Hannah’s not pleased with her big brother not paying her attention after the baseball game.
Suzana Choffel performing in Norman on Saturday.
The Bad Plus band, bassist Reid Anderson, pianist Ethan Iverson, and drummer David King (click to enlarge).
This is a photograph of my first model, shot on the shores of Lake Mead, Nevada in 1977 near her home in Las Vegas.
I was one month short of my 19th birthday. She was 26 years old.
Today (Saturday) was her birthday. Gail would have been 59. She died in 1987.
My big sister was my confidante and advisor on so many things. She taught me how to do layups with a basketball. How to drive a car. How to play a piano (never quite mastered that, but I can one-finger it). How to sing songs, specifically the words to the Beatles hit “Yesterday” (which I still know). How to play gin rummy (which I forgot).
She taught me what not to say to females. And, what to say to females. (Obviously I should have kept notes).
She gave me my first Playboy magazine. Now, I dare you to say you had a better big sister than that!
When I got dumped by a girl for the first time I didn’t even have to tell my big sis. She knew. She mixed my first alcoholic drink, a Bourbon and Coke, and brought it to my bedroom where I was holed up hiding from the world. I was 15 then. I don’t think mom and dad ever new about that. So, let’s not repeat that one, OK?
Gail was my biggest fan. She made campaign posters for me when I ran for grade school student council (they featured a comely photograph of heart throb Raquel Welch, cut from a magazine, announcing her endorsement, a graphic choice Gail made, but apparently too sophisticated for the uneducated masses or at least wasted on the prepubescent sixth grade electorate. I lost.)
When I was in college she lent me money without me even asking. She loaned me her car for something like six months once. She was the first person to ask me how I felt about something — a question I don’t get often and answer even less frequently. I could tell her my most tightly held secrets, and did, without ever any concern about judgment or lecture or disapproval or anything like that.
The greatest lesson she taught me I learned from her passing 23 years ago. That is, none of us can do this alone. As humans we need help. From each other. And the more time we spend doing that, the better our lives will be. I miss her. A lot.
The 2010 version of Jazz in June (the 27th annual) may go down as the unexpected instrumentation version.
On Thursday night there was the ukulele and tuba band. On Friday night was the bassoonist, making his instrument sound totally unlike any bassoon I ever heard in high school band. It was guitar-like.
I am not so sure the discordant nature of some of the pieces was to everyone’s liking; but, fortunately most in attendance (who were paying attention) appreciated the uniqueness to this ensemble from the smorgasboard of American music known as jazz.
While wandering the backroads of eastern Oklahoma last week I came upon this gal:
The imagery of the Red Earth Festival parade in downtown Oklahoma City is amazing every year. This morning was no exception.
I have added a website gallery tonight of the Faces of Red Earth.
Metering for fog is kind of like driving in fog. You just hope you get it right. Still not sure if that happened here, but the photograph turned out. And, it was a blue dark foggy afternoon last Sunday when I shot this in Plymouth, Massachusetts. The photo looks right.
I don’t know what this guy does for a living, except it has something to do with boats and fishing.
Am I a landlubber or what?
The smells of the Haymarket in downtown Boston on Saturday were phenomenal.
This isn’t a farmers market like we see in small towns and suburbs. Heck, these peddlars of produce aren’t farmers at all. I have no idea where these food products come from, but the atmosphere is more Baghdad bazaar, with negotiations for bell peppers occurring like it was a Bob Moore’s car lot run by people who don’t speak much English.
Regardless, try finding bell peppers for 20 cents a piece in your neighborhood grocery.
Spent the afternoon at Plymouth, Mass today before flying home. It’s a simple little harbor, but so fascinating for those of us from the Great Plains.
Plymouth: Cool, foggy and 65 degrees. Norman (at 1 a.m.): hot, muggy and 90.
I think I understand a friend of mine who has spent most of her summer vacations in New England.
Waiting for the Green Line to Government Center station on a rainy Saturday.
Hunt-man joined me tonight in Boston to catch the Celtics’ 96-89 win over Lakers in Game 4 of the NBA Finals.
Most physical basketball game I’ve ever been to.
So, 40 years after becoming a Celtics fan watching John Havlicek, Jo Jo White and Bill Russell I get to see my first in-person Celtics game in an NBA finals series. Awesome.
