Martin Luther King. A true rock star. A man with a dream. And how appropriate that we are celebrating his birthday the day before Barack Obama is being sworn in as the 44th president of the United States.
Here is Martin Luther King's "I have a dream" speech (well worth the 17 mins)...
This is a great day, and a great time in general, to think about our own dreams.
Although I think a dream is useless if it just remains a dream. So, I'll say this is a great day to make a plan. A plan to turn our dreams into reality. Dreams are pretty easy as they only require thought. The plan takes a lot more effort. But now that I think about it, a plan is also useless if it just remains a plan.
So, I'll say once we make the plan, today (and/or tomorrow and the next day) is a great day to enact the plan. Enactment is the hardest part. I guess that's why the enactment of the plan is where most of our dreams are derailed. Then we become an "I shoulda, coulda, woulda" person. I don't want to be one of those. Do you?
Dream, plan, enact. Dream, plan, enact. Dream, plan, enact.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The Firehouse
On January 17, 1994, the Northridge earthquake destroyed the Firehouse that served the Studio City area. Fifteen years and one day later, a brand spanking new station celebrated its opening. And since they were offering up free hotdogs and firehouse chili plus a look at their hoses, I was so there.
How 'bout that axe?
Maybe a little overkill for slicing cake.
The firemen were also in charge of setting up folding chairs...
...as more neighbors showed up than expected.
These guys were watching the ceremony from behind the recruiting table.
Nothing cooler than a guy in uniform...except maybe a guy on stage.
Inflatable firemen?
"I think it goes that way." "Nope, it's that way."
I know there's some eats under the foil. Feed me.
The Rose Bowl got a Stealth fly-over. The Firehouse got a helicopter fly-over.
This fireman got high.
The good old days.
This baby will set you back $1.1 million...firemen not included.
Hosed.
Inside the engine. Lots of gadgetry.
A bit messy, but cozy.
More gadgetry.
I'm surprised this truck hasn't shown up at my place.
Okay, I asked what each of the boxes referred to...and now I can't remember. The red one indicates flammability, the white one means don't use water, and the blue one has something to do with health. Can't remember the yellow. And I have no idea why the sticker is on the truck when it's something they look for on a building so they know how to approach the job-at-hand.Inside the truck they have three computers and a bunch of meters for testing chemical levels...
...and, of course, the ability to watch the Cardinals whoop the Eagles.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
iPhone Polls
Okay, unlike yesterday's successful attempt to implode this blog with my insane guess what's on my desk game, today's is serious.
I can't really explain why I'm doing this because it's an idea that's in its infancy. But it is important and I would appreciate everyone participating.
First question:
Second question:
If you have any questions or want to add something please do so in the comments section of the post.
THANK YOU!!!
I can't really explain why I'm doing this because it's an idea that's in its infancy. But it is important and I would appreciate everyone participating.
First question:Second question:
If you have any questions or want to add something please do so in the comments section of the post.
THANK YOU!!!
Friday, January 16, 2009
Weekly Round-Up
I am sitting at my desk in my cozy home office thinking about where I've been in the world (metaphysically), where I'm at in the world and where I'm going in the world. This is something I pretty much do 24/7, or at least I should say consider 24/7. My place in the world and what I can do to improve is always floating around somewhere in my cranium. And that made me think it might be fun/useful/possibly entertaining if I dedicated one day a week to shed some light on what I'm doing and what's really going on inside my head. Hmmm - I wonder if there should be a warning label attached to this.
So, here I am, behind my desk, eating a peanut butter and jam sandwich on completely unwholesome white bread (is there any other way to have it?) and drinking decaf coffee. I figured Friday would be a could day and started thinking of titles but then realized that wouldn't work because there will probably be an "honor post" showing up on a Friday sooner or later. I checked the calendar and sure enough that would be next Friday when I will be remembering one of the greatest guitarist who ever lived...and unfortunately died...way too young.
Okay, so this is going to be a sort of weekly round-up that will appear either on a Friday or Saturday or maybe Sunday, and will hopefully morph into something that has some sort of structure where I will impart anything and everything personal to me that you may or may not give a shit about. But, hey, it's my blog and last time I checked the constitution there was still that thing called "freedom of speech." And of course, there will be a photograph.
As a matter of fact, I think I'll start with that, so you can get to know me a little better.
Before I saw the picture, I thought my desk was pretty neat. Ooops. This weekly round-up thing may be more revealing than expected or wanted. Okay, we're going to play what's on the desk. Feel free to start by clicking on the photo so you can see it bigger and then make a list of each numbered item, guessing what it is and then you can read my list and see how many you got right. (This is going to be the end of my readership - I'm now wondering why I am tanking my own blog...oh well)
1. The plate that held the pb&j sandwich which is now residing in my belly. Yum.
2. My decaf coffee - still drinking it.
3. My Wacom tablet - very helpful for working with photos and graphics.
4. Ah...video tapes that contain footage of a very cool project I'm working on that I can't talk about yet.
5. My Tivo remote - yes, I have the TV on in the background for company but pay almost no attention to.
6. My groovy new MacBook Pro thanks to the continued support of Cucumber Rob (consider that a shout-out, dude).
7. Where my ass is right now.
8. This morning's empty O.J. glass.
9. My portable video camera that I'm using for B-roll on #4.
10. Obama water - seriously. They're selling it at 7-11 for a buck-fifty-nine. It tastes optimistic.
11. My in/out trays that I recently put there in an effort to organize my office - still working on the organization part which is a story in itself.
12. My very amazing Nikon D300 - the very camera that took the Mick Fleetwood pics, the New Year pics and the camera that saved me from barfing when I took the shots of Jaimie's brain surgery wound being undressed.
13. the Apple bag I cover my new computer with before I put it in my Incase when I take it out for a spin. My computer is so new they haven't made the hardshells for it.
14. Yesterday's mail - I guess I should move that to the inbox tray.
15. Netflix DVD. Danny Boyle's Sunshine. I'll watch it sometime this weekend. Along with North by Northwest...love that movie. Last night I watched This Film Is Not Yet Rated which was nothing new to me but was cool and very revealing. I recommend it.
16. The little wallet that carries my DL and credit cards (which I no longer use unless it's an emergency).
17. A DVD of a graphic client's movie that I did artwork for. I'm expanding my business to do movie trailers so I'm going to have my editor (Tyler) do a mock trailer of it as a sample. I need to give it to him.
18. A plush toy of the Cheshire Cat that is now tailless because I gave it up to Drama.
19. A portable file box with current jobs and stuff I need to deal with such as accounting and filing.
20. My gold star paperweight that I've had since 1979 when I finished my first book Starart.
21. Business cards and an escaped DVD mini tape.
22. Pen/pencil cup.
23. An Oriental lamp that I inherited from my mother's Palm Springs condo when I was charged with moving her stuff out while she was in S.A., circa late eighties.
24. An ashtray from that same condo. It contains matches (for candles and barbecue lighting as I don't smoke and some of my recent fortune cookie fortunes...let's see..."You will continue to take chances and be glad you did" - first part is true, while the last part remains to be seen..."Your luck will soon be at a high point" - hope this isn't it..."An enjoyable vacation is awaiting you" - more like hiding from me.
25. One of those rock coasters with two heads-up quarters on it.
26. Two external hard drives - there's a third that is currently on my dining room table.
27. My scanner that most recently scanned the backstage shot of Donny Hathaway. More to come from that baby.
28. Stapler.
29. A John Wayne coaster that unlike the rock one is absorbent.
30. Earbuds for my iPhone which you can't see because it was taking the pictures. The earbuds are now in my ears because I just finished talking to Jaimie.
31. A very cool Nixon watch that I stole from Tyler.
32. DVDs that I need to check what's on 'em.
33. A hair clippy.
34. A piece of paper with one note on it that I have just recylced. Nevermind, it had some notes on the back about money Tyler owes me.
35. A blank CD.
36. There are two 36s, both a crumpled paper towels.
37. Mini post-it pad.
38. Bookcase.
39. Hard drive case chillin' on the floor.
40. Printer with some large format paper.
Whaddya think? TMI? Not exactly what I intended to post. So much for the round-up other than the couple of things that I threw in the list.
And now I am way out of time. It's almost 4pm and I've really been slack today. I didn't wake up until 10am today 'cause I worked late last night. Then I ended up procrastinating over at The Comeback Girl (how cool is that Obama photo?) after she tipped me off to my bad BUY MY BOOK HERE link. Thanks for that. And somewhere in there I managed an hour-long meeting that could actually be considered as productive.
Yup, I'm going to do more round-up stuff tomorrow because there are things going on here that I can't really talk about but I'm dying to tell you...sort of.
So, here I am, behind my desk, eating a peanut butter and jam sandwich on completely unwholesome white bread (is there any other way to have it?) and drinking decaf coffee. I figured Friday would be a could day and started thinking of titles but then realized that wouldn't work because there will probably be an "honor post" showing up on a Friday sooner or later. I checked the calendar and sure enough that would be next Friday when I will be remembering one of the greatest guitarist who ever lived...and unfortunately died...way too young.
Okay, so this is going to be a sort of weekly round-up that will appear either on a Friday or Saturday or maybe Sunday, and will hopefully morph into something that has some sort of structure where I will impart anything and everything personal to me that you may or may not give a shit about. But, hey, it's my blog and last time I checked the constitution there was still that thing called "freedom of speech." And of course, there will be a photograph.
As a matter of fact, I think I'll start with that, so you can get to know me a little better.
Before I saw the picture, I thought my desk was pretty neat. Ooops. This weekly round-up thing may be more revealing than expected or wanted. Okay, we're going to play what's on the desk. Feel free to start by clicking on the photo so you can see it bigger and then make a list of each numbered item, guessing what it is and then you can read my list and see how many you got right. (This is going to be the end of my readership - I'm now wondering why I am tanking my own blog...oh well)
1. The plate that held the pb&j sandwich which is now residing in my belly. Yum.
2. My decaf coffee - still drinking it.
3. My Wacom tablet - very helpful for working with photos and graphics.
4. Ah...video tapes that contain footage of a very cool project I'm working on that I can't talk about yet.
5. My Tivo remote - yes, I have the TV on in the background for company but pay almost no attention to.
6. My groovy new MacBook Pro thanks to the continued support of Cucumber Rob (consider that a shout-out, dude).
7. Where my ass is right now.
8. This morning's empty O.J. glass.
9. My portable video camera that I'm using for B-roll on #4.
10. Obama water - seriously. They're selling it at 7-11 for a buck-fifty-nine. It tastes optimistic.
11. My in/out trays that I recently put there in an effort to organize my office - still working on the organization part which is a story in itself.
12. My very amazing Nikon D300 - the very camera that took the Mick Fleetwood pics, the New Year pics and the camera that saved me from barfing when I took the shots of Jaimie's brain surgery wound being undressed.
13. the Apple bag I cover my new computer with before I put it in my Incase when I take it out for a spin. My computer is so new they haven't made the hardshells for it.
14. Yesterday's mail - I guess I should move that to the inbox tray.
15. Netflix DVD. Danny Boyle's Sunshine. I'll watch it sometime this weekend. Along with North by Northwest...love that movie. Last night I watched This Film Is Not Yet Rated which was nothing new to me but was cool and very revealing. I recommend it.
16. The little wallet that carries my DL and credit cards (which I no longer use unless it's an emergency).
17. A DVD of a graphic client's movie that I did artwork for. I'm expanding my business to do movie trailers so I'm going to have my editor (Tyler) do a mock trailer of it as a sample. I need to give it to him.
18. A plush toy of the Cheshire Cat that is now tailless because I gave it up to Drama.
19. A portable file box with current jobs and stuff I need to deal with such as accounting and filing.
20. My gold star paperweight that I've had since 1979 when I finished my first book Starart.
21. Business cards and an escaped DVD mini tape.
22. Pen/pencil cup.
23. An Oriental lamp that I inherited from my mother's Palm Springs condo when I was charged with moving her stuff out while she was in S.A., circa late eighties.
24. An ashtray from that same condo. It contains matches (for candles and barbecue lighting as I don't smoke and some of my recent fortune cookie fortunes...let's see..."You will continue to take chances and be glad you did" - first part is true, while the last part remains to be seen..."Your luck will soon be at a high point" - hope this isn't it..."An enjoyable vacation is awaiting you" - more like hiding from me.
25. One of those rock coasters with two heads-up quarters on it.
26. Two external hard drives - there's a third that is currently on my dining room table.
27. My scanner that most recently scanned the backstage shot of Donny Hathaway. More to come from that baby.
28. Stapler.
29. A John Wayne coaster that unlike the rock one is absorbent.
30. Earbuds for my iPhone which you can't see because it was taking the pictures. The earbuds are now in my ears because I just finished talking to Jaimie.
31. A very cool Nixon watch that I stole from Tyler.
32. DVDs that I need to check what's on 'em.
33. A hair clippy.
34. A piece of paper with one note on it that I have just recylced. Nevermind, it had some notes on the back about money Tyler owes me.
35. A blank CD.
36. There are two 36s, both a crumpled paper towels.
37. Mini post-it pad.
38. Bookcase.
39. Hard drive case chillin' on the floor.
40. Printer with some large format paper.
Whaddya think? TMI? Not exactly what I intended to post. So much for the round-up other than the couple of things that I threw in the list.
And now I am way out of time. It's almost 4pm and I've really been slack today. I didn't wake up until 10am today 'cause I worked late last night. Then I ended up procrastinating over at The Comeback Girl (how cool is that Obama photo?) after she tipped me off to my bad BUY MY BOOK HERE link. Thanks for that. And somewhere in there I managed an hour-long meeting that could actually be considered as productive.
Yup, I'm going to do more round-up stuff tomorrow because there are things going on here that I can't really talk about but I'm dying to tell you...sort of.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
15 Years Gone
This is the third memorial post of the week. That's three too many.
Today marks the 15th anniversary of Harry Nilsson's passing. Which is a complete drag on so many levels, not the least being that he had just finished vocals on an album that we will probably never hear. Wouldn't one more Harry Nilsson album be an incredible treat?
Okay, enough of the sadness. Harry was a celebratory kind of guy. Here's a photo I took of him on February 15, 1979 (well, it was probably around 3am by the time I shot it so that means it was the 16th) celebrating at the Voormann's - a few days later both families were on their way to Malta for the filming of Popeye.
Harry Nilsson
6/15/41 - 1/15/94
As this blog is my witness, yesterday I was writing the text to go with my Harry Nilsson pictures.It was a tough write because there was a lot to say in very little space, but I finished it. And it started me wondering what really happened to that last album he had finished the vocal tracks on just days before he passed away. I thought about trying to get in touch with my friend who I knew Harry through, but then I was thinking, there's really no time to do that. And besides, I was pretty happy with how the text finally came out. Then last night Harry was in one of my dreams but I've been so tired lately, I'm not remembering the details of my dreams when I wake up. But he was definitely present. I know, I know, it's not uncommon to dream about someone when you've just been focused on them for seven hours.
Today I had appointments with both companies that are doing the scans for the book. While I was driving there I got a phone call from one of my movie clients asking something about a previous job I'd done for her. A couple of seconds into the call she said my voice was garbled. We hung up and she called me back. It was still garbled, even though I could hear her perfectly. Then I got another call and the same thing happened. Okay, I need to get my cell phone fixed.
After all my meetings over the hill, I dropped by Sprint - the store near my house where I knew they had while-you-wait repair service. I go in only to find out they closed the repair counter down because there wasn't enough traffic. They gave me a piece of paper with listings of a bunch of repair places and circled the second one of the list. I don't know why they picked the second one when the first one was as close, or closer.
I drove the 3 miles East on Ventura Blvd and pulled into the parking area that was overflowing with cars from from the local gym, thinking I really need to go to my gym. Fortunately, there was a reserved spot open in front of the cell phone repair shop. (Of course there was...I have a parking fairy, but that's another story). I walk in the shop and notice two guys sitting behind the service counter. The guy on the right asks what he can do for me before I even reach the counter. The other guy was online and talking to a guy leaning on the side of the counter. I tell the guy helping me that the mic is not working on my phone. He asks to see it and immediately informs me that he probably doesn't have the part, but he'll look it up.
How am I doing at dragging this story out? Pretty good, eh?
So, while he's tending to that, the other guy turns to me and asks if I know how to spell the name of the restaurant "Pasche." I gave it a shot - P-a-s-c-h-e - but they didn't think that was right and my guy was ready for me with my prognosis so I turned back to him. He said they didn't have the part and couldn't fix my phone. Shit. But the store in Encino could probably fix it since they were a corporate Sprint, whereas these guys were independent and weren't provided with a lot of older (2 years) parts. I then go out to my car to get my list to confirm with him which store it is.
When I come back in the other guy happily reports that they found the restaurant. It's P-a-c-e. "Oh, Pace," I say. Yeah, but it's called Pashay. Does it have an accent on the e, I ask? He shows me on the screen. Yes. And then calls the restaurant. While my guy is calling the other Sprint place to make sure they have the part, I overhear that last part of the other guy making a reservation. I thought he was doing it for the other customer. I wasn't paying much attention until, out of the corner of my ear, I heard him spell N-i-l-s-s-o-n and say it was for four.
I glanced at him and when he hung up the phone I made some smartass comment like, "So, I'm invited to dinner?" as the spelling of the name sunk in. How odd, I thought, as he joked back, "Sure, dinner's at 7:30." Then I mumbled, "You don't happen to know Harry. do you?" "Excuse me?" "Sorry, I just heard you spell Nilsson. Just wondered if you knew Harry."
"I'M HIS SON."
"No shit." As I looked at him a little closer. Of course. He looked a lot like him.
"Yup. Harry Nilsson is my dad."
I immediately went into my "Oh my God, you're not going to believe this but I'm doing a book and your dad is in it..." spiel. I don't think he believed me at first, until I started filling in the details with evidence that I did actually know his dad. And then he had lots of questions, as did I...like "whatever happened to the album he was working on when he died?"
He was as freaked out as I was that I had just been writing about Harry yesterday. We talked about a bunch of stuff and I gave him a postcard on the book. We exchanged information and I told him I'd be in touch so he could see the pictures. And that I'd give his family a print when I got them done and then I left...
...TOTALLY FREAKED OUT.
I mean what are the chances that he'd spell his name on the phone when I happened to be standing there? Hell, what are the chances that Harry Nilsson's son would be behind the counter at a cell phone store I was sent to to get my phone fixed?
Especially since I'd run into the woman who is directing my movie at the scanners earlier in the day. And we had a long talk while she looked at the mock-up of my book. She also had some good news about our movie and we discussed how great things were working out for both of us. I made a comment about how cool it was that things and people were just connecting out of the blue for us and that it was a sign that we were going in the right direction.
So, I'm guessing you think the story is over now, right?
It's not.
I got in my car and as I was leaving the parking lot a song came on the radio.
It was One by Three Dog Night. My all-time favorite Three Dog Night song. They don't play it much on the radio anymore.
Do you know who wrote One?
Harry Nilsson.
And what could be weirder than that?
Someone called my cell phone as soon as I got home. The caller could hear me just fine. Then someone else called. That caller could hear me just fine. And then someone else, and someone else. There's nothing wrong with my phone.
Hi, Harry. Thanks for visiting. Feel free to stop by any time.
Here's Harry's version of "One" (I wish someone had video of him singing this live):
And live in the studio recording A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night in 1973:
Sweet.
Today marks the 15th anniversary of Harry Nilsson's passing. Which is a complete drag on so many levels, not the least being that he had just finished vocals on an album that we will probably never hear. Wouldn't one more Harry Nilsson album be an incredible treat?
Okay, enough of the sadness. Harry was a celebratory kind of guy. Here's a photo I took of him on February 15, 1979 (well, it was probably around 3am by the time I shot it so that means it was the 16th) celebrating at the Voormann's - a few days later both families were on their way to Malta for the filming of Popeye.
Harry Nilsson6/15/41 - 1/15/94
Below is a reprint of one of my favorite stories that happened while I was madly trying to finish writing Everybody I Shot is Dead to meet my print deadline. I originally posted it on June 19, 2007. It's definitely my best Harry Nilsson story.
Do You Believe In Ghosts?
As this blog is my witness, yesterday I was writing the text to go with my Harry Nilsson pictures.It was a tough write because there was a lot to say in very little space, but I finished it. And it started me wondering what really happened to that last album he had finished the vocal tracks on just days before he passed away. I thought about trying to get in touch with my friend who I knew Harry through, but then I was thinking, there's really no time to do that. And besides, I was pretty happy with how the text finally came out. Then last night Harry was in one of my dreams but I've been so tired lately, I'm not remembering the details of my dreams when I wake up. But he was definitely present. I know, I know, it's not uncommon to dream about someone when you've just been focused on them for seven hours.
Today I had appointments with both companies that are doing the scans for the book. While I was driving there I got a phone call from one of my movie clients asking something about a previous job I'd done for her. A couple of seconds into the call she said my voice was garbled. We hung up and she called me back. It was still garbled, even though I could hear her perfectly. Then I got another call and the same thing happened. Okay, I need to get my cell phone fixed.
After all my meetings over the hill, I dropped by Sprint - the store near my house where I knew they had while-you-wait repair service. I go in only to find out they closed the repair counter down because there wasn't enough traffic. They gave me a piece of paper with listings of a bunch of repair places and circled the second one of the list. I don't know why they picked the second one when the first one was as close, or closer.
I drove the 3 miles East on Ventura Blvd and pulled into the parking area that was overflowing with cars from from the local gym, thinking I really need to go to my gym. Fortunately, there was a reserved spot open in front of the cell phone repair shop. (Of course there was...I have a parking fairy, but that's another story). I walk in the shop and notice two guys sitting behind the service counter. The guy on the right asks what he can do for me before I even reach the counter. The other guy was online and talking to a guy leaning on the side of the counter. I tell the guy helping me that the mic is not working on my phone. He asks to see it and immediately informs me that he probably doesn't have the part, but he'll look it up.
How am I doing at dragging this story out? Pretty good, eh?
So, while he's tending to that, the other guy turns to me and asks if I know how to spell the name of the restaurant "Pasche." I gave it a shot - P-a-s-c-h-e - but they didn't think that was right and my guy was ready for me with my prognosis so I turned back to him. He said they didn't have the part and couldn't fix my phone. Shit. But the store in Encino could probably fix it since they were a corporate Sprint, whereas these guys were independent and weren't provided with a lot of older (2 years) parts. I then go out to my car to get my list to confirm with him which store it is.
When I come back in the other guy happily reports that they found the restaurant. It's P-a-c-e. "Oh, Pace," I say. Yeah, but it's called Pashay. Does it have an accent on the e, I ask? He shows me on the screen. Yes. And then calls the restaurant. While my guy is calling the other Sprint place to make sure they have the part, I overhear that last part of the other guy making a reservation. I thought he was doing it for the other customer. I wasn't paying much attention until, out of the corner of my ear, I heard him spell N-i-l-s-s-o-n and say it was for four.
I glanced at him and when he hung up the phone I made some smartass comment like, "So, I'm invited to dinner?" as the spelling of the name sunk in. How odd, I thought, as he joked back, "Sure, dinner's at 7:30." Then I mumbled, "You don't happen to know Harry. do you?" "Excuse me?" "Sorry, I just heard you spell Nilsson. Just wondered if you knew Harry."
"I'M HIS SON."
"No shit." As I looked at him a little closer. Of course. He looked a lot like him.
"Yup. Harry Nilsson is my dad."
I immediately went into my "Oh my God, you're not going to believe this but I'm doing a book and your dad is in it..." spiel. I don't think he believed me at first, until I started filling in the details with evidence that I did actually know his dad. And then he had lots of questions, as did I...like "whatever happened to the album he was working on when he died?"
He was as freaked out as I was that I had just been writing about Harry yesterday. We talked about a bunch of stuff and I gave him a postcard on the book. We exchanged information and I told him I'd be in touch so he could see the pictures. And that I'd give his family a print when I got them done and then I left...
...TOTALLY FREAKED OUT.
I mean what are the chances that he'd spell his name on the phone when I happened to be standing there? Hell, what are the chances that Harry Nilsson's son would be behind the counter at a cell phone store I was sent to to get my phone fixed?
Especially since I'd run into the woman who is directing my movie at the scanners earlier in the day. And we had a long talk while she looked at the mock-up of my book. She also had some good news about our movie and we discussed how great things were working out for both of us. I made a comment about how cool it was that things and people were just connecting out of the blue for us and that it was a sign that we were going in the right direction.
So, I'm guessing you think the story is over now, right?
It's not.
I got in my car and as I was leaving the parking lot a song came on the radio.
It was One by Three Dog Night. My all-time favorite Three Dog Night song. They don't play it much on the radio anymore.
Do you know who wrote One?
Harry Nilsson.
And what could be weirder than that?
Someone called my cell phone as soon as I got home. The caller could hear me just fine. Then someone else called. That caller could hear me just fine. And then someone else, and someone else. There's nothing wrong with my phone.
Hi, Harry. Thanks for visiting. Feel free to stop by any time.
Here's Harry's version of "One" (I wish someone had video of him singing this live):
And live in the studio recording A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night in 1973:
Sweet.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
It Is Brain Surgery - Part 6
The Art of Surgery
Disclaimer: The author of this blog is not responsible for any trauma caused by
the reading of this post or the viewing of any of the photographs herein.
Disclaimer: The author of this blog is not responsible for any trauma caused by
the reading of this post or the viewing of any of the photographs herein.
I was flummoxed when the medical powers-that-be told us Jaimie could go home. Not because she wasn't ready - they had already kept her several days longer than was originally anticipated - but it dawned on me that in all the days we'd been there no one had ever changed the dressings on her head. And when I questioned that on her final day, they told us there was no need to change them until a day or two after she got home."Really? You can just leave a festering gauze rectangle on a person's cut-open head forever?"
"A few more days isn't going to be a problem."
"But no one has even looked under that bandage since Dr. Brilliant Neurosurgeon stitched her up in the O.R. Isn't that something someone should have done?"
"It's not unusal."
Just to be clear, I'm not a pussy when it comes to blood and guts. I just thought it would be a good idea for a professional to do a dressing change so I could see exactly how it should be done before I put my grubby paws on my little girl's freshly drilled skull. Especially at home, where I'd have no back-up.
So, after some gentle prodding, they sent us a nurse to change her dressing before they gave us all the other discharge dos & don'ts.
Here are the photos I took while the lovely nurse was doing her job. Imagine you are looking at a flip book as you scroll.
By the time I shot picture #6, I was REALLY glad I had a camera in front of my face. No way I wanted Jaimie to see the look of shock on my face. I don't know what I had thought was under that bandage all those days, but I certainly wasn't expecting a trap door secured shut by industrial staples that I could have picked up at my local Home Depot.She was equally shocked when I finally worked up the nerve to give her a mirror. But it wasn't long before we both came to the conclusion that she was the badass-est of the badasses. The stapled trap door added the final touch to her stylin' new do, which I affectionately dubbed "The Hedge."
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Donny Hathaway
It was 30 years ago today that we lost one of the most beautiful voices ever to grace this planet.
I will always remember him for how sweet he was to me when I photographed him backstage. He wasn't concerned about himself or how he'd look in the photos. He just wanted to be sure I was happy and got what I wanted. Incredibly accommodating. Unfortunately, I screwed up the pictures. As a purist, I never wanted to use a flash - especially for live performances...never, never, never - but on this occasion I really needed to use a flash, but for some reason I didn't. The result was negs too thin to print.
So, here's one of my live shots of the incomparable Donny Hathaway...
Donny Hathaway
10/1/45-1/13/79
Ah, screw it. I'm going to scan the backstage stuff right now and post whatever I come up with...pride be damned.
Okay, here you go...this is the first time this photo has seen the light of day. It's not as bad as I thought it was...I kinda wish I had included it in my book.
Donny with Warner Bros record rep, Mark Wilson (also passed)
The voice:
His personality:
I will always remember him for how sweet he was to me when I photographed him backstage. He wasn't concerned about himself or how he'd look in the photos. He just wanted to be sure I was happy and got what I wanted. Incredibly accommodating. Unfortunately, I screwed up the pictures. As a purist, I never wanted to use a flash - especially for live performances...never, never, never - but on this occasion I really needed to use a flash, but for some reason I didn't. The result was negs too thin to print.
So, here's one of my live shots of the incomparable Donny Hathaway...
Donny Hathaway10/1/45-1/13/79
Ah, screw it. I'm going to scan the backstage stuff right now and post whatever I come up with...pride be damned.
Okay, here you go...this is the first time this photo has seen the light of day. It's not as bad as I thought it was...I kinda wish I had included it in my book.
Donny with Warner Bros record rep, Mark Wilson (also passed)The voice:
His personality:
Monday, January 12, 2009
Remember Maurice Gibb
I confess. Most of this post is from the one I did last year to remember Maurice on the 5th anniversary of his premature passing. It's not because I don't want to take the time to put up something original...but because I don't think I can top the clips from last year. And I'm guessing 90% of you didn't see last year's post, and the 10% of you who did have probably forgotten.
That being said, this photo was not presented in last year's post. I pulled this backstage pic for this year's memorial because I think Maurice would appreciate having a certain other one of his attributes honored... (and in case you are the one person in the world who has no idea who the Bee Gees are or don't know which one is Maurice - he's second from the left):
Maurice Gibb
This one brings a tear to my eye. Maurice was married to Lulu from 1969-73.
This one makes me smile. It's from a 1970 TV show the Bee Gees (minus Robin) made for their album Cucumber Castle.
An interview from the Mike Douglas Show in 1974. You gotta love how unprepared journalists can be.
This one makes me laugh. Maurice's "My Thing" also from Cucumber Castle in 1970.
This one is sweet. All Maurice with a solo record Railroad, released in 1970.
Maurice takes center stage in 2001 with Man in the Middle.
We miss you, Maurice.
That being said, this photo was not presented in last year's post. I pulled this backstage pic for this year's memorial because I think Maurice would appreciate having a certain other one of his attributes honored... (and in case you are the one person in the world who has no idea who the Bee Gees are or don't know which one is Maurice - he's second from the left):
Maurice Gibb12/22/49 - 1/12/03
This one brings a tear to my eye. Maurice was married to Lulu from 1969-73.
This one makes me smile. It's from a 1970 TV show the Bee Gees (minus Robin) made for their album Cucumber Castle.
An interview from the Mike Douglas Show in 1974. You gotta love how unprepared journalists can be.
This one makes me laugh. Maurice's "My Thing" also from Cucumber Castle in 1970.
This one is sweet. All Maurice with a solo record Railroad, released in 1970.
Maurice takes center stage in 2001 with Man in the Middle.
We miss you, Maurice.Sunday, January 11, 2009
It Is Brain Surgery - Part 5
I was happy when Jaimie asked me to sleep over in her room. Although "sleep" turned out to be a complete misnomer. The kind folks at the hospital rolled in what would double for my bed -- a gurney with a three inch thick Naugahyde-covered mattress, which provided me with a whole two and a half hours of interrupted sleep. Okay, it wasn't just the gurney that was waking me up every ten minutes. It was the girl in the other bed. "I need juice." "I have to pee." "Where's my phone?" "Hand me my computer." "I need more morphine." She could press the feeder button on her morphine pump every 12 minutes but that obviously wasn't enough.
I don't think she slept at all. But she was feeling okay. Actually, better than she should. She was over-friendly to visitors who were merely acquaintances . She was gushing outright love to those who were her friends. And she professed her eternal devotion to her brother, who brought us some lunch before he departed for L.A. Yup. Her behavior was changing. She was flying high as a kite. Every 12 minutes. Another push.
I couldn't stay the second night. I needed to go to Jaimie's apartment and prepare it for her impending homecoming. In other words, maid duty called. I had to strip her bedroom of anything her two cats might have come in contact with so there would be no chance of infection...the greatest risk after brain surgery. The cleaning was not fun, although I did appreciate the full night's sleep. But...when I woke up the following morning there was a voicemail message from Jaimie.
The call had been made at 3:30am. It started out with, "Hi Mom, it's me...don't worry...I just called to let you know I'm fine...I'm still in Paris..." Um, okay. From there her communication skills morph[in]ed into complete gibberish. Numbers mixed with words for no apparent reason or meaning. The whole thing went on for three minutes. In the moment, it was frightening. I was more than a little concerned. I immediately called the hospital. They had taken Jaimie for a CT scan so I had no idea what was going on. I raced over the hospital with my boxing gloves on...my mission?...to get Jaimie off the evil morphine, even if it meant a fist fight with her.
She was back in her room by the time I arrived. She still hadn't slept. And had no idea that she had made the phone call and left the message. But as it turned out, we were on exactly the same page. She had already talked to the nurses and doctors. Not only didn't she want them to stop the morphine, she wanted them to take her off everything. Of course, that couldn't happen but we did get her off the morphine right away - damn, she had a wacky reaction to that shit - and within a few hours she did this:
Finally.
Once she was off the the nasty M drug and she'd had some sleep, I played the phone message for her. We were both rolling on the floor laughing. We had talked about posting it but somehow it disappeared off my phone last month. What made it even funnier was, she later found out that while she was on her "trip" in the hospital she had gone online and actually bought a ticket to Paris. If you learn nothing else from my daily babblings here, learn this: DRUGS ARE BAD. Oh, yeah, and don't give a patient on morphine access to the internet.
One more photo...this became one of our favorites from the hospital stay (Jaimie even put it on my phone as my wallpaper, where it still resides)...
It is a picture of deception. She looks like a war refugee. Upset. Suffering. Struggling. However, in this case it was nothing so dour. I just happened to catch her rubbing her eyes.
This little saga (okay, this long drawn out saga) shall continue on Tuesday (actually, Wednesday because Monday and Tuesday are reserved for tribute posts) with some seriously gory pictures. Be prepared. Not for the faint of heart. Consider yourself warned.
I don't think she slept at all. But she was feeling okay. Actually, better than she should. She was over-friendly to visitors who were merely acquaintances . She was gushing outright love to those who were her friends. And she professed her eternal devotion to her brother, who brought us some lunch before he departed for L.A. Yup. Her behavior was changing. She was flying high as a kite. Every 12 minutes. Another push.
I couldn't stay the second night. I needed to go to Jaimie's apartment and prepare it for her impending homecoming. In other words, maid duty called. I had to strip her bedroom of anything her two cats might have come in contact with so there would be no chance of infection...the greatest risk after brain surgery. The cleaning was not fun, although I did appreciate the full night's sleep. But...when I woke up the following morning there was a voicemail message from Jaimie.
The call had been made at 3:30am. It started out with, "Hi Mom, it's me...don't worry...I just called to let you know I'm fine...I'm still in Paris..." Um, okay. From there her communication skills morph[in]ed into complete gibberish. Numbers mixed with words for no apparent reason or meaning. The whole thing went on for three minutes. In the moment, it was frightening. I was more than a little concerned. I immediately called the hospital. They had taken Jaimie for a CT scan so I had no idea what was going on. I raced over the hospital with my boxing gloves on...my mission?...to get Jaimie off the evil morphine, even if it meant a fist fight with her.
She was back in her room by the time I arrived. She still hadn't slept. And had no idea that she had made the phone call and left the message. But as it turned out, we were on exactly the same page. She had already talked to the nurses and doctors. Not only didn't she want them to stop the morphine, she wanted them to take her off everything. Of course, that couldn't happen but we did get her off the morphine right away - damn, she had a wacky reaction to that shit - and within a few hours she did this:
Finally.Once she was off the the nasty M drug and she'd had some sleep, I played the phone message for her. We were both rolling on the floor laughing. We had talked about posting it but somehow it disappeared off my phone last month. What made it even funnier was, she later found out that while she was on her "trip" in the hospital she had gone online and actually bought a ticket to Paris. If you learn nothing else from my daily babblings here, learn this: DRUGS ARE BAD. Oh, yeah, and don't give a patient on morphine access to the internet.
One more photo...this became one of our favorites from the hospital stay (Jaimie even put it on my phone as my wallpaper, where it still resides)...
It is a picture of deception. She looks like a war refugee. Upset. Suffering. Struggling. However, in this case it was nothing so dour. I just happened to catch her rubbing her eyes.This little saga (okay, this long drawn out saga) shall continue on Tuesday (actually, Wednesday because Monday and Tuesday are reserved for tribute posts) with some seriously gory pictures. Be prepared. Not for the faint of heart. Consider yourself warned.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
It Is Brain Surgery - Part 4
I waited for the pager to do its little buzzy dance and flash its red lights - I still can't get over that the hospital hands out restaurant pagers to family members to alert us when there's news on the surgery front. The least they could do is include a free piece of cheesecake with the notification. Or maybe during wait so I could pretend I was at the Cheesecake Factory enjoying a leisurely lunch.
I started getting nervous when we hit the two and three quarter hours mark since the surgery was supposed to be only two hours. I checked. No word yet. "But don't worry," she said, "it shouldn't be much longer." Sure enough, it wasn't much longer when the pager finally did its little happy dance. I beelined back to the information desk and was informed that Jaimie was out of surgery, in recovery, and the doctor would be down soon to talk to us.
Okay. That's good news. She's alive. But what about her brain? Is she still intact? Can she think? Can she read? Will she know her name? Or did the supposedly best-neurosurgeon-within-a-few thousand-miles miss when he stuck the shunt through her brain? The nice elderly volunteer lady at the information desk couldn't give me that information.
I wasn't back in my waiting chair two minutes before they called me to the desk again and told me I was to go up to the recovery room. Why? She didn't know, other than to say it was very unusual for a family member to be summoned to recovery. How do I get there? She directed me to go back to where we went into the operating room but not to go in the operating room double doors...instead walk past it and right in front of me would be a door. She went on to tell me there would be no indication on the door, or anywhere in the hallway for that matter, that this door opened into the recovery room. The only sign on the door would be AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. She said I could press the little button next to the door and someone would show me in. I've been in hospitals before and gone through the operation scenario with other family members but I had never experienced anything like this. I began to think the nice elderly information lady with very little information was sending me right into The Twilight Zone.
I rushed to the bank of elevators and kept pushing the elevator button - as if it was going to come any faster - until the elevator doors open. I banged the floor button too. It didn't speed up the ride at all. I was through the elevator doors before they finished opening and speedwalked down the hallway to the secret door. Forget what I said about the eldery information lady not having information...in this instance she was spot-on. The recovery nurse greeted me with, "When she woke up she asked for you. We never let family members in here but kept insisting that she needed to see you, until we finally had to give in." Really? My daughter was insistant? I can't imagine where she picked up that trait.
The nurse cloaked me in my second scrub gown of the day and ushered to Jaimie's bedside. I don't know what I expected to see, but this wasn't it. They had close-shaved the half of her head where they made their incisions and she had a square gauze bandage taped on the top right side of her head and another above/behind her right ear. That was all abit shocking, but what really got me was the expression on her face as she turned her head toward me. As she opened her eyes I could see it. She was sad. Not normal sad. Little girl sad. Which broke my heart.
The first words out of her mouth were spoken in a little girl voice, "Mommy, I'm sorry I yelled at you this morning." I was immediately relieved. She remembered what happened earlier in the day. Her brain was still working. Then she said, "Mommy, it really hurts." I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do to make it better. Which I believe is near the top of the task list a parent is expected to perform. She didn't seem to notice my parental inadequacy as she went on to tell me how she had told the nurses over and over again that she wanted her mommy even though I was not allowed to see her. She told me over and over again that she loved me and thanked me for being there. All the things she probably would not have expressed without whatever designer drugs they were pumping into her arm. But I chose to believe what she said, going as far to decide they were actually injecting her with truth serum. Or maybe the surgeon had actually installed that 'nice chip' I requested just prior to the operation.
I don't even think I was there for three minutes of her sweet nothings before the recovery nurse had had enough of my presence and shooed me out of the room. I went back to the lobby waiting area to let Tyler know all was well and wait for the surgeon to show up for his "everything went well" speech which he did indeed deliver. From there we met up with Jaimie in her room, where she was greeted with flowers sent all the way from the UK by Cucumber Rob.
I know she looks a little out of it in this photo but she was surprisingly alert and joyful. Kind of like the way I was after I gave birth to Tyler medication-free within an hour of going into labor. Jaimie was calling friends on the phone, taking visitors right and left and at one point sending me out to get her an iced mocha at the Coffee Bean. She was full-tilt into some kind of post-op euphoria. On one hand I was thrilled that she was doing so well. But there was also this little voice in the back of my head telling me it was too good to be true.
I started getting nervous when we hit the two and three quarter hours mark since the surgery was supposed to be only two hours. I checked. No word yet. "But don't worry," she said, "it shouldn't be much longer." Sure enough, it wasn't much longer when the pager finally did its little happy dance. I beelined back to the information desk and was informed that Jaimie was out of surgery, in recovery, and the doctor would be down soon to talk to us.
Okay. That's good news. She's alive. But what about her brain? Is she still intact? Can she think? Can she read? Will she know her name? Or did the supposedly best-neurosurgeon-within-a-few thousand-miles miss when he stuck the shunt through her brain? The nice elderly volunteer lady at the information desk couldn't give me that information.
I wasn't back in my waiting chair two minutes before they called me to the desk again and told me I was to go up to the recovery room. Why? She didn't know, other than to say it was very unusual for a family member to be summoned to recovery. How do I get there? She directed me to go back to where we went into the operating room but not to go in the operating room double doors...instead walk past it and right in front of me would be a door. She went on to tell me there would be no indication on the door, or anywhere in the hallway for that matter, that this door opened into the recovery room. The only sign on the door would be AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. She said I could press the little button next to the door and someone would show me in. I've been in hospitals before and gone through the operation scenario with other family members but I had never experienced anything like this. I began to think the nice elderly information lady with very little information was sending me right into The Twilight Zone.
I rushed to the bank of elevators and kept pushing the elevator button - as if it was going to come any faster - until the elevator doors open. I banged the floor button too. It didn't speed up the ride at all. I was through the elevator doors before they finished opening and speedwalked down the hallway to the secret door. Forget what I said about the eldery information lady not having information...in this instance she was spot-on. The recovery nurse greeted me with, "When she woke up she asked for you. We never let family members in here but kept insisting that she needed to see you, until we finally had to give in." Really? My daughter was insistant? I can't imagine where she picked up that trait.
The nurse cloaked me in my second scrub gown of the day and ushered to Jaimie's bedside. I don't know what I expected to see, but this wasn't it. They had close-shaved the half of her head where they made their incisions and she had a square gauze bandage taped on the top right side of her head and another above/behind her right ear. That was all abit shocking, but what really got me was the expression on her face as she turned her head toward me. As she opened her eyes I could see it. She was sad. Not normal sad. Little girl sad. Which broke my heart.
The first words out of her mouth were spoken in a little girl voice, "Mommy, I'm sorry I yelled at you this morning." I was immediately relieved. She remembered what happened earlier in the day. Her brain was still working. Then she said, "Mommy, it really hurts." I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do to make it better. Which I believe is near the top of the task list a parent is expected to perform. She didn't seem to notice my parental inadequacy as she went on to tell me how she had told the nurses over and over again that she wanted her mommy even though I was not allowed to see her. She told me over and over again that she loved me and thanked me for being there. All the things she probably would not have expressed without whatever designer drugs they were pumping into her arm. But I chose to believe what she said, going as far to decide they were actually injecting her with truth serum. Or maybe the surgeon had actually installed that 'nice chip' I requested just prior to the operation.
I don't even think I was there for three minutes of her sweet nothings before the recovery nurse had had enough of my presence and shooed me out of the room. I went back to the lobby waiting area to let Tyler know all was well and wait for the surgeon to show up for his "everything went well" speech which he did indeed deliver. From there we met up with Jaimie in her room, where she was greeted with flowers sent all the way from the UK by Cucumber Rob.
I know she looks a little out of it in this photo but she was surprisingly alert and joyful. Kind of like the way I was after I gave birth to Tyler medication-free within an hour of going into labor. Jaimie was calling friends on the phone, taking visitors right and left and at one point sending me out to get her an iced mocha at the Coffee Bean. She was full-tilt into some kind of post-op euphoria. On one hand I was thrilled that she was doing so well. But there was also this little voice in the back of my head telling me it was too good to be true.
Friday, January 09, 2009
The Incomplete Brain Surgery Series
I feel bad about not following through on the brain surgery story, especially leaving off with my daughter going into the operating room and never offering up any kind of resolution. So, now's the time to get that one finished.
If you've recently arrived at Everybody I Shot Is Dead you probably haven't read the earlier chapters of this riveting serialization that is the chronicling of my daughter's brain surgery. And if you've been around here and did read the stories way back when, you've probably forgotten all of it.
So, I figured before I move on to Part 4, I'll give everyone a chance to catch up on Parts 1 through 3 and one way or another, I'll be back tomorrow with Part 4.
Here are the easy links:
It Is Brain Surgery - Part 1
It Is Brain Surgery - Part 2
It Is Brain Surgery - Part 3
Enjoy the fun!
If you've recently arrived at Everybody I Shot Is Dead you probably haven't read the earlier chapters of this riveting serialization that is the chronicling of my daughter's brain surgery. And if you've been around here and did read the stories way back when, you've probably forgotten all of it.
So, I figured before I move on to Part 4, I'll give everyone a chance to catch up on Parts 1 through 3 and one way or another, I'll be back tomorrow with Part 4.
Here are the easy links:
It Is Brain Surgery - Part 1
It Is Brain Surgery - Part 2
It Is Brain Surgery - Part 3
Enjoy the fun!
Thursday, January 08, 2009
For Your Information
Posting on a blog every single day is no easy task. At least for me. I know a few people that post every day and have been for a long time. At least one of those persons manages to write substantial posts that are not only long but are well organized and well written. I appreciate that effort but it also pisses me off.
I'm on Day 8 of my New Year's post daily resolution (although I have amassed at grand total of 10 consecutive posts in 10 days, counting this one). Chug-a-chug-chug. I feel like the Little Engine That Could. Running out of steam.
It's not that I've run out of topics. I can talk/write forever. It's that I really care about what I choose to write about and writing it well. (OK, no comments from the peanut gallery on my success or lack thereof) My problem is that I'm a slow writer. And a really shitty typist. I tend to skip over words when I type. They are there when the sentence is formed in my head but somehow they don't make it to the page, so I always have to go back and reread what I've written for the missing words (sometimes it's just letters - I just added the 'a' to 'wht'). And when I reread I find myself rewriting. Looking for a better way to say the same thing.
Now that you know my (lack of) process, I'm going to ask you a few questions that will surely set myself up for failure. Why? Because most (almost all) of the people who are nice enough to stop by and read my words or look at my pictures never leave a comment. And the questions I'm going to ask require people to comment. Asking questions of people who don't like to comment = FAILURE.
So, let's call these the failure questions:
What do you want me to post?
Do you have any questions (no holds barred) you'd like me to answer?
Hello?
Anybody out there?
Picture of the Day:
Just so you know, when I opened this picture I wanted to reword the questions. Add more details. But if I do that, I'd have to take a new picture. But then you'd never know I did that, would you? I'm so tempted. Somebody get me some handcuffs. Nevermind. I'm strong. I'm not even going to reread this post. Feel free to point out the errors.
I'm on Day 8 of my New Year's post daily resolution (although I have amassed at grand total of 10 consecutive posts in 10 days, counting this one). Chug-a-chug-chug. I feel like the Little Engine That Could. Running out of steam.
It's not that I've run out of topics. I can talk/write forever. It's that I really care about what I choose to write about and writing it well. (OK, no comments from the peanut gallery on my success or lack thereof) My problem is that I'm a slow writer. And a really shitty typist. I tend to skip over words when I type. They are there when the sentence is formed in my head but somehow they don't make it to the page, so I always have to go back and reread what I've written for the missing words (sometimes it's just letters - I just added the 'a' to 'wht'). And when I reread I find myself rewriting. Looking for a better way to say the same thing.
Now that you know my (lack of) process, I'm going to ask you a few questions that will surely set myself up for failure. Why? Because most (almost all) of the people who are nice enough to stop by and read my words or look at my pictures never leave a comment. And the questions I'm going to ask require people to comment. Asking questions of people who don't like to comment = FAILURE.
So, let's call these the failure questions:
What do you want me to post?
Do you have any questions (no holds barred) you'd like me to answer?
Hello?
Anybody out there?
Picture of the Day:
Just so you know, when I opened this picture I wanted to reword the questions. Add more details. But if I do that, I'd have to take a new picture. But then you'd never know I did that, would you? I'm so tempted. Somebody get me some handcuffs. Nevermind. I'm strong. I'm not even going to reread this post. Feel free to point out the errors.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Swimming
Since the weather finally warmed up a bit I decided to hit one of my favorite places.
It's where I go to gain twice the definition in half the time of going to a gym.
But more important, it's where I go to forget thought and forget gravity and forget the world outside of my lane. There's nothing more conducive to creativity than being completely enveloped in water.
This is close to what I see when I'm under water and nearing the end of a lap.
I love the way the rigid straight lines lose their edges under the water.
And sometimes it's just fun to splash.
It's where I go to gain twice the definition in half the time of going to a gym. But more important, it's where I go to forget thought and forget gravity and forget the world outside of my lane. There's nothing more conducive to creativity than being completely enveloped in water.
This is close to what I see when I'm under water and nearing the end of a lap.
I love the way the rigid straight lines lose their edges under the water.
And sometimes it's just fun to splash.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Delaney Bramlett Dies at 69
Wow. I completely missed this news. Delaney Bramlett passed away at UCLA Medical Center due to complications of gall bladder surgery. How the heck does that happen in this day and age of medical miracles?
Bramlett was a brilliant musician. A musician's musician as well. Eric Clapton joined up as a 'friend' to play with Delaney and Bonnie & Friends after they opened a tour with Blind Faith. Clapton subsequently had Bramlett produce his first solo album. George Harrison went to Delaney to learn how to play slide.
Unfortunately, I never had the opportunity to shoot Delaney Bramlett, although he was on my list of people I wish I had and would like to (which I plan to post in the not too distance future just in case one of my readers can hook me up). But I do have my own small connection to Bramlett. This past September I designed a CD cover for the European release of Bramlett's Sweet Inspiration which was recorded in 1989.
Booklet Back/Front Cover
Booklet Inside
If you're interested in the European release of Sweet Inspiration you can order it HERE.
Bramlett was a brilliant musician. A musician's musician as well. Eric Clapton joined up as a 'friend' to play with Delaney and Bonnie & Friends after they opened a tour with Blind Faith. Clapton subsequently had Bramlett produce his first solo album. George Harrison went to Delaney to learn how to play slide.
Unfortunately, I never had the opportunity to shoot Delaney Bramlett, although he was on my list of people I wish I had and would like to (which I plan to post in the not too distance future just in case one of my readers can hook me up). But I do have my own small connection to Bramlett. This past September I designed a CD cover for the European release of Bramlett's Sweet Inspiration which was recorded in 1989.
Booklet Back/Front Cover
Booklet InsideHere's Delaney and Bonnie with friends Eric Clapton and Dave Mason (I'm not sure on the others)...
If you're interested in the European release of Sweet Inspiration you can order it HERE.
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