

Mushrooms grown by me, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

I was worried that the crazy mushroom growing kit that sister-in-law Dana gave me for xmas might have sat around my office too long to produce. Luckily, it's still got some pizzazz. Here the results of two weeks of weird loamy soil sitting in a box in the basement, with me misting it every day.

We've lost alot in the air

5, originally uploaded by Avi_Abrams.

I'm just old enough to be able to remember when people tended to dress up for plane travel and when people actually smoked on planes and when in-flight meals were actually meals. To say nothing of the wonderful color and style of the stewardesses—excuse me—Flight Attendents.

I found a beautiful and delightful blog collection of images from the golden age of commercial air travel. Take a look.

Special Agent Lucy on Trivial Thursdays!

lucy is evil, but i'm nice, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Tomorrow on Trivial Thursdays, my long-running college-mutant version of a morning drive-time show, my guest will be the only woman with the moxie to shout me down. So much so that I married her!

Tune in to Trivial Thursdays—The Lucy Show on WRFL 88.1fm, tomorrow at 7am!

Thinking about Photography

I've been much more concerned with my photography lately.

Not "concerned," in the sense of "what will become of it?" (although there is that), but just rather with Photography (capital "P") and how it is a part of me and what I can do to develop (sorry) that part of me. The weird thing is this: I've recently made the foray into the not-inexpensive digital SLR world, by purchasing a Canon Digital SLR. Let there be no mistaking: I'm wild about this camera. It's a great camera. I feel like I've come home, in terms of having back the responsiveness of an SLR that I grew up with, a responsiveness that was lost for a number of years as I played with a variety of point-and-shoot pocket digital cameras. Those cameras all had their own merits, too, but also their foibles. Mostly, I guess these have to do with my preconceived notions of resolutions and lens quality, etc. I guess, equipment issues. Speed of focusing, ease of use, resolution, that sort of thing.

Recently, I've had some photographic experiences not directly tied to my own work. I've been reading essays by Janet Malcolm on some of history's great photographers—Steiglitz, Weston, etc. And it's been interesting—more so than I might have guessed, honestly—to read some things about the lives of these characters. In many ways, they had plenty of their own foibles. Weston, for instance, was a quite the heartbreaker, apparently. Steiglitz was rather an asshole.

These things are sort of beside the point, but I learned some interesting things not too long ago when I went out on a "photo day" with my friend Boyd. I wanted to play with this lens that I'd rented; Boyd, however, showed up to our location with a 4 x 5 large-format camera—a looming beast in a box, on a hulking tripod. Boyd came prepared to shoot about a dozen pictures. That is the nature of his contraption. It's not about volume, but rather about quality. Which is more indicative of the history of "art" photography, I guess. I suppose it would be overly broad to claim this about photography in general, since photojournalism has long required "mass shooting," as my friend Jenna recently referred to the common practice of shooting many many pictures.

And it's not that I think it crazy to approach photography from this labor-intensive handful-of-images approach, it just hadn't really occurred to me. It's a whole other aspect of photography that I had never considered. The nature of my historic relationship (mostly self-taught) with photography has been the convenience of the SLR, which has, ironically and from time to time, seemed rather inconvenient to me, compared to the myriad of pocket cameras that have emerged over the years. In fact, a fascination in one camera in particular, the Lomo, is sort of what got me back into photography after some years of waning interest. That was followed somewhat by a brief foray into the delightful lo-tech medium-format wonder of the Holga. And I've seen people on Flickr who can do spectacular things with seemingly modest cameras.

Now, with my Canon, I have probably the nicest (and certainly by far the most expensive) camera that I've ever owned. And, let's not be coy: My investment is modest compared to the potential of future investment in lenses and so forth. But here's the rub: As I upgrade my equipment, I've found a growing concern in me: the concern that whatever idiosyncratic style that I may have might be lost as I "join the troops" who shoot with the standard arsenal of equipment. A little voice inside says: Maybe you'd be better off to stick with, say, toy cameras, to keep some sort of oddness that some people seem to love about your photos. But, conversely, maybe I would be hiding in that idiosyncrasy— limited by a limited technology.

So, while I'm mildly skeptical of my equipment, it's for surprising reasons: I just bought a new lens, and looked forward to getting it. But after shooting with it, I was happy with the clarity of the resulting photos, but maybe a little uncomfortable about how … normal they looked. I mean compared to some of my weird, old blurryvision® pix, of which I'm mighty proud.

And to dovetail this in with my mentions of essays about the giants of photography and my experience with my friends who have forayed into medium-format film photography—It's easy to forget—or never even know—how hard, how complicated, how demanding photography used to be. Now, everybody has a camera. There's phone cameras, there's little bitty cameras, there's an army of soccer moms with XTi's just like mine. Which causes me to gulp a little bit. I would like to be a (more) remarkable photographer. I would like (and there's some embarrassment here) to be known as a remarkable photographer. And let's not forget this: ideally, I might also like to be paid as a remarkable photographer.

But reading these essays and watching my medium-format dabbling friends, I'm seeing that—historically—being a remarkable photographer was much much much more arduous. And why should that matter? There's is a romance about that which is undeniable to me. To understand the science, to gather together (and care for!) the equipment, to master the darkroom, and to shoot in such a way that might —might!— lead to a handful of exposures in the course of a day— And all this without the least bit of a guarantee that the photographer would even have the camera pointed at the right thing in the first place.

It's kind of mind-blowing, really. I guess that's all I'm wanting to say. But if you want to get together and talk about it over a drink or coffee or (heaven forbid) over a photo shoot, I'm game.

I'm going to stick with this digital business for now; but I reserve the right to change my mind and start shooting with Brownies, if so moved.

I can see (more) clearly now.

new lens lucy!, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

I had been intently contemplating the purchase of a new lens (50mm f1.4) for my camera, and finally pulled the trigger. After Amazon took over a week to deliver it (Amazon is starting to slack, btw) and I finally got it in my greedy little hands, I took some pictures at Gallery Hop. Here's a set of shots with the new lens. It's a challenging beast; well-endowed with its own glories and foibles. But I think there are some great pictures to be taken in the coming days.

The Apples in Stereo!

robert, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

There's much excitement around town as our (kind-of) home-town pop wonders The Apples in Stereo get ready to wow the world with the long-awaited New Magnetic Wonder. To get things going was a gig at CD Central to be followed later tonight with a full-scale bliss-fest at The Dame.

Check out some pics from the CD Central gig here.

Could it Be?

In the wake of the seemingly-settled 15-year lawsuit between Apple Computer and the Beatles' label Apple Records, some people are saying there's gonna be a whole new revolution in digital music delivery. Like Wired News, for instance.

Will the iPod be the new CD?

leaf geometry

leaf geometry, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

I rented a Macro lens this weekend and took some cool pix with photo pal Boyd. If you want to see more, click here.

bennett

bennett, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

I rented a Macro lens this weekend and took some cool pix here and there. If you want to see more, click here.

marionette

marionette, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

I rented a Macro lens this weekend and took some cool pix here and there. If you want to see more, click here.

betty and olive

betty and olive, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

I rented a Macro lens this weekend and took some cool pix here and there. If you want to see more, click here.

Required Stormtrooper reading

required Stormtrooper reading, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Check out some pics from this weekend's rather bizarre Joseph-Beth event, featuring droves of Star Wars fans and costumed maniacs from not one, but two, Star Wars fan groups. These are the pictures that you are looking for…

Laptop Lounge in effect!

Wow, Mr. DJ! Had quite the time doing the Laptop Lounge gig at a couple of events in the last two weeks. At this year's Heard it Through the Grapevine benefit, worked up this cuh-razy mobile rig that allowed me to pump latin jazz in a variety of venues. Hence the tag line on promo materials: "You never know where he'll turn up!"

The other gig was this year's Casino Night at the Headley-Whitney Museum, themed "The Gambler." I surprised myself by being able to come up with over three hours of western (not country) music. But the mood music prize must go to Calexico, for their amazingly appropriate dust-blown mariachi jams.

BTW: As I was driving home, I realized with great satisfaction that I had absent-mindedly managed to not play Kenny Rogers all night.

lolli's teaching me

Blogpal lolli yesterday blew my mind with her new-found curiosity about Technorati. Apparently, it's high time that I set up my Technorati Profile. So release the spiders!

It's Titus Time!

Today, I got to stop by Brian and Sara's to pick up the much-anticipated and fresh off the press posters for UK Theatre's production of Titus Andronicus, described as "Shakespeare's slasher play."

I'm excited about this for many reasons.

Reason #1: I'm the art director for UK Theatre's advertising for this season, which has been enormously gratifying. Gratifying mostly because of my decision (reason #2) to engage Cricket Press to develop the imagery for the season, a task at which they have excelled. I'm a huge fan and working with Brian Cricket has been a delight of many facets, from his cheery demeanor to his amazing screen artistry, to his using me as a possible biting target for his doggie.* (more on that at the end)

Here's what the poster looks like— but it hardly does justice to the actual printed thing. We've collectively hashed out some of the details through email, and thus, a number of strangers have seen it along the way (like on airplanes) and I delight in their responses. It's a little shocking, right? (Reason #3) Oh, the joy… UK Theater loves it. I love it. Brian loves it. As I'm prompted to say to Brian when praising his work: "People are gonna be dyin' in the streets over this!"

That's an ultimate compliment, by the way.

---

*Now, let's talk about, the Cricket Dog, Otter: He's a fine pup, what you might call a bit rambunctious. Every time I'm over at The Cricket Abode and Complex, I'm aware of savage barking coming from … somewhere in back. Apparently, the Crickets have some trepidation about their doggies and visitors, so Brian tends to sequester them when I come over.

This time was different, though. I was getting out of my car and Brian popped out to the driveway and sez: "Hey, Mick, would you mind to help me with a little experiment with my dog?" I sez: "Sure!" I'm like that.

Brian gives me a handful of doggie treats, and the following instructions: "When we go in the front door, DON'T MAKE EYE CONTACT and DON'T TALK TO OTTER. After a minute or two, give him these treats."

hoo-kay…

Maybe I've got a bit of trepidation. Maybe I didn't tell Brian the story about the dog who nearly bit my fingers off. (another tale, another tail!) But still, I'm nothing if not game, and that's just in my blood, even if some of said blood sometimes leave my body.

So we hit the front door, and as we walk in, Otter comes charging at me, full bark and growl on, a blur around me of snapping and air-nips, millimeters from my jacket and treat-clenched fist.. nnnnnnnnice doggy! niiiiice!

there's barking! there's staunchness! there's guardianship! It's the things some of us most admire in the canine species.

Returning to the here and now, I ain't got nipped yet, but I ain't rulin' it out, yo. I know how it is, though: Some call it a gift… I'm like some kind of combination of Dr. Doolittle and Mr. Rogers: animals and kids love me. Can't explain it. Except Otter, maybe. Maybe? He's barkin' up a storm and I'm doing my job, not looking at him, holding my winning hand of pup treats, like a champion poker hand. Don't let 'em see ya sweat…

Otter isn't easing up the pressure, but Brian sez: "Okay, give him the treats!" Which has me a little worried. Still, I open up my palm, thinking, "I've got ten fingers for a reason; These five may not be totally necessary."

The thing is, Otter doesn't really notice my treats and keeps barking—y'know–"GET THE HELL OUT INTERLOPER!"

Brian's, like, "Look, Otter!—treats! Mick's got treats!"

Otter's, like: "OUT I SAID!!"

Mick's, like: "Please leave at least my thumb and forefinger…"

But then—after the darkness, the dawn! The smell of treats wins the day, and Otter gobbles them out of my hand...

Minutes later, I'm drowning in dog spit. I'm getting licked to death. And after a few very tense minutes, Otter and I are BFF.

What kind of day did you have, anyway?

Camino de las Colinas

Camino de las Colinas, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

here's the cactus remix collage of the front of eren and ari's house in tucson

the dos vatos accomodations

the dos vatos accomodations, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

here's a quick glance at the coolness that is the Dos Vatos office in Tucson. And my bedroom on my recent visit.

a few more tucson pix

The Boneyard, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

here's the last of the Tucson adventure! This picture is from the AMARC Boneyard, the place where military planes go to die (and be assimilated). Freaky.

All my fave Tucson pix are in this album on Flickr!

a song!

a song!, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Eren, Max and I went to Nogales, Mexico, today and ate in a fabulous restaurant that was kind of in a cave. Kind of. In fact, it was a wonderful wonderful place called La Roca. Also, I've seen cacti. Wanna see some more pictures?

tucson pix!

ari and eren's back yard details, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

I'm putting up some Tucson pix, as the week progresses... I'll just keep dumping them into this Flickr set, so check back from time to time.

late morning in tucson

Overhead, F-16's are circling… which is better or worse than police helicopters in Lexington? I think better, if only for reasons of bombast.

A Short Q&A about Tucson

Q: Why are you going in Tucson, Mick? A: Because it’s there.

Longer answer: We live in some kinda information age right? I work at home much of the time, right? On a computer on the internets, right? So it seems.

So I want to see about taking this show on the road. I want to see if I can just kind of go do this stuff somewhere else. Not anywhere in particular, mind you; Tucson gets the nod for a few reasons: Mostly because of intrepid and inspiring friends Ari and Eren, the Dos Vatos who have blessed me with the magic hosting attitude on more than one previous occasion: “Come on! Stay at our place! Entertain yourself, and depending on our workload, we’ll do some fun things with you!”

That is my kind of hosting situation. It worked miracles for me a few years ago in Mexico. Now, throw in some maps, a rental car (cheap on Priceline), a guidebook, and wireless broadband—and a wealth of gizmos and their requisite power adapters—and I'm prepared to test my theory that I can be not just “away from the office,” but in fact “really really FAR away from the office” and still get the job done, yo.

So that’s why I’m in Tucson. Also, to take a billion pictures, drive around in the desert and not lastly—nearly firstly, in fact—go see Giant Sand’s only hometown show of 2007…tonight at the Hotel Congress!

More to come!

Giant sand!

Giant sand!, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

guant sand plays their only 2007 "home gig" at tucson's hotel congress. Fab show!

Cacti!

Cacti!, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Cheers from the SW

Cheers from the SW, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Cactus wine? nope, just wine and cacti

Slots at tha airppt

Slots at tha airppt, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Las vegas-- it's laid out like dat

Saucy sbonyaba

Saucy sbonyaba, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Check the knitting needles in this extremely fresh hat

Evil suz

Evil suz, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Evil suz got a new hole in her lip, y'all!

Alyssum

Alyssum, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

One of my more-fave pix lately of the tribal persuasion..

Pal Alyssum in town for the holidays gets the groove at Natasha's.

Great show, Rakadu!

Out in the Barn, it's swingin' with Rae Lynn!

Out in the Barn, it's swingin' with Rae Lynn!, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Put up some pix from a fine New Year's Day spent out in the country at the Higgs' farm...

Here, look at some pictures!

the sisters

the sisters
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

this is probably the funniest picture I have ever taken of my mom (left) and her sister, my aunt Sharlot. Sharlot asked me to take a picture of them together, and so I put them in a corner and got them telling funny stories while I snapped away... I think Sharlot was probably expecting me to say "Smile!" and then push the button... not to just egg them on and shoot frame after frame. Featured in this shot is my mom's faux uppity Well, you can kiss my grits! sort of look that is as hard to catch on camera as the Loch Ness Monster. And twice as scary.

Lucy's trains

Lucy's trains
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

The holiday trains are ON TIME!

Guest Host Lolli!

Thanks to Lolli, not just for being a Trivial Thursdays guest host, but for blogging about it, too! C'mon back down for some coffee and chat, now, y'hear? The whole Trivial Thursdays guest schedule is here, by the way…

Lee and jo

Lee and jo
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Happy christmaka!

the oven!

the oven!
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Believe it or not, there's actually some new content over at The Campsie Project!

Super lisa

Super lisa, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

My pre-press bag-piper wunderkind, to whom I literally owe my college degree. Busy as per usual!

Little Hokum Rag: Teenar, Girl Guitar

Little Hokum Rag: Teenar, Girl Guitar

This made me laugh out loud. Just a strange idea, and strange ideas make my world go 'round!

death to magnetic ribbons

death to magnetic ribbons, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

I hate those magnetic ribbons! Support this, douche bag. But this—this—is a good one. I'd almost consider it.

Solomon Royce!

Well, Josh and Jamie are parents, y'all!

Welcome, Solomon Royce McAlpin Burks, who came into the big blue marble at 10:52 am today, after nearly three days of on-again, off-again labor by Miss Jamie. Jeez, oh Pete!

Jamie says:

Born at home in the water. I caught him!!
7.12 lbs, 19.5 in length blue eyes mama's lips Of course hair... more of that to come, surely! November 30th, 10:52 a.m. What a beautiful day to be born!!! We are so blessed and I am eternally grateful for the people that were here with me supporting me after three long days and you know who you are! Thank you everyone for all your blessings, prayers and support!
Love to you all!!
Jamie & Joshua & Solomon

Email your congrats to mom and dad!

I'M IN UR SHOP, RACKIN' UR PRINTZ

Checkin' the werkz, originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

"Cricket Brian" delivers the goods for UK Theatre's upcoming production of A Raisin in the Sun. Woo-Hoo!

Raisin posters by cricket

I get to help brian cricket with ptinting posters for a raisin in the sun

Cruise Comix!

Kenn said it was nice to have an "official photographer" (here's my pix) on vacation with you; me, I think it's nice to have an official cartoonist! Here's a bigger version of Kenn's 1st (hopefully, there's more to come) cruise comic!

Kaydence

My granddaughter hides under the clothesracks (to the surprise of shppers) at Gabe's

Pelosi: I'M IN UR HOUSE / IMPEACHIN UR DOODZ

The election—on a national level—was great. At the very least, we can look forward to days or weeks of Internet satires, right? For instance, this!

OMG! It's Kris Eans!

OMG! It's Kris Eans!
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

Well, the strangest "it's a small world" event of the cruise was the very last night, talking to a trombonist kid who was playing with a hot little quintet in the Ionian Lounge. We hadn't heard them before, and I was throwing around my Famous Jazz Blather® (which routinely leads to the question: "Do you maybe want to sit in with us for a song?" which leads to the answer from me: "You don't want that, trust me.")

Anyway, I tell this kid I'm from Kentucky and he notes that one of the musicians in the show band is from Louisville. Cool, I say, not thinking much of it. Then a few minutes later the words "trumpet" and "Chris" are uttered and I get this funny fealing and blurt out: Wait—are you talking about Kris Eans?! The guy says YES. I just about fall out of my chair, and it wasn't from the Martini I was drinking; Kris is a casual friend, but also the younger brother of Greg, a high school classmate of mine, and Kevin, my old photo-buddy, who sort of taught me everthing I know back in yearbook class and now works for USAToday!

And here's Kris, former Lexxer, Owensboroan, killer jazz trumpeter, right on Carnival Victory! I sent a message with the trombonist, and Kris called our room and came to visit shortly thereafter.

Look, y'alll! It's Kris Eans! I'm sure he'd love to hear from you, if you want to drop him a line!

Upon departing, I made the savvy packing decision to bequeath Kris and wife Nicki our room party lights and remaining supply of Bombay Sapphire (sob) and a bottle of Irish Cream. And I'm well aware that when you and your spouse's cabin is about 9' x 9', the standard response to being given a bag of stuff is gee...thanks.

Kris! See you in Louisville!

The Cruise pix (full set)

Okay, kiddos, here then is the photo-tale of the crazy cruise through the Eastern Caribbean of myself, Lucy, Jo & Jason, and Kenn, and Leah. Some stories will follow, some have been told. Some will never be told. It's just that way! Have a look at The Cruise Fall 2006 on Flickr!

Lucy in the barber chair

Strange former barber chairs in the lobby of the fabulous Clay Hotel in SoBe Miami.. We comin' home.

Delano b-room

Double trouble!

At the delano yo

We in miami beach, bitches.

Songs of the High Seas

There's something wrong about hearing Van Halen's "Ain't Talkin' bout Love" in the shiny, beglittered elevator on a Carnival cruise ship.

I can't say exactly what. There's just something… wrong about it. There's a lot wrong about the ship that can't be exactly pinpointed. Not the ship itself mind you, which is a marvel, and not only one of money extraction; but there is a casino, folks, a casino, and that is, I suspect, one of the prime machines of money removal from the pockets of the cruise crowd. Not me. Not that I'm better than that (not that I'm not), but I just don't seem to have the gambling bone. One thing I love about the casino, though: this shimmering soundscape that sounds like Heaven, kind of. It's this layer-after-layer of bing! and ching! and bling! bling! bling! that must be some part of the origin of the term, but I hear something else: I hear a sort of constantly-ending 80's synth pop song. I don't know: Flock of Seagulls or something… It's a magical sound and I love walking though the casino just to listen to it. I keep thinking that if I listen closely, I can learn and memorize this ethereal song.

Let's talk about music some more: in this, my second cruise experience, I again see that there's a lowest-common-denominator about the music on a cruise ship. There's a wide variety of styles played over the ship PA and in the stage shows and by the myriad of cover bands/karaoke venues. They all have this in common: the songs must be ubiquitous. Of course, the fallout of this criterion is that generally the songs must therefore suck. If only by virtue of having been heard by most ears approximately 900 million times prior to the cruise.

Last night, we caught as much of the big shooooow as we could handle. Lots of things on a cruise are sort of going for that really big show kind of vibe and they tend, as a result,, to be unintentionally high-larious. Last night's show was kind of a Big Tribute To All of Your Favorite Music, Cruise People! So there were these set pieces with dancers and singers and such to such beloved concepts/genres/legends/flashes-in-the-pan as: Elvis ("Jailhouse Rock" featured—somewhat scandalously—dancers in thongs and leather jackets. Ass cheeks anybody?); The Beatles sort of leading into The Rolling Stones (or maybe it was THE SIXTIES, it was hard to tell, since "Twist and Shout" was performed in highly psychedelic little, um, uniforms.); Prog-Rock (extra bizarre in its featuring of sort of Pink Floydian instrumentals accompanied by "modern" dancing (quote marks, mine); Madonna (basically a copy of the vid where she's dressed like Victorian royalty); and on and on… we hit the door during Madonna, not so much because of that, but rather because the Right Said Fred tribute was so, um, unforgettable, but maybe not in a really good way.

Other musical notes (ha ha! Such puns are really really funny on a cruise!!): I've routinely tried to miss the all-purpose island band that plays the main stage to hundreds of drunken current and former greeks. I'm not talking about the nationality here—they merely tend to own cruise ships—but rather to the collegiate variety. That band is called Cool Runnings, mon… Nice work if you can get it. Other onboard acts include a guy who's ruining a perfectly decent piano bar. I think his name is "Scott," but I could be wrong because in the daily what-to-do publication that appears magically on our bed every evening, several of the DJ's names are in quotations. I don't know if this is some sort of code or just some bad editing. Anyway, note to self: If (no, when) I have my own piano bar, make sure not to follow "Scott's" lead and have MIDI-strings and drums and stuff. Just a piano is plenty to carry such classics as "Feelings" and "Midnight at the Oasis."

FInally, I've got a little bit to say about the scariest place on the ship: The Karaoke Bar. Pick any evening and it's packed. I'm talking about people-sitting-on-the-floor packed. And this to hear somebody giving their all in a rendition of some Alan Jackson song or something. What is it that terrifies me about this? Is it it the rapt look on the audience's faces? Or maybe the actually decent quality of much of the singing to these schlock Young Country ditties? I think it has to do with the seeming preference of a lot of people to hear "jest plain old normal folks; like you and me!" sing songs that everybody knows and can relate to—classics like "Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off" (ha ha! tequila! get it? it makes her clothes fall off!) Please fellow humans: get thee back to professional musicians. Karaoke is the musical equivalent of standing in an art gallery and announcing "Hell, I could do that." (self-deprecating ps: you really haven't lived until you've heard my rendition of "The Rainbow Connection")

"But Mick," you may be asking, "didn't you dig something the most, and what was that mostest thing that you dug?" Well, let me tell you, gentle reader. There's this jazz trio in a cigar lounge. And they rock most undeniably. We've palled around with them a good bit at this point. It's a funny little trio: two youngsters and a bryl-creamed older fellow on drums, who—bless his heart—loves to give lengthy explanations of each song that mostly nobody is interested in hearing. But I am, gentle reader, I am!

I even became fast friends with him by opening up the thrilling conversation topic of Is Hoagy Carmichael from Indiana or what? He did some research on the Internets, friends and came back to me with the answer Yes! Hoagy Carmichael is from INDIANA!

The real key to this trio though is a 25 year old piano wiz named Ian. I hate Ian, because guitar is his primary instrument, but he just happens to be a goddamned near-prodigy at Monk-style bop piano jazz. Fucking bastard, is what he is. Due in large part to his chops, the trio is capable of blasting through entirely cock-eyed renditions of warhorses like I've Got You Under My Skin or My Favorite Things or Stardust ("Hoagy Carmichael, ladies and gentlemen, who hails from the great state of—that's right—Indiana!") and sort of massacre them with unmitigated brilliance. I can honestly say that Ian has restored my faith in Jazz. Watching him play, whilst guzzling promptly-provided Black Russians from pixie-like server Ni (an Indonesian who has memorized all of our cabin numbers and names and drink preferences), I've remembered this great thing about jazz: It's about the melody, a living thing that—if it's a good one—is capable of being twisted, warped, turned inside-out—and still holding its original charm. Jazz is about flipping a song on its head and keeping the listeners enthralled with the promise of that sweet melody becoming once again familiar, reemerging when the time is right. Ian is absolutely capable of doing exactly that. This trio has been our cocktail hour staple throughout the cruise.

That may be enough for now, friends. We're headed back to Miami. This is a mixed blessing, I suppose. It's sad that we don't have any more ports to call upon. San Juan, Sint Maarten, and St. John/St. Thomas all had their own delights, yes, it's true; on the flipside, we're all pretty sick to death of ship culture: 3000 ugly Americans (some of them, not even Americans, if you can imagine the nerve) vying for an overabundance of prime rib, tacos, pizza and hurricane-like drinks in tall plastic cups. Ye gods.

But! This just in! We've successfully managed to change our Miami accommodations to The Clay Hotel and Hostel on South Beach and will be partying most gallantly at jernts like the Delano and the Shore Club all day and night upon docking! So there's that! Neon! Salsa! The Beach! Art Deco! Near nudity around most corners!

Pray for us!