After yet another home playoff defeat in which the sore-loser Piggsburgh Steelers insisted they were the better team, a wag much cleverer than myself wrote that denial must be one of the Three Rivers. That philosophy was in display this past week, when the Steelers took a tough stance against fringe WR Cedrick Wilson, all the while conveniently playing the "to err is human, to forgive divine" card on star LB James Harrison. Both players face domestic abuse and battery charges. Wilson sucker-punched an ex-girlfriend who had threatened to shoot him, and Harrison slapped an ex-girlfriend so hard that he sent her glasses flying and left an imprint of his hand on her face that was still visible hours later. Harrison, who has previously undergone various bouts of anger and violence counseling, has team owner Dan Rooney's unconditional support. Wilson, on the other hand, was sent packing without so much as a fare-thee-well. So why was Harrison forgiven, if not for the obvious reason that the Steelers don't give a shit about contemptible behaviour (Harrison not only hit a woman, he hit a woman with glasses!) so long as the players produce on the field? Fasten your moral ambiguity seatbelts, for here comes Dan Rooney's explanation of the shenanigans.
"What Jimmy Harrison was doing and how the incident occurred, what he was trying to do was really well worth it," Rooney told reporters about Harrison's intent. "He was doing something that was good, wanted to take his son to get baptized where he lived and things like that. She said she didn't want to do it." In other words, she had it coming... right, Danny boy? But after Wilson performed his equally disgusting act of domestic abuse, Rooney uttered an even more befuddling jewel of doublespeak: "To clarify the comments made earlier regarding the conduct of our players, in no way do we condone domestic violence of any kind," read his statement. "Each incident must be considered on a case-by-case basis. In the situation with James Harrison, he contacted us immediately after his incident and has taken responsibility for his actions. In today's decision with Cedrick Wilson, we determined the situation was severe enough to warrant the player being released immediately. We trust that today's roster move will indicate our intentions and send a message that we will not tolerate this type of conduct."
Rooney's obviously taking advantage of the fact that the average IQ of Steelers fans is a negative integer, because even though his "Harrison's heart was in the right place" drivel is being rightfully excoriated throughout the nation, the denizens of Piggsburgh continue to defend their misogynistic prophet. The basic message here is that glorified taxi-squad Steeler scabs better not do anything to sully the "glorious" Steeler code of ethics. Important starters, on the other hand, have carte blanche to do as they please. Rooney, in fact, is already hard at work fabricating pathetic excuses in case any more of his employees decide to enact their own peculiar version of noblesse oblige:
Quarterback Ben Roethlisberger: "Benny Rottenburger's a biker, and they're kind of a rough-and-tumble breed. His heart was in the right place."
Wide Receiver / Cheshire Cat impersonator Hines Ward: "Hiney's half Korean, you know, and his defense, in Asian cultures, women rank below dogs, cats, rats, and even cockroaches on the respect scale. So it's an international thing. Let's not be xenophobic here."
Running Back Najeh "The Dump Truck" Davenport: "Well, at least Naj didn't dump a five-pound load of Mars bars in her laundry basket afterwards."
Special teams ace Allen Rossum: "She wasn't really hurt by Allen. I think she was just playing Rossum."
Linebacker James Farrior: "Look, this is all a letters thing. JF could stand for Justifiable Force. Plus, if you change the "F" in Farrior for a "W," it becomes Warrior. Not only that, you go from Failure to Winning... and that's what the Steelers are all about."
Safety Troy Polamalu: "He wasn't trying to hurt anyone. He was just trying to wave his long, luxurious hair out of his God-like Polynesian visage, and he misjudged his prodigious reach. It could have happened to anyone."
Defensive Tackle Casey Hampton: "Casey could not possibly have been at the bat in this instance. The man's so fat, he can barely lift his jiggly arms. He may have tried to eat her, but he wouldn't physically abuse her."
Punter Daniel Sepulveda: "Sepultura's the punter! How hard could he have hit her? Come on, people..."
Coach Mike Tomlin: "There are only so many times a man can take being confused with Omar Epps. Coach Malik, I mean, Coach Tomlin is a good man, but everyone, even Coach Juice, I mean, coach Tomlin, has a breaking point."
Ah, deluded Piggsburgh Steeler fans... Keep waving your little yellow arse-wipes while conveniently draping yourselves in the shallow comfort of abject denial. The rest of us know your organization for what it really is: a den of whiny, cowardly hypocrisy.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Happy Easter!
On this, the most important and sacred of all Christian holidays, I want to wish everyone, regardless of creed or lack thereof, a very happy Easter weekend. Spend some time with loved ones, donate to a charity, volunteer your time to help those less fortunate... take the time to make this wretched world a better place than we found it. No action is too small, and no good deed is insignificant.
If I take the wings of the morning,
If I take the wings of the morning,and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
Even there shall thy hand lead me,
and thy right hand shall hold me.
Psalms 139:9-10
Even there shall thy hand lead me,
and thy right hand shall hold me.
Psalms 139:9-10
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Leap day
Oh, how I wish I'd been born some five months and change earlier... I could have been a Leapling! Chalk it up to my weird, numbers-loving dorkiness, but Leap Days are pretty much my faves, so much so that I convinced the first ex-fiancée to push her preferred wedding date of January 29 (apparently, that had been her parents' wedding anniversary -- like I gave a shit!) back a month so we could get married on Leap Day. Hard to believe sixteen years have already passed since my first narrow escape! But why use this once-every-four-years bonus day to reminisce about my failed engagements? Better to commemorate the greatest Leapling I know of: the late, great Gioacchino Rossini, who would have celebrated his 54th birthday today.
Even those whose only exposure to classical music comes from the occasional movie or TV show soundtrack are familiar with Rossini's music. The famous "Figaro, Figaro" aria? From Rossini's most popular opera, "Il Barbiere Di Siviglia." The fanfare music of The Lone Ranger? From Rossini's "Guillaume Tell" overture. The incongruously chippy music during the gang fight scene in "A Clockwork Orange"? From Rossini's "La Gazza Ladra" overture. Rossini's music is characterized by very upbeat, catchy melodies, and extremely clever orchestration. Rossini almost single-handedly popularized the conspicuous but always tasteful use of every conceivable orchestral bell & whistle to score his exhilarating overtures. That, along with his penchant for not-so-subtle dynamic increases, earned him the wonderful nickname, "Monsieur Crescendo."
A quirky man with an even quirkier sense of humour, Rossini enjoyed a friendly rivalry with Giacomo Meyerbeer, a fellow opera composer who also resided in Paris. There are many a wonderful anecdote depicting the various pranks and practical jokes Rossini played on Meyerbeer, but my favourite Rossini/Meyerbeer story took place during Meyerbeer's funeral. Rossini, of course, was in attendance to honour his friend. Meyerbeer's nephew, who fancied himself a composer, wrote a funeral march for the occasion. Once the funeral ended, the unfortunate nephew sought out Rossini to ask him how he'd liked the composition. The maestro's reply: "It's perfectly competent. But I wonder if it wouldn't have been more delightful if you had died and your uncle had written the march."
That rather wicked sense of humour permeates pretty much all of Rossini's music. The lovely overture to his long-forgotten opera "Il Signor Bruschino," for example, actually calls for the second violinists to tap on their music stand with their bows! The effect is hilarious but also oddly enjoyable, and rather than distract or detract from the music, actually complements it. Such was the genius of the birthday boy, Monsieur Crescendo.
Even those whose only exposure to classical music comes from the occasional movie or TV show soundtrack are familiar with Rossini's music. The famous "Figaro, Figaro" aria? From Rossini's most popular opera, "Il Barbiere Di Siviglia." The fanfare music of The Lone Ranger? From Rossini's "Guillaume Tell" overture. The incongruously chippy music during the gang fight scene in "A Clockwork Orange"? From Rossini's "La Gazza Ladra" overture. Rossini's music is characterized by very upbeat, catchy melodies, and extremely clever orchestration. Rossini almost single-handedly popularized the conspicuous but always tasteful use of every conceivable orchestral bell & whistle to score his exhilarating overtures. That, along with his penchant for not-so-subtle dynamic increases, earned him the wonderful nickname, "Monsieur Crescendo."
A quirky man with an even quirkier sense of humour, Rossini enjoyed a friendly rivalry with Giacomo Meyerbeer, a fellow opera composer who also resided in Paris. There are many a wonderful anecdote depicting the various pranks and practical jokes Rossini played on Meyerbeer, but my favourite Rossini/Meyerbeer story took place during Meyerbeer's funeral. Rossini, of course, was in attendance to honour his friend. Meyerbeer's nephew, who fancied himself a composer, wrote a funeral march for the occasion. Once the funeral ended, the unfortunate nephew sought out Rossini to ask him how he'd liked the composition. The maestro's reply: "It's perfectly competent. But I wonder if it wouldn't have been more delightful if you had died and your uncle had written the march."
That rather wicked sense of humour permeates pretty much all of Rossini's music. The lovely overture to his long-forgotten opera "Il Signor Bruschino," for example, actually calls for the second violinists to tap on their music stand with their bows! The effect is hilarious but also oddly enjoyable, and rather than distract or detract from the music, actually complements it. Such was the genius of the birthday boy, Monsieur Crescendo.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
The Ryan Express
This past Thursday, the Texas Rangers, apparently tired of decades of futility, tabbed Nolan Ryan to be their new Team President. Personally, if I cared any less about the Rangers, I wouldn't care at all. The occasion, however, was newsworthy to me, since Nolan Ryan is pretty much my favourite baseball player of all time. In revisiting Ryan with myriad fellow sports geeks, I was, and still am, astounded at how quickly Ryan's been forgotten. True, he's not a self-serving media whore (Cal Ripken) or a money-grubbing loser who'll hawk pretty much anything for a buck (Pete Rose), but still... in this inflated numbers, steroid- and HGH-ridden era, it's important to remember the accomplishments of clean players, especially when those clean players dominated the competition and set records that, God willing, will never be broken by today's pathetic little bitches. Just as Cal Ripken was the most durable player of his era, and Pete Rose was the best pure hitter of his era, Nolan Ryan was easily the best pitcher of his era. In fact, Ryan is the best pitcher of my lifetime, bar none.
Whenever people discuss relatively recent dominant pitching stretches, Orel Hershiser's scoreless innings steak and Dwight Gooden's phenomenal 1985 season are immediately brought up, and rightly so. But in my opinion, Nolan Ryan's entire career should be considered a dominant pitching stretch. To put it plainly, Ryan was a no-hitter waiting to happen every single time he stepped on the mound. In addition to his MLB record seven (seven!!!) career no-hitters, Ryan also threw a dozen one-hitters, and countless two-hitters. He lost bids for no-hit games in the ninth inning at least four times that I can remember. Hitters didn't have a lot of luck making contact against Ryan -- his .204 lifetime batting-against average is, again, an MLB record. The best chance to get on base against Ryan was to choke up on the bat and hope his persistent bouts of wildness would result in a walk or HBP -- Ryan is the all-time walks, hit batsmen, and wild pitches leader. Some more Ryan records: 5700+ strikeouts (no other player even comes close to sniffing 5000); six seasons with 300+ strikeouts; fifteen seasons with 200+ strikeouts; 26 games with 15+ strikeouts; 215 games with 10+ strikeouts; struck out the side 331 times; and, to the best of my admittedly limited knowledge, he's the only player to strike out the side in nine pitches at least twice.
Considering that the classy, decent, and honourable Hank Aaron had to watch that POS Baroid Bonds surpass his lifetime homerun record, it's comforting to know that at least Ryan's records will not be beaten anytime soon. No current pitcher can even get a whiff of Ryan's consistent excellence. It actually makes me want to puke when so-called pundits refer to Roidger Clemens or Faggo Martínez as the best right-handers they've ever seen. Are you f*cking kidding me? Clemens is a roided up jack-ass whose gonads magically shrank every time the postseason came around; hell, he even managed to get himself thrown out of a game so he wouldn't lose to Dave Stewart for the umpteenth time. As for Martínez, he's a pathetic little bitch who was more concerned about preserving a potential no-hitter than protecting his teammates during that infamous game when he hit the first batter he faced, only to have the Devil Rays send out stiff after stiff to bean Red Sox batters in retaliation. Rather than protect his teammates by retaliating in kind, Faggo Fagtínez kept on playing it straight because he didn't want to lose his no-hit bid. It goes without saying that I cheered myself hoarse when John Flaherty broke up the no-hitter in the ninth inning. It's only fitting that both of those arsewipes are in the public limelight this week along with Ryan, as it provides a wonderful parallel:
The 1993 season was Ryan's last, and it was doubly memorable for me. During the dog days of August, White Sox third baseman Robing Ventura crowded the plate against Ryan and homered. Predictably enough, the next time he came up to bat, Ventura crowded the plate again, and Ryan plunked him. I'll never understand why Ventura took offense and charged the mound, but I guess that's not important. What is important is that 46-year old Ryan calmly waited for 26-year old Ventura, then put that petulant little arsewipe in a headlock and proceeded to pummel his arrogant face repeatedly. I only wish he'd had a chance to put him over his knee!
Two weeks later, the Rangers played a weekend series in Cleveland. My then-fiancée scored tickets to the Ryan game and presented them to me for my birthday -- I should have married her for that Herculean feat alone... but I digress. And so, on Sunday, August 15, 1993, I finally saw Nolan Ryan pitch in person, for the first and only time. Even though Ryan's arm and shoulder were finally betraying him, he was on his game that day, throwing seven innings of sharp, two-hit ball. The final score was Texas 4 - Cleveland 1. As it turns out, that was Nolan Ryan's final career victory. It's the only time in my long, rabid, and infamously fanatic sports "life" that I wasn't upset at seeing my team lose.
I doubt very much that we'll ever see the likes of Ryan again. Sure, there have been a few pitchers that threw as consistently hard as Ryan -- Buffalo Colón, Kyle Farnsworth, and Joel Zumaya come to mind -- but none that did so with such remarkable consistency and downright miraculous longevity. Nolan Ryan threw his seventh no-hitter on May 1, 1991, at the ripe old age of 44. It's fitting that the last out he recorded on that game was a strikeout, and even more fitting that his victim, the great Robby Alomar, ended up on his knees while flailing awkwardly at the greatness that was The Ryan Express.
Whenever people discuss relatively recent dominant pitching stretches, Orel Hershiser's scoreless innings steak and Dwight Gooden's phenomenal 1985 season are immediately brought up, and rightly so. But in my opinion, Nolan Ryan's entire career should be considered a dominant pitching stretch. To put it plainly, Ryan was a no-hitter waiting to happen every single time he stepped on the mound. In addition to his MLB record seven (seven!!!) career no-hitters, Ryan also threw a dozen one-hitters, and countless two-hitters. He lost bids for no-hit games in the ninth inning at least four times that I can remember. Hitters didn't have a lot of luck making contact against Ryan -- his .204 lifetime batting-against average is, again, an MLB record. The best chance to get on base against Ryan was to choke up on the bat and hope his persistent bouts of wildness would result in a walk or HBP -- Ryan is the all-time walks, hit batsmen, and wild pitches leader. Some more Ryan records: 5700+ strikeouts (no other player even comes close to sniffing 5000); six seasons with 300+ strikeouts; fifteen seasons with 200+ strikeouts; 26 games with 15+ strikeouts; 215 games with 10+ strikeouts; struck out the side 331 times; and, to the best of my admittedly limited knowledge, he's the only player to strike out the side in nine pitches at least twice.
Considering that the classy, decent, and honourable Hank Aaron had to watch that POS Baroid Bonds surpass his lifetime homerun record, it's comforting to know that at least Ryan's records will not be beaten anytime soon. No current pitcher can even get a whiff of Ryan's consistent excellence. It actually makes me want to puke when so-called pundits refer to Roidger Clemens or Faggo Martínez as the best right-handers they've ever seen. Are you f*cking kidding me? Clemens is a roided up jack-ass whose gonads magically shrank every time the postseason came around; hell, he even managed to get himself thrown out of a game so he wouldn't lose to Dave Stewart for the umpteenth time. As for Martínez, he's a pathetic little bitch who was more concerned about preserving a potential no-hitter than protecting his teammates during that infamous game when he hit the first batter he faced, only to have the Devil Rays send out stiff after stiff to bean Red Sox batters in retaliation. Rather than protect his teammates by retaliating in kind, Faggo Fagtínez kept on playing it straight because he didn't want to lose his no-hit bid. It goes without saying that I cheered myself hoarse when John Flaherty broke up the no-hitter in the ninth inning. It's only fitting that both of those arsewipes are in the public limelight this week along with Ryan, as it provides a wonderful parallel:
- Ryan makes news upon being named Rangers Team President.
- Clemens makes news upon allegations that he insisted Brian McNamee inject Clemens' own wife with HGH prior to a swimsuit photo shoot;
- Fagtínez makes news when a YouTube clip shows him delightedly taking part in a series of cockfights -- I guess toting a midget around as a good luck charm wasn't enough bad karma.
The 1993 season was Ryan's last, and it was doubly memorable for me. During the dog days of August, White Sox third baseman Robing Ventura crowded the plate against Ryan and homered. Predictably enough, the next time he came up to bat, Ventura crowded the plate again, and Ryan plunked him. I'll never understand why Ventura took offense and charged the mound, but I guess that's not important. What is important is that 46-year old Ryan calmly waited for 26-year old Ventura, then put that petulant little arsewipe in a headlock and proceeded to pummel his arrogant face repeatedly. I only wish he'd had a chance to put him over his knee!
Two weeks later, the Rangers played a weekend series in Cleveland. My then-fiancée scored tickets to the Ryan game and presented them to me for my birthday -- I should have married her for that Herculean feat alone... but I digress. And so, on Sunday, August 15, 1993, I finally saw Nolan Ryan pitch in person, for the first and only time. Even though Ryan's arm and shoulder were finally betraying him, he was on his game that day, throwing seven innings of sharp, two-hit ball. The final score was Texas 4 - Cleveland 1. As it turns out, that was Nolan Ryan's final career victory. It's the only time in my long, rabid, and infamously fanatic sports "life" that I wasn't upset at seeing my team lose.
I doubt very much that we'll ever see the likes of Ryan again. Sure, there have been a few pitchers that threw as consistently hard as Ryan -- Buffalo Colón, Kyle Farnsworth, and Joel Zumaya come to mind -- but none that did so with such remarkable consistency and downright miraculous longevity. Nolan Ryan threw his seventh no-hitter on May 1, 1991, at the ripe old age of 44. It's fitting that the last out he recorded on that game was a strikeout, and even more fitting that his victim, the great Robby Alomar, ended up on his knees while flailing awkwardly at the greatness that was The Ryan Express.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Random goings-on
Newly mowed grass = ibis heaven.
Garage attraction, part I: toad.
Garage attraction, part II: pygmy rattler.
Plaid the Wonder Dog takes it to Monkeyshines while Peeping M&M looks on. Work can be very fun sometimes.
I've gotten into the unfortunate habit of climbing onto chairs, tables, etc., dropping my pants, and striking an "Hey, look at me!" pose. So far, this has only happened at work or while visiting friends... we'll see what happens in the future. That's my manager, Lou (aka Weejgay) looking utterly defeated by my antics and his inability to curtail them. Did I mention that my job provides countless hours of mirth?
First dive during certification process: Devil's Den. Super-cool setting, freezing-cold water. Gotta buy a 7mm or more full-body wetsuit, lest the Clevelander bloodline comes to a shivering, whimpering end.
Dinner with friends while sporting my latest facial hair fetish: the Bela Lugosi inspired "White Zombie" look. Gotta figure out a way to shave the middle portion of the chin beard for better symmetry, but don't trust myself to do it properly...Tuesday, December 25, 2007
My ten fave Christmas albums
Christmas is by far my favourite time of the year. Oh, sure, there are no white Christmases for me now that I live in Southwest Florida. And yes, Christmas happens to be only the third-most important Christian religious day of observance (Easter and Epiphany are first and second, respectively)... but everyone loves a birthday party, especially when everyone BUT the birthday boy gets gifts! And so, every year, for as long as I can remember, the family and I go crazy with Christmas music from Christmas Eve until Epiphany. Throughout the years, I've ended up with quite a few personal favourites. In honour of Christmas, then, here are my "Top Ten Christmas Albums."
The only rule: the albums must be easily available, so that if the fancy strikes you, you're not stuck special-ordering a long-lost import from Poland for upwards of $75 like I did for Mozart's last 6 symphonies with Chrissy VD and the Cleveland Orchestra (well worth it, by the way). And since the spirit o'Christmas dictates that I not be my usual lazy, uncaring self, I've added amazon.com links for each of the albums.
Boogie Woogie Christmas (The Brian Setzer Orchestra)
A very tough choice over Setzer's other groovy Christmas album, Dig That Crazy Christmas, but I went with "Boogie Woogie" solely on the strength of Setzer's phenomenal, infectiously snappy version of "Jingle Bells."
Christmas Spirit (Donna Summer)
Yes, Disco Donna. Never mind the crappy days of disco and their inevitable downfall -- Summer could always sing, and she really shines in this selection of Christmas songs. I can still remember watching her belt out "O Holy Night" live on an old 80's music show called "Solid Gold." Just awe-inspiring.
Jesus Christ Superstar: The Original Motion Picture Soundtrack Album (Andrew Lloyd Webber, composer)
I went to see this movie at the theatre when I was a little kid, I've owned LP, cassette, CD, and DVD versions of it, and was lucky enough to see a live revival with the original motion picture cast at the Blossom Music Festival back in the early 90's. The only goal left for me to accomplish with this musical is to actually take part in some local production of it. I know this bad boy by heart from start to finish, so any measly part will do...
Little Drummer Boy: Christmas Favourites by the World Renowned Vienna Boys' Choir
Very solid selection of songs, beautifully sung by Michael Jackson's fave musical act.
Messiah (George Frideric Handel, composer) -- Battle, Quivar, Aler, Ramey, soloists; The Toronto Symphony, Andrew Davis, conductor
This is but one of many excellent versions of Handel's Messiah. What sets it apart is Samuel Ramey's phenomenal rendition of "The Trumpet Shall Sound."
Rejoice, O Indestructible Fortress and Stronghold of Orthodoxy
A plethora of lovely Russian sacred songs... and the best album title ever.
Donadzar: New Year's and Christmas Songs in Armenian for Children and their Families (Nvair Kadian Beylerian)
And so, we segue from an imposing, regal album title to an awkward, goofy album title that's eerily reminiscent of Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. But to hell with the Russkies. The Armenian Orthodox Apostolic Religion has the distinction of being the first nationally accepted and instituted Christian religion (301 AD -- read it and weep, bitches). As for the music in this album, it's a charming mix of traditional Armenian and Western European Christmas songs.
Classical Christmas (The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra)
Wonderful orchestral arrangements of many well-known Christmas classics, as well as some truly classical and grossly overlooked compositions, including my personal fave, Mozart's indescribably joyful "Sleigh Ride."
O Holy Night (Luciano Pavarotti)
Christmas 1981 was a memorable affair for me, and not because it was my first Christmas in the States, but because it was the first time I saw Luciano Pavarotti's epoch-making Christmas concert from the Notre Dame Cathedral (thank you, PBS!!!). Although no audio recordings of that live performance exist, at least to the best of my admittedly limited knowledge, Decca did get studio recordings of most of those Christmas and Sacred Oratorio songs, as well as some bizarre out-of-place selections ("Chè farò senza Euridice," while an absolutely wonderful aria, has absolutely zero bearing on Christmas). The album is solid from start to finish, and was thankfully recorded during Pavarotti's prime. In my humble opinion, no one has ever sung Schubert's "Ave Maria" and "Mille cherubini in coro" as well as the late Luciano. The requiem pieces are also noteworthy: Verdi's "Ingemisco" showcases Pavarotti's resplendent upper register, and Rossini's "Cujus animam" is capped off by a ringing high D. But for me, the highlight of the program is Pavarotti's sublime rendition of Alessandro Stradella's beautiful "Pietà, Signore."
Joy to the World (Joan Sutherland)
As phenomenal as Pavarotti's "O Holy Night" is, it comes in second to La Stupenda's astounding "Joy to the World." I haven't superlatives enough to describe this album, so I won't bother. The only negative, at least for me, is the fact that, as was the case throughout her entire singing career, Sutherland didn't exactly go to great lengths to enunciate every word clearly... but who gives a tin shit about diction when, with all apologies to Handel, the bright seraphim blows its loud, uplifted trumpet?
The only rule: the albums must be easily available, so that if the fancy strikes you, you're not stuck special-ordering a long-lost import from Poland for upwards of $75 like I did for Mozart's last 6 symphonies with Chrissy VD and the Cleveland Orchestra (well worth it, by the way). And since the spirit o'Christmas dictates that I not be my usual lazy, uncaring self, I've added amazon.com links for each of the albums.
Boogie Woogie Christmas (The Brian Setzer Orchestra)
A very tough choice over Setzer's other groovy Christmas album, Dig That Crazy Christmas, but I went with "Boogie Woogie" solely on the strength of Setzer's phenomenal, infectiously snappy version of "Jingle Bells."
Christmas Spirit (Donna Summer)
Yes, Disco Donna. Never mind the crappy days of disco and their inevitable downfall -- Summer could always sing, and she really shines in this selection of Christmas songs. I can still remember watching her belt out "O Holy Night" live on an old 80's music show called "Solid Gold." Just awe-inspiring.
Jesus Christ Superstar: The Original Motion Picture Soundtrack Album (Andrew Lloyd Webber, composer)
I went to see this movie at the theatre when I was a little kid, I've owned LP, cassette, CD, and DVD versions of it, and was lucky enough to see a live revival with the original motion picture cast at the Blossom Music Festival back in the early 90's. The only goal left for me to accomplish with this musical is to actually take part in some local production of it. I know this bad boy by heart from start to finish, so any measly part will do...
Little Drummer Boy: Christmas Favourites by the World Renowned Vienna Boys' Choir
Very solid selection of songs, beautifully sung by Michael Jackson's fave musical act.
Messiah (George Frideric Handel, composer) -- Battle, Quivar, Aler, Ramey, soloists; The Toronto Symphony, Andrew Davis, conductor
This is but one of many excellent versions of Handel's Messiah. What sets it apart is Samuel Ramey's phenomenal rendition of "The Trumpet Shall Sound."
Rejoice, O Indestructible Fortress and Stronghold of Orthodoxy
A plethora of lovely Russian sacred songs... and the best album title ever.
Donadzar: New Year's and Christmas Songs in Armenian for Children and their Families (Nvair Kadian Beylerian)
And so, we segue from an imposing, regal album title to an awkward, goofy album title that's eerily reminiscent of Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. But to hell with the Russkies. The Armenian Orthodox Apostolic Religion has the distinction of being the first nationally accepted and instituted Christian religion (301 AD -- read it and weep, bitches). As for the music in this album, it's a charming mix of traditional Armenian and Western European Christmas songs.
Classical Christmas (The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra)
Wonderful orchestral arrangements of many well-known Christmas classics, as well as some truly classical and grossly overlooked compositions, including my personal fave, Mozart's indescribably joyful "Sleigh Ride."
O Holy Night (Luciano Pavarotti)
Christmas 1981 was a memorable affair for me, and not because it was my first Christmas in the States, but because it was the first time I saw Luciano Pavarotti's epoch-making Christmas concert from the Notre Dame Cathedral (thank you, PBS!!!). Although no audio recordings of that live performance exist, at least to the best of my admittedly limited knowledge, Decca did get studio recordings of most of those Christmas and Sacred Oratorio songs, as well as some bizarre out-of-place selections ("Chè farò senza Euridice," while an absolutely wonderful aria, has absolutely zero bearing on Christmas). The album is solid from start to finish, and was thankfully recorded during Pavarotti's prime. In my humble opinion, no one has ever sung Schubert's "Ave Maria" and "Mille cherubini in coro" as well as the late Luciano. The requiem pieces are also noteworthy: Verdi's "Ingemisco" showcases Pavarotti's resplendent upper register, and Rossini's "Cujus animam" is capped off by a ringing high D. But for me, the highlight of the program is Pavarotti's sublime rendition of Alessandro Stradella's beautiful "Pietà, Signore."
Joy to the World (Joan Sutherland)
As phenomenal as Pavarotti's "O Holy Night" is, it comes in second to La Stupenda's astounding "Joy to the World." I haven't superlatives enough to describe this album, so I won't bother. The only negative, at least for me, is the fact that, as was the case throughout her entire singing career, Sutherland didn't exactly go to great lengths to enunciate every word clearly... but who gives a tin shit about diction when, with all apologies to Handel, the bright seraphim blows its loud, uplifted trumpet?
Merry Christmas, all !!!
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
It's been an up and down week
More like down, then up.
I finally gave up on the old washer and dryer, because it had gotten to the point where it took literally over four hours just to wash my customary two loads a week. Money, of course, is as tight as a nun's, er, habit, so this was an unwelcome expense. Bummer. Luckily, though, one of my friends had a practically new washer and dryer set that he wasn't using, and he was kind enough to sell it to me for a very low price. Nice.
While trying to unload the washer and dryer from the rampless U-Haul pick-up truck I ended up stuck with, I dislocated my left shoulder for the fourth time in ten years. Bummer. I guess the ligaments there are pretty loose by now, though, because it only took me one try to pop that sucker back in. Nice.
I was vacuuming the house last Saturday, when my gazillion-year old Hoover blew up. Bummer. That same afternoon, my AT&T rebate card arrived, giving me a much-needed scarole infusion that allowed me to purchase a replacement vacuum cleaner. Nice.
A series of events too bizarre and long-winded to recount here made it painfully clear to me that my career is going absolutely nowhere, and that all the sacrifices I made over the past three years while wrestling with graduate school will have ultimately been pointless. Bummer. Then again, I finally received my Certified Diver card, so I can at least benefit from my extensive but useless knowledge of marine geobiology when I go on my first open water dive. Nice.
I finally gave up on the old washer and dryer, because it had gotten to the point where it took literally over four hours just to wash my customary two loads a week. Money, of course, is as tight as a nun's, er, habit, so this was an unwelcome expense. Bummer. Luckily, though, one of my friends had a practically new washer and dryer set that he wasn't using, and he was kind enough to sell it to me for a very low price. Nice.
While trying to unload the washer and dryer from the rampless U-Haul pick-up truck I ended up stuck with, I dislocated my left shoulder for the fourth time in ten years. Bummer. I guess the ligaments there are pretty loose by now, though, because it only took me one try to pop that sucker back in. Nice.
I was vacuuming the house last Saturday, when my gazillion-year old Hoover blew up. Bummer. That same afternoon, my AT&T rebate card arrived, giving me a much-needed scarole infusion that allowed me to purchase a replacement vacuum cleaner. Nice.
A series of events too bizarre and long-winded to recount here made it painfully clear to me that my career is going absolutely nowhere, and that all the sacrifices I made over the past three years while wrestling with graduate school will have ultimately been pointless. Bummer. Then again, I finally received my Certified Diver card, so I can at least benefit from my extensive but useless knowledge of marine geobiology when I go on my first open water dive. Nice.
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