A Tribute to BB King

From Slate - 

Listen to the medley of songs on the clip.  I'm not a blues fan, but I think you'll agree, this is good stuff.

Side note - I saw BB live in Miami in the late 70s, and I was shocked that I was only one of three blacks in the audience.  The room was packed with young white kids.

B.B. King’s Greatest Performance

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The three-song medley at the heart of his masterpiece may be the best 12 minutes of live musical performance ever recorded.

By Jack Hamilton

B.B. King performs in Germany in 1971.

"B. B. King, Audimax Uni Hamburg, November 1971 (Heinrich Klaffs Collection 56)" by Heinrich Klaffs. Licensed under CC BY-SA 1.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

B.B. King, a titan of American music who died Thursday at 89 years old, lived for so long, did so much, and was so deeply woven into our cultural fabric that it was easy to take him for granted. “The King of the Blues,” he was called, although too often in the offhanded and unthinking tone in which people call Budweiser the King of Beers. King was a singer and guitar player of unfathomable depth and dimension, and his music was a watershed: In the middle part of the 20thcentury, no performer so effortlessly melded country blues to the more urban, “modern” sounds of post–World War II rhythm and blues than King: not Muddy Waters, not Howlin’ Wolf, not the still-missed Bobby “Blue” Bland. Already on his first major hit, 1951’s “3 O’Clock Blues,” King exemplified this fusion in spades: the urbane and jazz-inflected guitar playing, the lush and billowing horns, the vocal performance that seems to channel Lonnie Johnson and Blind Lemon Jefferson out of one lung, Jimmy Rushing and Frank Sinatra out of the other.

Writing about 89-plus years of B.B. King’s life quickly starts to feel like writing a history of American pop music itself—he spent his boyhood picking cotton in the Mississippi Delta and his twilight years as a capitalized National Treasure, a living metonym for the blues. So instead I will write about a scant 12 minutes of B.B. King’s life, the three-song medley of “Sweet Little Angel,” “It’s My Own Fault,” and “How Blue Can You Get?” that sprawls over the first side of King’s masterpiece, Live at the Regal. This medley is, in my completely subjective and admittedly grief-stricken opinion, the greatest 12 minutes of live musical performance ever recorded. It should be mandatory listening today, and for everyone of every generation to come.
Live at the Regal, recorded at Chicago’s Regal Theater in 1964 and released in 1965, kicks off, first, with a blisteringly fast rendition of “Every Day I Have the Blues.” The dust settles and the crowd is already convulsing; the band starts noodling behind B.B., who announces his intention to go back and “pick up some of the real old blues. If we should happen to play one that you remember, let us know it by making some noise.” Noise shall soon be made.

“Sweet Little Angel” comes in like a thunderbolt. B.B. plucks an ascending triplet line, drummer Sonny Freeman detonates his snare drum on the downbeat, and we’re off. B.B. plays an opening chorus of guitar solo, then leans into the first verse. “I’ve got a sweet little angel/ I love the way she spreads her wings,” he croons, a line that’s older than the Delta soil but sounds newly exquisite each time you hear it. (A quick, woefully incomplete genealogy: Lucille Bogan sang, “I’ve got a sweet black angel/ I like the way he spreads his wings,” on 1930’s “Black Angel Blues,” probably the earliest recorded instance of the line. King claimed to have nicked the phrase from Robert Nighthawk, who recorded his own version of “Black Angel Blues” but changed the name to “Sweet Black Angel.” The Rolling Stones then borrowed that title—after their 1969 tour with King—for their tribute to Angela Davis on 1972’s Exile on Main St. A mindboggling amount of musical history ran through and around B.B. King.)

It’s 1964, and B.B.-mania is in full swing.

King was 39 when he recorded Live at the Regal—not exactly a spring chicken, but he was at the apex of his abilities as a singer. His control on “Sweet Little Angel” is virtuosic, shifting from gospel belt to sultry croon to his swooping, heavenly falsetto. His voice quivers, growls, thrills, teeters on the brink of combustion. “Sweet Little Angel” is a song of tribute and awed devotion—“I asked my baby for a nickel/ and she gave me a $20 bill”—until we hit the last verse. “If my baby quit me, I do believe I would die/ If you don’t love me, little angel/ Please tell me the reason why.” A plot-twist ending: It’s a goddamn breakup song. And right as the realization hits, the guitar solo comes in, and the whole world falls away.

No one has ever played electric guitar quite like B.B. King—what he lacked in technical chops he made up for with gifts of melody, phrasing, and cerebral precision that, among improvisational soloists, place him in the company of Miles Davis and no one else. The solo coming out of “Sweet Little Angel” is a masterpiece of tone, range, and above all restraint. The spaces between King’s phrases are as thrilling as the phrases themselves; he lingers and sustains where a less assured musician would dash to the next idea; his mastery of dynamics is so complete that each string seems to have its own voice, and its own breath. Every note is perfect from the moment it appears to the moment it recedes.

And he’s just getting started. As King’s solo ends, the band keeps playing the groove, the great pianist Duke Jethro sprinkling fills as B.B. works the crowd with stage patter. Soon they go into “It’s My Own Fault,” a hammy catalog of romantic misbehavior: “She used to make her own paychecks/ and bring them on home to me/ I would go out on the hillside/ and make every woman drunk.” A tenor saxophone weaves call-and-response with King’s vocal, Sonny Freeman cracks the two and four with increasing ferocity. On the heels of the last verse, King takes another guitar solo, this one gnarlier and more flamboyant than the last, with scalding 16th-note runs nestled against what is now an avalanche of female screams. It’s 1964, and B.B.-mania is in full swing. Pulling out of the turnaround, the band modulates up a half-step, into the medley’s closing number, “How Blue Can You Get?”

B.B. instructs the audience to “pay attention to the lyrics, not so much my singing or the band,” then rips off yet another chorus of guitar solo that revels in the absurdity of this request. And the lyrics aren’t even that good: As blues standards go, “How Blue Can You Get?” is a little too direct, too single-entendre, its famous opening line—“I’ve been downhearted, baby/ ever since the day we met”—bereft of the vague, sumptuous poetry of a couplet like “I’ve got a sweet little angel/ I love the way she spreads her wings.”

But good Lord, does B.B. sell this one. “How Blue Can You Get?” on Live at the Regal is pure incendiary ecstasy, all the way through to its shattering, stop-time climax. Everyone in this club knows this song; everyone in this club is reacting as though it is being written on the spot. When we reach the song’s applause line—“I gave you seven children/ and now you want to give them back” (God, who says this to someone?)—B.B. leans into “gaaave” with such force it seems to upend the whole building.

“How Blue Can You Get?” doesn’t end so much as collapse into a heap of exhaustion. The crowd goes berserk, the only conceivable response to 12 minutes of music that does just about everything one could ever hope music to do. John Lennon once described the blues as “a chair, not a design for a chair or a better chair. … You sit on that music.” Somewhere right now B.B. King is sitting on that chair, like a throne.

Tough Girls

This 12 minute video features two female Chinese bodyguards in training.

http://www.vice.com/video/chinas-elite-female-body-guards-015

Nap Time

He Said, "Yes"

One of the most incredible people to come across my path, was the doctor who agreed to take Ben on as a patient when we were trying to get him moved from Forth Worth, Texas back home to Sacramento.

He said, "Yes."

You see, when Ben had his horrific accident, he was in a trauma center - the wonderful John P Smith Hospital in Forth Worth - for a month, then he was transferred to a rehabilitation hospital for another month, and then he was moved to a nursing home for a few days, five to be exact.

When it was clear the insurance would not cover more than a month at the rehab hospital, the search was on to find someplace where Ben could get the medical attention he needed until he was well enough to get him back home.

The only options we had were nursing homes.

I've said this before, but it's worth repeating - you never want to see your child in a nursing home.

He did move into a nursing home, but I vowed to do everything I could to get him out of there as soon as possible.

So, when a move was inevitable, I began the search for a doctor in Sacramento who would accept Ben as a patient.  That's the only way his insurance coverage would continue.

I called every doctor I knew, but no one was willing to accept Ben because he was a multiple trauma patient.  The risks were still high that things could go wrong.

Of course I shared this need with everyone I knew, and a dear friend mentioned it to her kids, one of whom was neighbor to the head of trauma at UC Davis Hospital in Sacramento.

I called this doctor and talked to him about the many surgeries Ben had already had (about half of the 23 surgeries he would have in total).  He spoke with the doctors in Forth Worth and reviewed his medical files.  Then I asked him to take Ben on as a patient, and  . . .

He said, "Yes."

And it wasn't a reluctant "yes," but a wholehearted one.

A "willing to do whatever it takes" kind of "yes."

And so, five days after he arrived at the nursing home, Ben checked out.  My brother Terry and Frankie rented a large SUV, put the seats down in the back, made a makeshift bed, got Ben inside, and drove him virtually nonstop to Sacramento.

Now I need to mention that Ben couldn't walk.  His pelvis was broken, along with one of his legs.  He had rods protruding from his pelvic area that formed a kind of halo like you see with people who have head injuries.

The day after Ben arrived, Dr. W called to check on him.

He called me.

Now he had accepted Ben as a patient sight unseen, and we hadn't met yet, but he called to see how Ben was.

I was so grateful for this incredibly kind gesture, which would be the first of many.

A few days after Ben got home, he couldn't hold down food, so I contacted Dr. W and he directed us to the hospital and navigated us through the system to get in as quickly as possible.

That's when we met for the first time.

When I say this man was a Godsend, I mean it in every sense of the word.  He was our miracle.

Ben was hospitalized off and on at UC Davis for the next year and a half.

And with every hospitalization, Dr. W was there making sure Ben was OK.  He was there, calling me, making sure I understood what was happening, and providing comfort and peace of mind when the surgeries seem like they would never end.

Although it's been almost ten years since the accident, it feels like yesterday.

How do you thank someone who saved your life?  Or the life of a loved one?

How do you thank someone for the kindness, generosity and expertise that saved your child?

How do you express the gratitude of a lifetime?

If I said thank you every day for the rest of my life, it would not begin to convey the gratitude and appreciation I have for Dr. W for what he did for Ben, for us.

I hope that in this simple gesture of posting this, the world will know just how wonderful this doctor . . . this man, is.

Dr. W . . .

From Ben, Frankie, and the entire Sharpe family . . .

A million thanks!!!





 

Choosing Optimism

http://www.upworthy.com/allow-this-post-to-make-you-happy-with-science?c=upw1&u=6861cbea6edfdfe5a709ee39ad3c14b64135e61f

Black Rambo

From Vox & BBC -

Uganda’s Tarantino and his $200 action movies

By Vibeke VenemaBBC World Service

• 13 May 2015
 
• From the section Magazine

A Ugandan film company that makes low-budget action movies in the slums has found a cult following online - one US fan liked their films so much, he abandoned New York to become an action movie star in Kampala.

It was December 2011 and things were not going well for Alan Hofmanis. 

"My girl dumped me the day I bought the wedding ring," he says. So a friend took him out to a Manhattan bar and, to cheer him up, showed him a video clip on his phone.

It was the trailer for Who Killed Captain Alex? billed as Uganda's first action movie. The minute-long video showed bloody gun battles, speeded-up kung fu fights and computer-generated helicopters bombing Kampala. If you looked closely, you could see that the machine guns - replicas of Rambo's M60 - had been welded from scrap metal, and the bullets carved from wood. Much of the action took place in mud. A high-pitched voiceover announced this was the work of Ramon Productions, and gave a phone number. 

The replica of Rambo's machine gun, welded from scrap metal

The clip had an electrifying effect on Hofmanis. "Around 40 seconds into it, I decided: I'm coming to Uganda," he says. "I realised what I'm looking at makes no sense - but it's complete genius."

As programme director for the Lake Placid Film Festival, Hofmanis was used to spotting emerging talent, but he says what he saw here was "off the charts" in its ambition. "In the West, when you have no money, you shoot two people having a conversation… You don't make a war film." 

Two weeks later he travelled to Uganda. He didn't bother to call ahead, his mind was made up.

On his first day in Kampala he was at a busy market, when, far in the distance, he spotted a man wearing a T-shirt that said Ramon Film Productions. He immediately gave chase. "I just start running, and I'm chasing him… so he starts running, but we eventually catch up, and we calm down, and I say: 'Look, I'm just a fan from New York City - can you take me to the film-maker?'" 

The answer was, "Yes," so Hofmanis jumped on the back of a motorcycle and 30 minutes later arrived in Wakaliga, a slum on the outskirts of Kampala. "There are goats everywhere, there are chickens everywhere… That's raw sewage that's going right in front of the house - and that actually plays a major role in the films, because it's life here - it's dust, it's heat, it's children, it's animals… and it's pure joy," he says.

Film-maker Isaac Nabwana in action

Isaac Nabwana, the film director and brains behind Ramon Productions, was not fazed by the unexpected arrival. "I asked him, why didn't he call me? He said: 'I am a friend, I had to reach you.' That's when I realised that he's a true friend," he says. Nabwana offered his visitor some tea, and they spoke for five hours. 

"I thought I was going to meet someone like myself - a little crazy with a camera and some friends - and very quickly I realised this is the real deal," says Hofmanis.

He had arrived in "Wakaliwood", where over the past decade, self-taught film maker Nabwana has shot more than 40 low-budget action films. He is not sure how much each one costs to make, but guesses it might be around $200 (£130). "It is passion that really makes a movie here," Nabwana says.

The volunteer cast and crew source props wherever they can. The green screen is a piece of cloth bought at the market, draped over a wall. The camera crane is made from spare tractor parts - Dauda Bissaso, one of the regular actors, is a mechanic and builds all the heavy gear and weapons. "He's just a genius with a blowtorch, he makes everything," says Hofmanis. Another key member of the team is Bruce U, a Bruce Lee fan who choreographs the fight scenes and runs a kung fu school for the children of Wakaliga.

Supa kung fu Master Bruce U - his beard and moustache are attached with shoe glue

To recreate gunshot injuries, they use free condoms from the local health clinic, filled with fake blood - they burst quite realistically. They used to be filled with real animal blood, but when one of the actors got sick with brucellosis, a disease passed on from cows, they switched to food colouring.

Fake blood is needed in vast quantities because the films are violent - but in a cartoonish way, and quite unlike the real violence Nabwana witnessed growing up during Uganda's 1981-86 civil war. "I don't put that in my movies, what I saw in the past," he says. "I include comedy - there was no comedy in the violence which I witnessed."

His cinematic hero is Chuck Norris, although he also likes Rambo and The Expendables. Hofmanis, on the other hand, compares him to directors like Guillermo del Toro, Robert Rodriguez and Martin Scorsese - "in terms of creativity and what they're contributing to cinema".

Isaac Nabwana and his biggest fan, Alan "Ssali" Hofmanis

Nabwana's love for films began long before he was allowed to watch any - his older brother Kizito would return from the local cinema hall and describe what he'd seen in vivid detail. "I remember the gestures he used… there was a guy who used to crush people, so I liked that," says Nabwana. "Even now I see them in my head." 

At senior school, Nabwana decided he would make his own action movies one day. "I had that art in me, I wanted to make a movie - I had to fulfil that dream," he says.

But there was not enough money for him to even finish school. "So I started making bricks and digging sand to sell to people around here," he says.

Finally, in 2006, at the age of 32, Nabwana had saved up enough to pay for the first month of a six-month course in computer maintenance. "That was enough to know how to assemble a computer," he says. He then taught himself how to use editing packages such as Premiere Pro and After Effects, and borrowed a camera from a neighbour. "And with that I started… I did not know how to write a script. But then I thought of these drama actors, how do they do it? And I started figuring it out."

This replica wooden machine gun is veteran of about a dozen films

Tebaatusasula was one of his earliest successes - the name translates loosely as "They never paid us." 

It mixes comedy, action and witchcraft - one character bewitches a man who has stolen his wife. "In Tebaatusasula things jumped out of the house... chairs, the TVs and everything, and people loved that very much," says Nabwana. 

But his biggest challenge was yet to come. 

Unable to find a distributor, Nabwana came up with an ingenious solution: the actors and crew work for nothing, but get to keep half the profits from any DVDs they sell. "We do man-to-man, door-to-door all over the country to sell them," he says. The films can sell for up to 3,000 shillings - about $1 - but the team only has a window of about a week before they are pirated. They sometimes wear full costume to maximise sales.

Selling DVDs in full costume can improve sales

It was on such a sales trip that they had bumped into Hofmanis.

As soon as they met, Nabwana agreed to write a role for Hofmanis, who felt like he was 10 years old again. "When I was a child, I would go through my father's closet, find two belts of his, tie them together, and now I'm Indiana Jones. And the trees are Nazis. That's what this is," he says.

So, two days after arriving in Uganda, he found himself filming a fight scene. It didn't quite go to plan. "I grab someone in the scene and we fall into the raw sewage and we start fighting there." He says everyone was amazed to see an American rolling around in sewage. "That in some ways was my baptism here. Only people who are from the slums behave this way - because they grow up with sewage it doesn't mean much to them." They honoured him with a Ugandan name: Ssali.

Children do kung fu poses in front of posters advertising the next Wakaliwood film

Sewage plays a part in all of Nabwana's movies. He purposely includes such details because he wants to reflect his surroundings - his films are from the slums, by the slum. It's part of their appeal. "What I've found out… is that people want to see what they live in. They want their life to be put on DVD. They like it very much," he says.

But he admits that this puts off distributors, whom he has accused of "trying to copy exactly what is done in the West and exactly what is done in Bollywood and Hollywood".

"I'm going to show the world the kind of life we enjoy or we grew up in," Nabwana said in an interview for the 2012 documentary Wakaliwood. "It's called a ghetto life but you know it's good… and it's hostile."

After that first trip in December 2011, Hofmanis visited six more times. Then in March 2014, the 45-year-old sold his possessions and moved to Wakaliga. "Back in New York I got rid of everything. I had put my stuff in storage but I couldn't even afford the $22 (£14) per month it cost," he says. "I'm all in."

Like the rest of the crew, Hofmanis gets involved in all aspects of production

"He's now part of my family," says Nabwana, 42, who lives with his wife Harriet and three children. Hofmanis moved in next door.

They have big plans for the studio. A Kickstarter fundraising project launched in March exceeded all expectations. "All we asked for was $160 (£105) to make a movie, but we got $13,000 (£8,500)," says Hofmanis.

They immediately went on a shopping spree, buying toy cars and trucks to blow up - the trick is to match them to what Bissaso can find in the local scrap yards, so they can be used for stunts.

The design for a spinning gun, inspired by the film Predator

The team spend a lot of time discussing weapons. Nabwana now plans to build a full-scale helicopter from scrap. He has a fondness for choppers, and remembers being chased by one during the civil war when he was about 12 years old. His brother's cinematic knowledge kicked in and they tried to outrun it - the helicopter followed. He chuckles at the memory.

Wakaliwood currently has six films in production, including Bad Black, a kind of reverse Karate Kid, starring the children of Wakaliga. And they are inviting fans from around the world to submit scenes for "the world's first crowd-sourced action film" - called Tebaatusasula: EBOLA. 

The studio's kung fu school keeps children off the streets and trains them as future stars

Hofmanis describes life in Wakaliwood as a "lazy country afternoon punctuated by the unpredictable". As one of the few white men around, he's in demand as an actor. He has played Jesus in a chart-topping music video. For another role he had to crawl into a fresh goat's carcass "so when the cannibals plunge a knife into my chest they're pulling out the goat's intestines and not my own."

The moment Hofmanis realises a dead goat is his "costume"

But on his personal blog - Mud, Blood & Wooden Guns - he hints at darker moments. He has lost 55 lbs (25kg) in weight since he arrived 15 months ago. In October last year he compared his situation to the 70s cult thriller, Sorcerer: "I wound up in a third world country with no way to get home… It does not end well." 

He has swapped a comfortable Western existence for life in a slum - without running water or plumbing, no sewage system and with barely any electricity. "People can be confused that they see us with internet - a 3G modem that I brought here - and making movies, so the default is it cannot be a slum," says Hofmanis.

"But that's the whole point. Wakaliwood should not be able to do what it does. But it's happening. 

"The story is still being written. This is just the beginning, or the Beginning of the Beginning, as Isaac says."

But in the end, it may be Hofmanis' story that attracts Hollywood's attention.

An actor has lunch in full horror make-up

Bosa, the dummy used as a dead body in every film, was named after an actor who quit

Make-up test for a woman who turns into a snake

Isaac Nabwana and Alan Hofmanis spoke to Outlook on the BBC World Service Listen to their interview.

Going to the movies in Uganda 

VJ Emmie at work in his video hall, which is near Wakaliwood

Watching a movie can be a raucous affair - films are translated into local languages such as Luganda by VJs, or video jokers, who add their own jokes and improvised commentary, live. "When you are translating the movie you have to feel like you are in the movie," says VJ Emmie, whose video hall can attract an audience of up to 200 for a live show. "We normally do not change the meaning of the film, but we spice it up."

Emmie wanted to be a VJ from the age of six, because he realised it would make him popular. "I went to the cinema hall and watched this guy translating a movie and the first benches around him - it was women. When I went back home I told my mother, 'I want to be a VJ' - mother wanted me to be a tailor." 

Wakaliwood has now re-released Who Killed Captain Alex? with commentary by VJ Emmie. 

VJ Emmie spoke to Outlook on the BBC World Service Listen again via the iPlayer or get the Outlook podcast.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-32531558

This is a Cool Idea, But . . .

At $250, it's expensive.

Worth it?

From The Grommet -

https://www.thegrommet.com/august?utm_campaign=20150513&utm_content=22742&utm_medium=email&utm_source=CC&trk_msg=SJSQQHVV98MK9AH34AAOVIDQD8&trk_contact=6PJ17299EJ5SLGM27119G0AQ7K

There's Something About This Guy . . .

That I love!

From Slate+

“I Need a Pair of Pants That Won’t Bore Me to Death”

Troy Patterson talks about looking sharp, flat-top fades, and being Slate’s Gentleman Scholar.

By Jennifer Lai and Troy Patterson

Troy Patterson

Photo illustration by Slate. Photo by Christina Paige

In celebration of Slate Plus’ first anniversary, we’re republishing a selection of pieces from the past year, including this article, which was originally published on Oct. 1, 2014. 

Every week, Slate’s Troy Patterson addresses sartorial matters, masculinity, and more in Gentleman Scholar, an advice column for the modern man. Slate Plus sat down with Patterson to chat about the art of giving sensible counsel.

What is the question you get for Gentleman Scholar most often?

There’s a lot of anxiety about where to put one’s phone. It’s sort of connected to the anxiety of where to put your keys, if you’re not going to have a sort of 19th-century gentleman with a watch fob or if you can rock sort of a punk-rock thing, akin to a chain wallet. If you can, then great, good for you. I mean, it’s just stuff, what are we supposed to do with our stuff? Men want to know what to do with their stuff.

And I’ve gotten a couple of questions about baldness. Guys are losing their hair and they want to know, “OK, I’m losing my hair, that’s fine, what do I do, like what’s the correct way out?” And I’m interested in figuring out what that is, as someone who’s not gaining any more hair. On a practical level, the matter’s sort of having the right vocabulary to communicate clearly with your barber while being barbered.

Have you ever gotten a question that you had no idea how to answer?

There are some buried in the back of my inbox. You get some cries of existential despair, people who have been in loveless marriages for 30 years, so those are just chilling and it’s hard to figure out … well, for one thing, what’s the practical advice I have to give? Sometimes you get emails from dudes who just sound depressed, and you say, “Dude, you’re depressed. That’s OK, go talk to someone about it.” Which is what I say, responding to them in the email, but I don’t see quite how to work them into the column yet.

Who are your gentlemanly influences?

A guy named Pete Bonventre was one of my first bosses at my first job in New York, and I would not burden Pete with referring to him as a mentor or anything, but he was definitely a master of the gentlemanly arts. He was an old-school journalist guy.

He used to write about sports for Newsweek and has written like four cover stories on Muhammad Ali. He’s even more impressive in his sartorial dash for being a shorter, more roundish man, but he’s the kind of guy who wears a pinstripe suit with great aplomb. He is also the sort of guy who has a safari jacket—and he’s worn it on safari. But he’s capable of wearing a safari jacket in Manhattan without looking like a clown.

How do you define the idea of a “gentleman scholar” nowadays?

I wonder if the column would have a different tilt or lilt if it had a different name, instead of Gentleman Scholar. We came up with another name at the beginning, Mr. Right, but it was decided that made it sound like a dating column. I know the placeholder name was You’re Dude-ing It Wrong. But I like Gentleman Scholar as the name for the column. I think that the idea is that I’m a scholar of gentlemen.

What’s your writing process like for the column?

I don’t really have a recollection of writing all of these pieces. I know that I have the dread that precedes writing them, and the relief of having written them, and sometimes the pleasure of rereading them, but the writing itself is just kind of a haze.

It varies. Things keep coming into the inbox, and when something’s hot off the presses, I feel a thrill of excitement like, “Oh, that’s good, I want to hop on that as quickly as possible.” And I want the column to have a regular flow and a good mix of things instead of talking about clothes all the time.

One of the reasons I brood on these things is that I try to think about the most gentleman scholarly way to answer them. Like I’ve got a question in my inbox from a woman—the herpes question that every advice columnist invariably ever gets. So what’s the gentleman scholar way of answering the question of revealing herpes to a partner? Because whatever Miss Manners or Web MD has to say about this is perfectly serviceable, but what can I say that’s more interesting or more fun?

In any event, the best, or most interesting comment on these matters is made by J.P. Donleavy in a book titled The Unexpurgated Code.  There’s a subchapter titled “Upon Placing the Blame for Venereal Infection” and his stance is do this as soon as possible and admit to nothing; that way, the first person getting the accusation stands a better chance of being thought innocent. So that’s very aesthetically satisfying. Ethically, it’s more ambiguous.

Why do you think you get so many questions about clothing?

I have the sense that the clothing questions are driven by the fear of doing something wrong rather than the aspirational desire to do something right. We live in a wonderful pluralistic world where anything goes—but not just anything goes with everything.

Were you always a good dresser?

In high school, I was voted both most likely to succeed and best dressed. The thing is, you’ve got to wear something, so why not? Actually, my aspiration is to move toward having two outfits: one for summer and one for winter. I think that’s what we should all do. I don’t think it’s accidental that, from Calvin Klein to Andy Warhol, there are a lot of people deeply involved in visual presentation who wear the same thing all the time.

Are there some clothing choices that you look back on that you regret?

The regrets I have about my judgment are plentiful, but very few of them are sartorial. With the benefit of hindsight, would I have, in 1999, had a flat-top fade and worn Plug One spectacles? Probably—it was the right thing at the time. I have this liability in that I actually hate shopping. I like clothes, but I hate shopping.

Wait, wait wait. So you actually don’t like shopping?

I strongly dislike shopping.

That’s really surprising. Why?

It’s the kind of work that you must go at with an active eye. You sort of have to be as thoughtful at Banana Republic as you do at an art gallery, but your aesthetic sense is not rewarded because you’re just looking at these khakis.

I had a bad, mild temper tantrum in Banana Republic once, where I sort of needed a pair of pants immediately and the salesperson—I apologize if she’s reading—she asked if I needed anything. In my frustration, I muttered something like “I need a pair of pants that won’t bore me to death.” So I regret that, sorry.

You Have To Hear This Kid!

AMAZING!



http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/13/arts/music/joey-alexander-an-11-year-old-jazz-sensation-who-hardly-clears-the-pianos-sightlines.html?action=click&pgtype=Homepage&region=CColumn&module=MostEmailed&version=Full&src=me&WT.nav=MostEmailed&_r=0

In Defense of 10th Grade Educated Laborers

I couldn't figure out how to have this video begin at 1:57, but please fast forward to reach this point, and then watch this man eloquently put someone to shame.

http://www.upworthy.com/a-congressman-eloquently-schools-someone-who-insulted-people-with-10th-grade-educations?c=upw1&u=6861cbea6edfdfe5a709ee39ad3c14b64135e61f

Rent "Top Five" for 99 Cents

I've been waiting to see this Chris Rock movie, and was pleasantly surprised to see that it's renting for  99 cents on iTunes.

I'm gonna check it out.

You?

Orangutan Babysits Tiger Cubs (AnimalsMedia.com)

Simply adorable!

Great Article!

I just a great article on The New Republic entitled, "In Defense of Uppity-ism" by Jamil Smith.

Money quote -

“Uppity,” translated from thinly-veiled racial code, is meant to describe a black person who doesn’t know her or his place. It is as paternalistic as it is racist, meant to convey that a black person is somehow lower, in need of guidance back to the subjugated existence that makes the dominant caste more comfortable. Heaven forbid one even consider her or himself an equal. Or superior!

One more - 

 “Eventually,” she told the graduates, “I realized that if I wanted to keep my sanity and not let others define me, there was only one thing I could do and that was to have faith in God’s plan for me. I had to ignore all of the noise and be true to myself—and the rest would work itself out. So throughout this journey, I have learned to block everything out and focus on my truth.” The First Lady closed by urging the graduates to “rise above the noise,” a fitting metaphor for the Tuskegee crowd.

http://www.newrepublic.com/article/121768/defense-uppity-ism-after-michelle-obamas-commencement-speech

Cyber-Seniors Official Trailer (2014) - People & Technology Documentary HD

This was me, going from a PC to a Mac.

My Mother's Day Card

Too cute not to share!

Thanks Ben/Lupe/Milu!

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!