I saw this guy, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, for the first time ever on the Grammys back in February. He was tall and balding and wearing a brown wrinkled suit and he thanked the people of Eau Claire, Wisconsin for his Grammy. It was love at first sight.
So, I checked out his music, belatedly, at last.
I now have an iTunes playlist called "Arty" featuring this and several other Bon Iver songs. When this one comes on, it stops me, whatever I am doing. I don't know what "Holocene" means and I can't understand the lyrics other than "I was not magnificent" but this music goes right through me.
Let me know what you think.
Friday, May 04, 2012
Friday Night Family Fun
All of us together back at the Last House for the first time in a couple of weeks. Shackleton just came down stairs and asked for $10 for a Minecraft upgrade. Whusband, sensing a teachable moment, offers cash if Shack will read three Aesop's fables aloud. Much groaning from Shack.
Whusband administers high culture like an innoculation and it is generally received that way by the kids. The Understudy says classical music will always remind her of being cold and hungry because Whusband plays it for hours while I'm at work. He also refuses to turn up the heat and the kids hardly ever like the food he has on offer. (As soon as I walk in the door, crank up the thermostat and boil spaghetti).
The first fable on the programme tonight involves a "soldier out collecting faggots." I bite my tongue. Shack laughs. Whusband tells him that he is being vulgar. The next features "a vain girl wearing dimity at a carnival." (I kind of missed the instructive kicker on both of them and missed the third one altogether.) I am pretty sure the morals of the stories were wasted on Shack too, but he was still snickering about the soldier when he asked me how much money I have in my Paypal account.
I am going to look up "dimity." It rings a bell from some long-ago read Thomas Hardy novel. Mayor of Casterbridge? Maybe time to read that again. Then I will get Shack his Minecraft upgrade.
A dimity bustle, 1881
So you don't die of curiosity: "Dimity is a lightweight, sheer cotton fabric having at least two warp threads thrown into relief to form fine cords. It is a cloth commonly employed for bed upholstery and curtains, and usually white, though sometimes a pattern is printed on it in colors. It is stout in texture, and woven in raised patterns. Originally dimity was made of silk or wool, but since the 18th century it has been woven almost exclusively of cotton.")
Things could be worse. I don't have to wear dimity or a bustle for starters and we're going to the indoor water park tomorrow.
Bon weekend tout le monde!
Whusband administers high culture like an innoculation and it is generally received that way by the kids. The Understudy says classical music will always remind her of being cold and hungry because Whusband plays it for hours while I'm at work. He also refuses to turn up the heat and the kids hardly ever like the food he has on offer. (As soon as I walk in the door, crank up the thermostat and boil spaghetti).
The first fable on the programme tonight involves a "soldier out collecting faggots." I bite my tongue. Shack laughs. Whusband tells him that he is being vulgar. The next features "a vain girl wearing dimity at a carnival." (I kind of missed the instructive kicker on both of them and missed the third one altogether.) I am pretty sure the morals of the stories were wasted on Shack too, but he was still snickering about the soldier when he asked me how much money I have in my Paypal account.
I am going to look up "dimity." It rings a bell from some long-ago read Thomas Hardy novel. Mayor of Casterbridge? Maybe time to read that again. Then I will get Shack his Minecraft upgrade.
A dimity bustle, 1881
So you don't die of curiosity: "Dimity is a lightweight, sheer cotton fabric having at least two warp threads thrown into relief to form fine cords. It is a cloth commonly employed for bed upholstery and curtains, and usually white, though sometimes a pattern is printed on it in colors. It is stout in texture, and woven in raised patterns. Originally dimity was made of silk or wool, but since the 18th century it has been woven almost exclusively of cotton.")
Things could be worse. I don't have to wear dimity or a bustle for starters and we're going to the indoor water park tomorrow.
Bon weekend tout le monde!
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Checking In
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Shaken
You know how I have been going on and on about this band, Alabama Shakes? Well, I went with some friends to see them tonight at Higher Ground, a venue in Burlington not much larger than a church basement. I was sick (sore throat, fever, coughing, sneezing blah blah) and, are you sitting down? I don't go out to see a lot of rock bands.
Making matters worse, Higher Ground has no seats - this was an SRO situation. We got there about a half an hour after the doors opened. The opening band didn't appear for another hour. I had to flee to the Ladies partway through their set for a break from the noise a little sit down (I won't say "wee sit down" - oops). (Did I mention I don't go out to a lot of rock shows?) Then, when the opener cleared off, it was another long wait for the Shakes. As we shifted on our tired legs, I assured my friend that we could move back from the spot near the front we had cadged if it was too loud or people pressed in too close.
Well, from the moment the band strummed the first chord and dropped the first drum beat, I was theirs. Brittany Howard is the singer and it is not too much to say that she is touched by fire. She's the star, but the band is more than just her and more than the sum of its parts. And. Whoa. After hours on my fevered middle-aged-broad feet, I would have stood for hours more to hear them sing.
Here they are blowing David Letterman's mind earlier this week. See them live if you can.
Sunday, April 08, 2012
Easter on the Edge
"I saw your ham in the road," the trooper said. "I was worried it was something else... When I saw your truck..."
The EMTs continued to swab blood off Whusband's hands. The inside of an ambulance at night is very bright. This makes sense, of course, but I have never been inside an ambulance before and had never stopped to think about what they are like.
"Oh really?" Whusband said with a strange joviality born of being the cause of so much trouble, and of being tended to by uniformed strangers.
"Do you have proof of insurance" The trooper asks. He is of young and of rather slight stature, but he has the hat and all. This inquiry is not a bad sign, I think in my lawyerly way. If the injuries had been worse, this kind of thing would have had to wait - but it's only a few cuts from that shattered windshield. Amazing when you see the truck.
The swabbing stops while Whusband peels apart wallet-worn bits of paper with his bloody fingers. The best he can do is an insurance card from 2007. (He has current insurance, but no card). This is a ticketable offense, the trooper notes, although, perhaps because of the ham (and all it signifies) he is disposed to let this go, if a copy can be faxed to the barracks ASAP. This is arranged.
Neither of the kids could be enticed to accompany Whusband to go to the grocery store last night and no one else was on the road as he caromed across the lanes and over the guardrail. Thank God - and that feels like it doesn't cover it. The Four Runner, our "good car" is totaled but no one was hurt, except for WHusband whose injuries were limited to the band-aidable variety.
After the ambulance men and the trooper were done, and the smashed car hauled away on the wrecker, we walked down through the country darkness to the lay-by where I left the ancient Camry. On the way, I picked up a grape fruit that had rolled from the Four Runner's cargo area about a quarter mile down the hill which Whushand had driven down a thousand times but last night failed to navigate. Did a tire come off? We're still not sure what happened.
I know this, though: that unlikely grapefruit is sitting in the fruit bowl in the kitchen and Whusband and the Understudy are sitting at the dining room table looking at the pictures the Understudy just took of him with her iPad. Incarnation. Ex-carnation. I am gladder than I can say we didn't have to confront the latter too terribly directly this Easter. Amen and Amen.
The EMTs continued to swab blood off Whusband's hands. The inside of an ambulance at night is very bright. This makes sense, of course, but I have never been inside an ambulance before and had never stopped to think about what they are like.
"Oh really?" Whusband said with a strange joviality born of being the cause of so much trouble, and of being tended to by uniformed strangers.
"Do you have proof of insurance" The trooper asks. He is of young and of rather slight stature, but he has the hat and all. This inquiry is not a bad sign, I think in my lawyerly way. If the injuries had been worse, this kind of thing would have had to wait - but it's only a few cuts from that shattered windshield. Amazing when you see the truck.
The swabbing stops while Whusband peels apart wallet-worn bits of paper with his bloody fingers. The best he can do is an insurance card from 2007. (He has current insurance, but no card). This is a ticketable offense, the trooper notes, although, perhaps because of the ham (and all it signifies) he is disposed to let this go, if a copy can be faxed to the barracks ASAP. This is arranged.
Neither of the kids could be enticed to accompany Whusband to go to the grocery store last night and no one else was on the road as he caromed across the lanes and over the guardrail. Thank God - and that feels like it doesn't cover it. The Four Runner, our "good car" is totaled but no one was hurt, except for WHusband whose injuries were limited to the band-aidable variety.
After the ambulance men and the trooper were done, and the smashed car hauled away on the wrecker, we walked down through the country darkness to the lay-by where I left the ancient Camry. On the way, I picked up a grape fruit that had rolled from the Four Runner's cargo area about a quarter mile down the hill which Whushand had driven down a thousand times but last night failed to navigate. Did a tire come off? We're still not sure what happened.
I know this, though: that unlikely grapefruit is sitting in the fruit bowl in the kitchen and Whusband and the Understudy are sitting at the dining room table looking at the pictures the Understudy just took of him with her iPad. Incarnation. Ex-carnation. I am gladder than I can say we didn't have to confront the latter too terribly directly this Easter. Amen and Amen.
Saturday, April 07, 2012
If Ever I Would Buy You
It would have to be in springtime...
A bike for Easter if ever there was one.
I would be sorely tempted to acquire this conveyance if I knew where in North America one could buy one... It is manufactured by a Dutch company called "Beg." (As in "sit up and beg" the cyclist posture of dignity, despite the sobriquet). Oh, and I'd need a spare thousand dollars or so. Still, it would make a bright spot in my collection of vintage English 3-speeds and single speeds which are, of course, all black.
Happy Easter!
A bike for Easter if ever there was one.
I would be sorely tempted to acquire this conveyance if I knew where in North America one could buy one... It is manufactured by a Dutch company called "Beg." (As in "sit up and beg" the cyclist posture of dignity, despite the sobriquet). Oh, and I'd need a spare thousand dollars or so. Still, it would make a bright spot in my collection of vintage English 3-speeds and single speeds which are, of course, all black.
Happy Easter!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)