humor

Illegal Leopard

I was in a business meeting last week and was surprised and delighted to find OwL there.  OwL was once a producer on the albums of that band of legendary – nay, mythic status – Illegal Leopard, for which, I have the privilege of designing album covers.

OwL was involved with the band through Predator or Prey.  (For those few of you who don’t know the sequence of albums, this was the one just before Genius, Money Maker’s Farewell).  OwL’s decision to leave had as much to do with MM’s retirement as it did with the opportunity to take the TMS job when Juan’s sentence in China came to an unexpected, early end.

It was tough to see the tight knit group lose such valuable members at the same time, but MM was tired of the touring and the guys at that time weren’t ready to become an exclusive studio band.  Of course that changed later when Silk had to do that stint on the road gang in Mozambique.  He said he didn’t want to see another road for a long, long time.

Anyway, it was old home time at that meeting.  I forgot the original reason we all ended up there.  Ese and Homes were beside themselves with joy.  I mean its been over a year since we were all together, with the exception of Money Maker, who is still basking on the beaches of the Recherche Archipelago.  Dynamite couldn’t blast her off!

Can you imagine the energy with Ese, Homes, Silk, OwL, t’s Girl, Just Yule and Crooks in the same room? Wow.

We were having such a great time that we rolled over to OH’s grill so that we could all have a couple of drinks, (the soft kind for Crooks, please – didn’t want a repeat of the Mosquito Strut fiasco) and relax.

Oh, how I wish I had some recording equipment in there!  The impromptu unplugged stuff was magic.  Silk brought out his harmonica and they were off.

Home’s a cappella version of “My Cup is Gone” brought back such memories of the Bangladesh Uh-Oh Tour.  I caught Crooks wiping a tear from his eye.  “Gets me every time.”, he said.

They did a shortened version of “don’t listen, miss diane” with new vigor.  It was just plain awesome. It was if the South African ban had never been there.

Memories of Ese’s Cali City, 34 minutes of bone chilling guitar solo on “that stanks nasty” came flooding back.  The cops had to stop the stage stampede on that one.  Good times.

The guys said they are still involved in the litigation that’s tying up album sales.  R Costa is just not letting up, but they’re not too worried – they never are.  They are hard at work on the new tribute album.  Ese gave a quick few bars of the first cut, “Ted, Where You At?”  Poetry.

Ese said they talked Just Yule into sitting in on a couple of sessions. He had a short set recorded on his MP3 and let me listen. You could hear the trombone singing in the background, bringing out such depth to “out on love” and “Cara Muche”.  Man, JY can make that thing come to life!

I think the biggest single, however is going to be “¡JAMm”.  This cut is the culmination of all the years these guys have been together.  You can feel the mixing of their voices and the way the instruments play off each other so easily.  It’s a combination only those who know each other so deeply can reach.  The live version they performed for us that afternoon was simply amazing.

I think if they can get out from under that ball and chain created by the riots in Botswana after Homes, well, had his little public issue, this album is going to soar past the fabled stratosphere of the tour compilation disc, Change of Spots.

It was really hard to break away that afternoon, which by that time had become early evening.  But OwL had an early morning meeting with her new group, Bedroom Slippers.  Crooks had to get back to the Centennial operations.  They guys and I hung out a little while longer until Silk reminded Homes that he was his ride to his enforced training session that night.

Ese was off to an audition for a new triangle player, although we all knew there would never be another like Money Maker. Those leopard go-go boots would always be too sexy to fill.

It was such a great time.  I’m really looking forward to designing the cover for this new album, whether it gets to full distribution or not.  It’s going to have to be one sweet design because the magic these guys conjure just cannot be captured by reality.

I’ll make sure that OwL (and MM) get signed copies and hope that soon the rest of the world will once again be able to immerse themselves in the alchemy of Illegal Leopard.

(*Fingers crossed that the extradition committee is through debating by release date and the verdict goes in our favor!)


Tourette’s in the Night

Tourette’s in the night exclaiming cuss words

Wondering in the night

What were the chances I’d be hearing “f*ck!”

Before the night was through

Something in your voice was so unnerving

Something in your smile was so disturbing

Something in my heart told me I must wake you

Tourette’s in the night, two sleepy people

We were dozing in the night

Up to the moment when you said your first “G-d damn!”

Little did we know

Swears were just a nod away

A warm and cozy nap away

And ever since that night you had your surg’ry

Moaning words not right, in mixed company

It turned out so bright for Tourette’s in the night

*Sung to the tune Strangers in the Night with apologies to Charles Singleton & Eddie Snyder

Don’t drop your cone

I confess.  I’m selfish.

Sometimes I like a treat all to myself.

I blame my mother.

My mother is a champion speed ice cream eater.  She can consume an ice cream cone in under a minute.  You could get brain freeze just watching her.

One may ask why she would develop this particular talent.  Easy.

My mother had four children in a nine year span and she likes ice cream.

And as we all know, mom’s are somehow contractually obligated to release their cones to the child who drops their ice cream cone.

She blames her mother.

Seems that when my mom was in grade school, her mother would wait for the Krispy Kreme man to deliver to the store across the street from their house.  When the fresh doughnuts were delivered, Mama would run across and buy three for a dime.

And eat them all.

I guess there are some genetics that can’t be denied.

Enter, the Roach

 

In my home, I am the killer of bugs.

To be accurate though, I should say I am the killer of roaches.  Other bugs and insects often have a second chance in our home, but roaches no.

I have been roused from deep slumber to eradicate an insect that had all my family members screaming and literally standing on furniture.  Yes, it happens in real life.

I admit that I do not relish my title at times.  I have been known to recoil with a yelp when taken by surprise by a shifty bug, as in the other night when I felt something on my thigh and reacted with a sharp intake of breath and a swipe sending the creature sailing across the room.

But for the most part I do my duty with stoic efficiency.

The other day my partner and son were out, she teaching and he attending intellectual day camp, so I was sitting on the sofa reading.  Out the corner of my eye, I saw a flicker of movement.

I turned to look and there was one of the largest roaches I had ever seen in my life crawling sideways across our barrister case.  This was no water bug or palmetto bug, no this was a full grown, beauty of a cockroach.

Now, when one sees a roach of this magnitude, it does give one pause.

First came the thought, “Wow, that really is a big roach.”   The second thought was I was glad my family was not here for this one.

My intellect told me that I was disproportionally larger than the insect.  I knew that it would not come at me with dripping fangs and a hypnotizing stare.  I knew that it had been driven inside by the intense heat of the day and was just looking for relief.  I also knew that it had to die.

I shuddered to think if this giant prehistoric scavenger escaped to roam free and was discovered by any other member of my family.

I am not tremendously afraid of insects. I have a healthy respect for most and can find some quite interesting.

Arachnids on the other hand, I do not tolerate in my general vicinity, at all.  A result of being bitten on the face by, and I quote, “an aggressive house spider’, that sent me to the emergency room and ultimately left two divots in my cheek.  If they hang around outside fine; that’s their domain – just stay off my grill and thresholds and we can live in peace, but come into my house or vehicle; the kid gloves are off.

But once again, I digress.  Back to the enormous roach in my house.

I had to devise a plan of action because as we all know roaches are tricky things.  They flatten themselves out and scoot through the tiniest of cracks.  Once false move and that sucker was going to be inside the barrister case taunting me from behind glass.

The problem was it was on the glass by this point.  My first weapon of choice would not be available for use, although I’m pretty sure I could get away with breaking the glass with my shoe once I revealed the impressive size of the intruder.

No, I had to come with an alternate weapon of destruction.

Did I mention that the living room was in a state of disarray (more so than usual, my smarty pants friends)?  Our a/c was on the fritz having leaked onto the carpet so all of our furniture was pushed into the center of the room making it a bit difficult to navigate.

This was not going to be an easy target.

It was a lose-lose situation. If I moved too fast it was behind the glass dancing and wiggling it’s antennae at me; if I moved too slowly it would meander into the tightly packed heap of articles out of striking distance where it would later pop out and scare several years off my partner and son.

I had to develop some sort of action plan quickly.

My eyes finally spotted a piece of copy paper that could be reached somewhat easily.  Not the best weapon since its not very flexible and has the potential for letting the roach flatten out and escaping, but it was the best I could find in the moment of hunt.

I snuck up on the creature with hand hovering low.  I then did the quick cover and squish move, however as many of you other bug killers know, roaches don’t always squish on the first try.

Headless and one wing cocked at an odd angle, the roach fought back.

Periplaneta americana Linnaeus turned around and came at me.

I confess that I did the ‘ew, ick, gross, watch out’ dance for just a second, hopping from foot to foot.  But then my inner hunter came out and said, “Bring it on!”.   La Cucaracha didn’t stand a chance.

I steeled myself for the final showdown.  My breath quickened and my muscles drew taut.  Determination overtook my being.  I would not be defeated by this germ carrier.

Down came the paper with a mighty thrust and the feisty little creature was literally putty in my hands.  Good had triumphed once again.

My family would never know the danger from which they had been saved.

But, that’s the life of the bug killer.

Tarzan and the Art of Communication

Tarzan. The name conjures up a wide variety of images doesn’t it?

My favorite is of Johnny Weissmuller standing on the fabled escarpment in his loincloth.  But this is not about fighting alligators, saving Jane or looking really good in animal skins. No, something entirely different.

While Tarzan is a fictional character (to most), there is no denying he holds true command of the world he lives in and frankly, I admire the way he had to learn the secrets of the jungle world in order to survive.

Millions of words are used every day, but only a portion of them are put together simply and directly enough to get their true meaning across.  Tarzan spoke and was understood.  This could be a lesson for us all.

Tarzan was a man of few words.  Tarzan was a man who didn’t know a whole lot of words.  But he was able to become Lord of the Jungle with the simple vocabulary he possessed before gaining an extensive British education.

How?

He used direct, specific and simple language to rule the jungle he presided

over.  He called it as he saw it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Tarzan always cut right to the chase of the matter.  In his world, there was no time for misdirection or misunderstanding.  When you are wrestling with your despotic, great ape, step-father Kerchak, you can’t take the time to state:

“Please, my elephantine friend would you be so kind as to throw my recently stone sharpened, seven inch dagger in my approximate vicinity?”

Nope.  You’ve got to state it directly, “Tantor, knife!”

You will note that Tarzan is also very specific without being verbose. (A challenge of mine for sure.)

In the novel, Tarzan the Ape Man, there is a note written to the would-be squatter in Tarzan’s house on the beach. (I have p.c.’d it a bit. ERB wasn’t known for his outstanding feminism or race relations.)

“This is the house of Tarzan, killer of beasts.  Do not harm the things which are Tarzan’s.  Tarzan watches.”

The note reveals in no uncertain terms that the house belongs to Tarzan, who will probably kill you if you mess with his stuff.  And to make sure nothing happens, he adds the unveiled threat that he is going to be watching to make sure nothing does!

You can’t get much more specific and direct than that.

The simplicity of Tarzan’s message is self evident.  His language is simple and clear.  He doesn’t overload his audience with extraneous details, be it jungle or urban animal.

If he needs a knife, that’s what he asks for.  If he doesn’t want you on his territory, that’s what he tells you.

Try this – read the statement and then translate it to its most common phrasing.  Answers will be at the bottom.

  1. “May I please have the distinct pleasure of escorting you out to the floor so that we may ambulate in rhythmic time to the melodious sounds emanating from the gathered musicians?”
  2. “Two siblings traversed a local geographic land mass to retrieve a cylindrical container filled with the potable liquid confined within the walls of a manmade, hollow depression located at the apex of said mass.”
  3. “I would like to initiate an invitation for you to join me in entering my personal vehicle of transportation powered by a combustable gasoline engine, so that we may voyage about the general surrounding areas.”

Fun, huh?

So while Tarzan may not inspire you chuck it all and go running amok through the jungle, you do have to admit he was a leader who proved that a direct, specific and simple message is often the best approach in a complicated and competitive world.

He did after all manage to conquer the jungle, lead a nation and get the girl, without wasting time or confusing the issue.

Answers:

  1. “Wanna dance?”
  2. “Jack & Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.”
  3. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Wealthy – part 2/3

I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor: Rich is better. — Sophie Tucker

The Money Song (Monty Python) -Eric Idle & John Gould

PRESENTER:
I’ve got ninety thousand pounds in my pyjamas.
I’ve got forty thousand French francs in my fridge.
I’ve got lots of lovely lire.
Now the Deutschmark’s getting dearer,
And my dollar bills would buy the Brooklyn Bridge.

PRESENTER and CHORUS:
There is nothing quite as wonderful as money.
There is nothing quite as beautiful as cash.
Some people say it’s folly,
But I’d rather have the lolly.
With money you can make a splash.

PRESENTER:
There is nothing quite as wonderful as money.

CHORUS:
…Money, money, money, money.

PRESENTER:
There is nothing like a newly minted pound.

CHORUS:
…Money, money, money, money.

PRESENTER and CHORUS:
Everyone must hanker
For the butchness of a banker.
It’s accountancy that makes the world go ’round.

CHORUS:
‘Round, ’round, ’round.

PRESENTER:
You can keep your Marxist ways,
For it’s only just a phase,
For it’s money, money, money makes the world go ’round.

CHORUS:
…Money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money, moneeeeey!

Ah, what the hell.  It was better than some pompous rambling about the wealth of life with or without the moolah.

First Lines

Last night before turning in , I was served up a site that challenges one to come up with a story in one line (www.onesentence.org). There are some great ones on there, check it out.

Anyway, this set my mind off on a tangent, as it is wont to do and I got to thinking of the first line, “It was a dark and stormy night…”. Many don’t realize these are the actual words from the 1830 novel Paul Clifford, by Sir Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton.

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents – except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

Baron Lytton also gave us “the unwashed masses” & “the pen is mightier than the sword”, but I digress.

My mind was churning with the now melodramatic language and when I woke in the wee hours of the morning random lines kept popping into my head. I offer but a few here:

Zoos, as a whole, bothered me.

She hated plastic bags.

She smiled as the exhaust choked the pretentious bastard in the convertible
behind her.

The curve of her hips reminded him of the smooth swerve of ice cream carved
out by a spoon.

He was right, I’d never seen one before.

Who knew that an elephant can’t jump?

There is a precipice at the edge of sanity.

It was a childhood dream come true and she wished she could wake up.

And the dish ran away with the moon, what’s up with that?

George continued to stare wondering how on Earth it got there.

Now if I could just get the second sentences going, I might have a chance in The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. (www.bulwer-lytton.com)