Bad phone! Bad phone!

I've been getting calls at home at almost the exact same time every morning: 9:20. Since admitting that means I'm running a little late, I let the phone go and figure if it's important, they'll leave a message. Since they don't, I have to figure I'm getting spammed, and I'm bitter yet triumphant. Loser telemarketers.

Anyway, at work this morning I get a call from a guy who jauntily says his name (not his affiliation) and says he'd like to set up a lunch with me. Since I do occasionally get calls from PR people and the like who want to do that, I go along with things, even though it already stinks. He says he's with "Northwestern Mutual" and wants to discuss my life insurance and such like.

This is almost worse than getting these calls at home. I ask him if he knows he's calling me at work. His reply: "Hey, it's New York!"

Thank you, Mr. Non-sequitur. I give him a tongue-lashing that reminds him this is completely inappropriate and that I will have nothing to do with his business or company. Unfortunately, in my rush to do that and then get off the phone, I forget to do relevant things, like get a full name and supervisor and contact info, so I can report this appropriately (this kind of stuff really cheeses me off, and his complete lack of embarrassment makes it worse). So, I'm kind of at a loss.

My phone machine at work has the number stored, and when I call it back, someone from "Merrill Lynch" answers. They swear they have no "Northwestern Mutual" connection. I am highly dubious. Anyway, fair warning: Have nothing to do with Northwestern Mutual, and if they call you, take names. Bastards.

Want a book?

The American Libray Association has published its list of the 10 Most Banned Books of 2004 here.

They are:

"The Chocolate War" by Robert Cormier
"Fallen Angels" by Walter Dean Myers
"Arming America: The Origins of a National Gun Culture" by Michael A. Bellesiles
The Captain Underpants series by Dav Pilkey
"The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky
"What My Mother Doesn't Know" by Sonya Sones
"In the Night Kitchen" by Maurice Sendak
"King & King" by Linda de Haan and Stern Nijland
"I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" by Maya Angelou
"Of Mice and Men" by John Steinbeck

A full list of the 100 most banned books from 1990-2000 is here.


My offer, which may be complete bluster because I have about .3 readers, is this: Anyone who reads this blog and wants one of those books above, drop me an email. I'll send you one. It'll probably be a used one from Amazon, but a free book's a free book. If you'd rather it go to a library, let me know. And if it starts to become an actual costly donation process, I reserve the right to amend things.

My only requirement: That if you ask for a book, you post this list somewhere and offer to buy one other person one single book off of that list.

Let the unbanning begin!

Thanks to Bookslut for the links.

Song title of the day

I'd like to see someone write a song with this as a title:

"I'm Sure I've Seen Her, But I Don't Know What She Looks Like"

Credit to my co-worker Paul.

And they promised us the world in Pflugerville

This is my mom and Larry's new home.



It is in Texas.

In a town called Pflugerville.

"We'll be moving there by the end of the year," said Mom on the phone today.

I'm too jetlagged to know whether to laugh or cry. I didn't congratulate them on being able to visit a state for the first time and purchase a new home in approximately 48 hours. I'm sure she wanted me to say something nice. But every time I think about my whole immediate family picking up and moving to Texas before the year's out, and I think I might be getting used to it, the curve balls keep coming.

Pflugerville. OMFG.

For reference, this is my brother's home-to-be, still in progress:



Not much to look at at the moment. Presumably, the ugly factor will decrease with more of a face on it. Right now it looks like a box with holes cut out.

Live at Liberty Island

A continuation of the jubilation from Wednesday ... as I have now converted the show into MP3s. Hey, when else am I gonna be able to tape a show without security interference -- from what is essentially the front row?

Girls on Film
Hungry Like the Wolf
Notorious
Reach Up for the Sunrise
Save a Prayer
What Happens Tomorrow
Wild Boys

And, of course, Simon's immortal words of advice.

Vodka wishes and caviar dreams

So. There is an event. It is to be held on a Wednesday night, on Liberty Island. It is in celebration of a vodka launch. There will be:

- a string orchestra playing Russian tunes
- free vodka
- free caviar
- free dinner
- fireworks
- Russian dancers (traditional and belly)
- fortune tellers
- perfect weather
- a tour of the base of the Statue of Liberty
- oh, and a 6-song set by Duran Duran

And it was free, you'd go, right?

Damn Skippy you would. Which is why I was there.

Of the event, it was a pretty run-of-the-mill $3 million-plus party, and we've all been to those, so I can be brief: Great food, amazing atmosphere, nice people. I couldn't bring a guest, which was the only sucky part, but you pick your battles. I got to be right up front for the concert, where the band played slightly off the island on a barge (I know for security reasons I'm sure, but it must be hard not to take that personally. No. 1, you're Duran freaking Duran, No. 2, you're hired for the evening, and No. 3, you're gonna be on a bloody barge. Ha.). They ran through about six songs, with Simon's voice not quite reaching for the sunrise on "Wild Boys" but mercifully a nearly-full version of "Girls on Film" sans endless band introduction. Sadly, they seem to have dropped the verse, "Wider smile baby you've just made a million," possibly because they got sick of hearing us yell back, "That means money, honey" but, yanno, Simon started that on "Arena." So live with it, boys. Alas, no, that phrase is gone. So I was right up front with mostly gawkers but a few fans also dancing, and trying not to bang into the annoying camera/cameraman who decided to set up within inches of my arm. Sweet time.

Band exeunt, begin walking along dock. Someone says, "They're not coming back, see, they're walking on the dock." And they were. Right off the dock, on to the island, up a pathway right near us and ... zip, into a white tent.

I'd been completely neutral about this all evening: If it happened, great. If not, I got to see an extra set I hadn't planned on, and without any obstruction (though truthfully I was closer at Jones Beach). So with this more or less in mind, I headed towards the tent, waiting to be stopped. A few yards from it, a gaggle of similarly-black-dressed people with headsets and passes were gathered. I asked if I could get a quote from the band for my piece. (Party page, thanks much, so awesome, so little effort, so much result.) One woman told me, "Well, last I heard they weren't granting interviews. A photo op and that was it." I pushed a bit (wish I'd pushed more on the guest front; these people were pushovers) and asked if they'd reconsider for my paper. She pulled up her walkie-talkie and I fully expected her to say, "Nah, they're done."

Instead, she said, "A woman with the band will come right out." And we walked to the tent.

It was actually two women, one with dark hair and one with a reddish bronze tint (this has relevance later). The latter woman introduced herself -- Karen, I think -- and said, "We've met before, haven't we?" To which the only answer in this situation is, "Why, yes, I believe we have." They said they'd "get Nick to come out," which wasn't my ideal situation but, okay. Then since I'd hit it off with Karen in a nice superficial way I asked, although it was terribly cheesy, did she think I could get a picture with the band? She didn't say no. The women went into the tent while everyone was changing.

Out came Roger, all done up in darks, and right behind him John, not nearly as tall as I expected, in the raggedy jeans he'd had on onstage; no changing for him. John immediately started talking to a couple, but Roger actually stood around looking alone for at least 30 seconds, which bowled me over. I resisted; I didn't want to talk to them and then have someone say, "So, you're all set, right?" And then he started talking to someone else, so that option vanished.

A few minutes later, one woman leaned from the tent and beckoned them back in. Then I was allowed in. I bent through the small opening (it was largely velcroed shut) and -- et voila, I was in the sanctum sanctorum. It was a small space with a table of food items (I seem to remember a fruit tray with blackberries, but once I was in there things got narrow real fast) and on the right, a long line of white folding chairs, in which Andy lounged and Nick, further down, was engrossed in speaking to a man.

John was in front of me. "Oh, hi." Quite neutral tone, a bit sizing up: Oh, hi, are you supposed to be here and are you important to know? "Hi," I said. I reserved an introduction. He wasn't striking me the right way. Anyway, next to him was Roger (at the fruit tray) and Simon, playing with some kind of rolled up white bandana. I don't know what it is: The two times (including this) that I've met him or been in his direct presence I can't help but think, "Wow, he's kind of goofy." Adorable, but, well, not like bowling me over with his pheremones. He held up the bandana and tried tying it around his forehead.

"Uh, you look like that -- what's the name -- Latoya Jackson," I said, because, well:



You know. And he looked a bit despondent and shoved the thing off his forehead into his hair and said, "Not -- not like Tupac?"



I couldn't think why he would think that at the time, although now I suppose maybe, but uh, "No. Latoya."

That's right, 4.5 seconds into meeting Simon LeBon (second time admittedly, though for them it may as well have been the first), I was being a prick.

Anyway, he got diverted in a new bandana quest and started talking to Karen about when they would meet back up in the tent to get their ride back to the mainland, and I turned around and there was Roger. Nobody was pushing me to talk to anyone yet, so I just launched into talking to him and said it was a great show, etc. I actually don't recall how I started talking to him, but I remember being totally aware that his hair was precisely the same color as his eyes (brownish gold) and his skin tone almost matched that precisely too. That plus the black outfit and it was like he was trying to completely disappear into an amorphous blur before my eyes. That said, he was a real darling. I had a blathering moment in which I outlined my new heartfelt respect for his skills, because when I've seen them the last four times this year (including that night) I keep on doing the drumming along with him in the showy bits. He seemed pleased. Also noted: He had no real discernable English accent. I mean, I guess it was there, but I remember feeling his voice was almost accentless American. Or maybe he just speaks softly.

"Which shows did you go to?" he asked, or something along those lines.

"Madison Square Garden, Baltimore and Jones Beach," I enumerated proudly.

"Oh, Baltimore!" he gasped. "So hot."

"Hottest night of my life," I agreed. (Somewhere my friend Lynda would be mouthing John's pronouncement from that night: "It's good to sweat together.")

"Just try playing drums for two hours in that," he nodded.

I began babbling again with lighthearted nonsense about how I was hoping the tour wasn't completely turning him off of going on the road again. I noted that the word had it that he kind of lost the taste for touring last time, which is why we lost him. "Oh, no," he said. "I got over that. Anyway, I always liked the touring part. Just not all the other stuff."

"Oh, like this stuff."

We laughed. I got zinged. Politely, of course.

Then at some point, an announcement was made to call all together for the good of the picture. I dumped my bag and jacket on the floor; John had me around the waist (and yeah, who wouldn't want to be had around the waist by John)and was guiding me into the shot, entirely professional, very done-this-a-million-times-missy and actually said, "Okay, look into the camera," but the others weren't quite assembled and then Simon was on the other side of me and I wanted a photo more than anything in which they were all looking at the lens and I was turned adoringly at his face, but that was not to be because the photographer insisted I look at the camera. She was nice, I couldn't explain, and that was that. Big smile. My Kodak disposable went off.

Et voila.


(Click on the lovely sweetheart photo for the large version.)

Afterwards, everyone dispersed, Nick returned to his white chair and conversation and was interrupted in order that I might take my rightful place: Right next to him. I beckoned Roger, still lingering at the table, over to join us, which he did and then I had one on either side of me (again) but he more or less disappeared at some point. Since I had the tape recorder on, the chat with Nick went precisely like this:

Q: How did you all get involved with doing this show -- you don’t normally do these kind (i.e., for hire) of gigs?
Nick: No, we don’t, really. Occasionally if you think an event is going to be spectacular and somebody comes and says Hey, you interested in doing this; we’re in town, we’re here to do Fashion Rocks which we’re thrilled is going to raise some money for New Orleans relief, and it was a night off – we’ll do this. So, it was a pretty easy choice!

(Simon comes over.)

Simon: ...Quarter past midnight we’ll be back here.
Nick: Yeah, okay fine. We’re all back here at ten past.
Simon: We don’t -- don’t want to be here after that.
Nick: No, ten past. Okay.

(Did I mention Simon is a bit goofy?)

Q: It’s a long swim home.
Roger: I don’t think New York has had a party this spectacular in many years.

Q: I heard they spent $3 million dollars.
Roger: Yeah, yeah.
Nick (mouths): More, more.

Q: See, I’m dying to know how much you guys charge.
Nick: I don’t know, but they’ve been here a couple of weeks setting this up, and they closed the whole thing. (Nice diversion from how much of that $3 million was to hire the band.)

Q: Did you wander around at all to see any of it?
Nick: Yeah. Hm-hm.

Q: Eat any caviar?
Nick: I’m vegetarian.

Q: So caviar qualifies?
Nick: Anything that had a mother or a face is my general rule.

Q: I eat fish but nothing else. I’m kind of a veggie.
Nick: But fish isn’t a vegetable, really, officially, is it.

Q: No. I’m a cheater vegetarian.
Nick: Right. No, I mean it was fun, too. We always love playing live, too. So it’s easy to twist our arm.

Q: Now, I seem to remember you all were always fans of Stoli.
Nick: Oh! We used to drink vodka, a lot. But the Russians have always known how to make vodka. I haven’t tried this yet. But I think I should perhaps have a little shot to be sure, make sure.

Q: And it is from vegetables. So how has the tour been? I’ve seen you guys three times and I’m exhausted.
Nick: It has been incredibly exhausting but also very rewarding. And we couldn’t have hoped for more -- our audiences are the best you can get. I can’t – I can’t even imagine a band being lucky enough to have a better audience, and I really mean that. It isn’t just some sort of horrible sentimental thing. I think our audiences are amazing because they come wanting to have a great time, the full event, and they feed us and it goes backwards and forwards, that electricity. And I go to a lot of concerts and I don’t see that kind of relationship at many peoples’ gigs. I really don’t.

Q: And people are bringing their kids now. I’d heard -- I don’t know about you -- but that Simon brought his kids on the tour?
Nick: Oh, we’ve all had kids in and out of the tour at different times. It’s fantastic, having them around, because none of the kids had seen this lineup before, they were all too young. So being a part of this has been exciting for them.

Q: Did you ever think when you first started out that you’d be playing to these size crowds this long on, and have your kids come?
Nick: It always goes up and down, you never know what’s going to happen. You can’t really pick an artist whose career doesn’t go in waves, and we’ve been really lucky. But this has been a particularly exciting time. I think we’ve managed to give each other that chance to raise the energy levels again. (Begins scouting around for his black bag, finds it.) Sorry.

Q: Are you ever going to do another Devils record (I've just been listening to this; it's a record he put out in 2002 with the original DD singer, Stephen "Tin Tin" Duffy)?
Nick: I’d love to do one, but at the moment, this is taking up every waking hour. So not for a while, that’s for sure. I did really love working with Steve (Duffy) and I think he’s a real artist and he’s very funny. We had a great time together. And I’m very proud of the record, I think it’s got a beautiful atmostphere to it. So maybe one day.

After which I noted a woman lingering nearby. She didn't say "wrap it up" but I was already pretty near my excitement limit for the evening, so I did anyway. To note: I was thisclose to Mr. Rhodes and yes, he still wears a lot of makeup; eyeliner on the bottom edges of the eyes only, thank you; nice lipstick. He speaks very deliberately -- not slowly, but words like "sentimental" have him putting an emphasis on each syllable. It's a slight affect, but genuinely charming, and something I've listened to on and off since I first heard him speak when I was 14, so that quirk more than anything else (almost) transported me back in time. Back then he and Simon did an interview for "Friday Night Videos" where he said, "contrived" a half-dozen times and each time it was like this beautiful jewel of a word, coming out of a bubble. It almost took on a new meaning from him; I recall going to look it up in case I'd missed some nuance.

So I was ready to head out. I said thanks to Karen, who was standing with Simon and talking; he had the headband again. I told her thanks, I told him thanks, and then noted their hair color was almost identical. And then I really was out of there.

Holy crap, but that was the most amazing 15 minutes I've had in years.

The moon is dull

Werner Herzog, again; I'd heard about his "Minnesota Declaration" of 1999, which he read for the first time at an April conference. Not sure if I get eveything he's talking about -- but once again I'm intrigued by what he has to say. Is there anything quite as unique as the German voice?

Werner Herzog's "Minnesota Declaration"

1. By dint of declaration the so-called Cinema Verité is devoid of verité. It reaches a merely superficial truth, the truth of accountants.

2. One well-known representative of Cinema Verité declared publicly that truth can be easily found by taking a camera and trying to be honest. He resembles the night watchman at the Supreme Court who resents the amount of written law and legal procedures. "For me," he says, "there should be only one single law: the bad guys should go to jail." Unfortunately, he is part right, for most of the many, much of the time.

3. Cinema Verité confounds fact and truth, and thus plows only stones. And yet, facts sometimes have a strange and bizarre power that makes their inherent truth seem unbelievable.

4. Fact creates norms, and truth illumination.

5. There are deeper strata of truth in cinema, and there is such a thing as poetic, ecstatic truth. It is mysterious and elusive, and can be reached only through fabrication and imagination and stylization.

6. Filmmakers of Cinema Verité resemble tourists who take pictures amid ancient ruins of facts.

7. Tourism is sin, and travel on foot is virtue.

8. Each year at springtime scores of people on snowmobiles crash through the melting ice on the lakes of Minnesota and drown. Pressure is mounting on the new governor to pass a protective law. He, the former wrestler and bodyguard, has the only sage answer to this: "You can't legislate stupidity."

9. The gauntlet is hereby thrown down.

10. The moon is dull. Mother Nature doesn't call, doesn't speak to you, although a glacier eventually farts. And don't you listen to the Song of Life.

11. We ought to be grateful that the Universe out there knows no smile.

12. Life in the oceans must be sheer hell. A vast, merciless hell of permanent and immediate danger. So much of hell that during evolution some species--including man--crawled, fled onto some small continent of solid land, where the Lessons of Darkness continue.