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Source: Sit Down!
So it was my turn to name the next animal in the house; we were getting a male puppy, and I had my heart set on “Iggy,” named after my idol… Not very creative, I grant you, but heartfelt. We started looking at mutts at the Animal Humane Society and came upon a litter of 16 puppies, 8 males, 8 females, all named after minerals or rocks. One named “Igneous” jumped out of the heap and into my hands. He just sort of picked me.
We had him for almost 7 years. He was a very funny dog with many quirks and a little naughty streak, much like his namesake. We lost him this week and are feeling devastated. But here’s my Iggy, singing for you.
Increasingly, due to my advanced stage of aging and jadedness, several things need to be in place in order for me to be excited enough to go see a show. It needs to be someone I haven’t seen before or haven’t in a long time. It ideally needs to be on a Saturday night. It needs to be in a venue I like. I need to have plenty of lidocaine patches. Oh yeah, and it’s the day after my birthday — bonus.
This show’ll do nicely. It’s Holly Golightly, Girlfriends!!! Yeah, She Goddess of The Headcoatees and many other collaborations. (You can read about her in this conveniently linked wiki, ain’t I nice?) Holly and her Brokeoffs have been on an East Coast and Midwest tour and are gracing us with their presence.
In September Holly released “Blowtown Now!” – her first solo album in 11 years – on Damaged Goods. Holly and The Brokeoffs have just released a new album “Coulda Shoulda Woulda,” on October 16th on Transdreamer. I would expect that both albums will be available for purchase along with other merch at the show, and that is what I want for my birthday.
You can see where I get my glam thing
So my Mom would’ve been 80 yesterday (I think, if my math is correct…as she well knew, I suck at math) and I miss her like crazy. She had Alz which started about a couple of years or more before she passed, so the grieving process of “losing” her really started long before she died. It was brutal for my family to see her go from a sassy, quick-witted, life-of-the party “everyone’s Mom” to a person we just didn’t know; one fearful of her house and unaware of her surroundings. She would sort of go in and out of the dementia at times though – we had her in assisted living and, during one of my visits to Detroit to see her we were taking her back to her room. She didn’t want to go back in and we were trying to convince her it was ok. She looks at me and goes, “that woman in there (pointing to her room which she occupied alone) – she’s very, very ill…she needs to MACK THAT OUT with her doctor….” I’m like, “Mom did you turn into a pimp all of a sudden? Mack that out???” She goes, “You know, mack that out…” My sister’s boyfriend was standing behind her and I thought he was gonna bust out laughing.
Her personality would just pop in sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere. One of my brothers and sisters had taken her to the emergency room one day because she had fallen and hit her head. They had to wait a really long time to get in to have her examined and I guess she was just out of it and really acting ornery and squirrelly. My brother gets up at one point and says, “I’m going for coffee,” and she says, “oh, hurry back, wizard,” a term she used to always tease him with when he had fucked something up. Then they all just started laughing their asses off, including her. Demented levity.
My Sunday afternoons used to include a 2-hour conversation with Mom – every week we’d have a gab fest and she’d keep me up-to-date with the latest family doings. She’s been gone for 3 years now. It gets a little easier with time I guess, but we mark these dates like birthdays, dates of deaths and other occasions with a little bit of bittersweet melancholy.
And I’m mackin it out.
Reminiscing with strong coffee on Sunday mornings can lead to all sorts of things; yesterday I was just looking for funny stuff and came across this old clip of the immortal Richard Pryor on the Johnny Carson show. He just simply and plainly explained the truth about people with addictive personalities – we cannot stop at two drinks like you “normal” people – as Richard puts it, you don’t stop until you’re sure all the alcohol is gone. The way you wake up not knowing where you are – although I’ve never woken up driving 90 miles an hour – that’s reserved for big-time stars I think. Or someone telling you what you did the night before – and you don’t even recognize the person telling you. Oh yeah, that happens.
So why stay completely sober? Because it just gets out of control SO EASILY. My last drinky night was at a September 3, 1992 Cramps show at First Avenue in Minneapolis, so the day after that…that is my quitting day I guess. I don’t do the AA thing, that just doesn’t resonate with me
So here’s to you, Richard Pryor, we were so lucky to have you.
And thanks, Lux Interior, for the best last night of tearing it up possible:
My friend J. Otis is recuperating from a serious illness and this campaign to raise money to help pay for some of his expenses is over the half-way point to meeting its goal. Please contribute and help out one of the Twin Cities’ greatest talents. Thank you very much.
THIS JUST IN: To my peeps in the Twin Cities – there is a fundraiser being held at Intermedia Arts, here is the info:
Members from the community are coming together to produce a benefit show honor and celebrate local treasure J. Otis Powell‽ on Wed July 15th at Intermedia Arts (7pm). We would love to have you there to witness & contribute to the wall poetry/word/image mural that will hang in J. Otis’s recovery room. Come commune, jam and celebrate with us.
Purchase your ticket here:
And some old friends were a spinnin, mindfully (well, I spin in an intentionally mindless way, which could be construed as mindful, if you think about it. Don’t think about it too hard, though.) Marc and Beth were manning the M2 table with some hors d’oeuvres and information was flowing along with the hoppy brews.
Added set – Drew’s gig the next day – all 45s delighting the brunchers at The Third Bird.
The dog kennel is de-pooped, for now. Those maple tree helicopter things are still hovering down. Chris has been valiantly blowing them off the deck where they are not wanted, then sweeping and carrying them off into the new spring compost bin. The mushy leaves which we use to cover the hosta jungle on the shady side of the yard have been raked up and also added into the compost oven. Hey, we’re not scholars from the Rodale Institute or anything, but compost really rocks. And so do rocks – the back yard has been totally Fred Flintstoned. A pond-with-3-tiered-waterfall project became Chris’ answer to losing a huge tree in the back of the yard; instead of removing the huge tree trunk he just added huge boulders and began the waterfall. It’s his baby which needs tending to occasionally; the pond portion has little leaks from time-to-time but generally we’ve been pretty happy with it. The birds, especially cardinals, seem to love to take little showers in the waterfall; they hang out there for hours sometimes. In early spring a couple of mallards stop and visit as though they’re looking at real estate – “honey, I know it’s just a one-bedroom but we wouldn’t have those damned Drakes next door causing all that racket.” (That’s me, anthropromorpholizing our duck visitors.) Then they see that we have two big dogs, and the sale goes south in a quick hurry.
We hardly travel for a variety of reasons; it’s expensive, we never have enough time, we’re not good planners, we’ve got two big dogs. So for us, our little plot of South Minneapolis is our retreat. Sure, there are the sounds of cars, trucks and motorcycles whooshing by down on the street, but we pretend it’s the sound of waves crashing on the Northern Pacific shoreline somewhere (ok, I do that, Chris isn’t quite there yet). There are the occasional shouts, firecrackers, those crotch rocket things that I don’t even like to call motorcycles, and sometimes dogs who have been left in their yards who won’t stop barking, but it all comes with the territory. We have plants that attract butterflies and even hummingbirds; squirrels, rabbits, raccoons and even possums like to hang out in our sanctuary.
We’re city folk at heart, I guess. Summertime, and the living is easy. So here’s a slooomooo moment. It’s one of those reminders to live in the present.