I wonder if anyone has the story on what the hell the deal was with Dustin Hoffman at the Grammys?
The show took me back. Yeah, I watched it. Some of it, anyway. I viewed the thing as I typically view progams beaming from The Magic Box: while busily noodling on my twang machine (I wrote a march!). As we all know, awards shows are a crock. But there's something about the Grammys that seems a little more... I dunno. Slightly less star-humping. At least in some quarters.
It probably bored the hell out of a lot of folks, but I thought it was quite nice to see acoustic music (or, at least... music in which people were playing something) so much at the fore. A few hours before the show broadcast I had been flipping around and I'd seen Alison Krauss and Union Station in concert on [I admit it, occasionally I stop to watch] CMT [on my way by to elsewhere]. Good Lord them folks is good pickers and grinners. It's always a treat to watch Jerry play. It's a pleasure to listen to someone with such command.
Acoustic music is just flat out honest stuff.
Yes, I am getting old.
One man's Grammy highlights:
But for all of the niceties of wood and steel, the highlight for me was far, far louder, and as electric as it gets.
The tribute to Joe Strummer.
Elvis. Bruce. Stevie. Dave. (And Pete and Tony.) Holy Hell they did a great job. That freakin' ROCKED.
London Calling. I live by the river.
[For the record: If none of this means anything to you, you're either really old, or I am. Either way it's okay, you wake up with yourself (William Joel, c. 1979).]
I saw Old School this weekend. The accumulated funny stuff in the film amounts to ~4 minutes. Ferrell was good (best line: "I thought we were in the Trust Tree, in the nest... No?"; second-best line: "Mind the stepchildren," courtesy of Andy Dick). I like Luke Wilson in quirkier stuff (it was nice to see Margaret Yang from "Rushmore" in a small role). And Vince Vaughn's forehead seems to be getting larger by the minute... The rest of it was kinda lame.
Here's another in a long line of recommendations I'll continue to put forth. Unless you are: British and: male (this guideline does not apply to females, regardless of heritage) and unless you have: great hair that is high in volume you should not: wear a scarf jauntily twisted around your neck and here's the key: without a jacket. Because you look like a dipshit, that's why. Thank you for your attention to this matter.
Every year for as long as I've lived here I've waited for it: The Storm. This year it came. It blew through last week. Out in the hills I hear they got as much as four feet of the white stuff, with six-foot-plus drifts. Every year I say I'll go out and get it when it comes. And every year, provided it shows, I don't. Because, I've come to realize: You Can't Get It If You Can't Drive To It. You couldn't drive to anywhere.
This Last Big Storm really wasn't that big of a deal. If one were to live in environs where it normally snows, say... in New England, or Montana, it would have been a non-event. Sometimes it bothers me how people deal, or refuse to deal, with "inclement weather" here. But then, population density, and road crew budgets, and stuff. It's a bit much to ask.
There are still probably several feet left out in the mountains. I probably won't get to any of it before it's gone. Again. I will, however, get on the road in a few days, provided the thruways are clear, and head north. Where it is white, and things are frozen. And if all works out according to plan (none exists), then I just may not soil myself in the process. But I reserve the right.
The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in...
Click to share:
- Paul and Art. Together again. Nice. That reminds me. Catch-22 was on a few days ago.
- Dustin Takes a Drink (?). And Another...
- Gwen as Tank Girl. Possibly hotter. Nah... Almost, though.
- Them thar Dixie Chicks. I tell you whut. With the protective father. Going on.
- Faith Hill's dress was short enough that I think I saw her soul.
- John Mayer seems a bit goofy to me, and just try using his pickup lines, I dare you. But... the boy can play.
- Norah wins everything. I happen to have the record, and have had it for some time. Despite contrary evidence, she knows how to play more than one tune. As an aside, Ravi rules.
- Letterman's announcer, Alan Kalter, doing the announcing, realizing he's out of synch with the picture on the tube, deciding not to care, continuing with the announcing.
- The tribute to the departed. I hadn't realized The Chieftains' Derek Bell had passed on.
- I had actually heard of some of the people being nominated/who won.
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