Sophia Is Baptized, Ali Accompanies

 Sophia has been baptized. She said she was nervous, but she didn’t seem it.  She was as cool and pristine as always.  she only required one dipping, too.

Ali was the one to deal with.   She knew from the beginning I was going to be accompanying the song after the confirmation. She asked if she could be on the piano bench right beside me. Of course I agreed.  What harm could she do?  What harm indeed?

She confirmed this with me often. And I continued to agree not realizing that in fact she planned to sabotage the situation -- unknowingly, of course.  

When it was just about our turn, I informed Ali, and  she almost took off. I grabbed her arm just in time. Soon we were serenely  seated on the piano bench. The chorister began to wave her arm and I began to play. Then my horror, Ali placed her hands  firmly right on top of mine. I could barely move my hands. She left them there for the entire first verse. She is strong for a six-year-old.

She played around for the second verse for which I was grateful but she returned her task for the third verse.

I don’t think I humiliated Sophia on her special day. I don’t think Elmer Nelson, my piano teacher, from age ten to twenty took note in the celestial kingdom.

But I do think the world  ought to take special note,  pun intended, of Alison Aukschun.   she is definitely someone with whom making music is magic time.  It’s hard work, you must be alert and there are no advance warnings of anything.

Good Music is Good Music -- Isn't It?

I will not exaggerate at all in this in the least. 


We were having lunch at Southtowne Mall and Carl went off to the restroom.  I felt comfortable alone so I sat mindlessly watching a rap video on one of the major video screens placed randomly around the place. 


Then suddenly I noticed a guy with an askew baseball cap glaring at me. He didn't look unlike the guy in the photo above except he was younger, you could see his numerous tattoos, his look on his face was even nastier and, no, he definitely wasn't Eminem.  


Am I not allowed to watch rap even?  I had no particular look on my face though he definitely did. In fact, I forget the name of the rapper who was on the video, but his rap was kinda catchy, in no way offensive (it was a public mall, after all) and I actually liked it.  I don't plan to download it, but it was okay.  


 I haven't been living in a basement, you know.  Rap has been around for a long time, since maybe the seventies, and only a real shut-in doesn't have some awareness of it. And you have to be a real bigot not to be able to appreciate its finer points, it's rhythm, rhyme, it's dance.  


It's violence, mysogyny, its language, its hate is not quite so pleasing.  This one had none of that.  It was nice.  


I think this kid was wondering what business I had watching it or at least was presuming I had a negative judgement of it.  I remember about twenty years ago when Reno Mahe, who was in my seminary class at Brighton High School at the time, was asking a white kid sitting next to him why he liked hip-hop when it wasn't his music.  The answer then was simply because he liked it.  Reno seemed to buy that.


My answer would have not been exactly the same the other day, but close enough.  It would have been "Why shouldn't I like it?"  

There Are Not Massive Strokes and Massive Strokes

Well, we've got this one straightened out.

It would appear that the press got it wrong on this one.

Remember the reports of Bret Michaels and his "massive stroke"?

Years ago, I had a friend who had an anyeurism at age twenty-six and it took him two years to start to walk and talk and still to this day, maybe forty-five years later, he has little short-term memory.  Tough stuff, that.  Brutal. Essentially, a "massive stroke."

Then there was my Dad who had a "massive stroke" and never was able to walk, talk or function with any degree of productive movement.

Then I start hearing that Bret Michals is walking, talking, blogging, doing the Funky Chicken and I'm thinking "Have they made enormous strides in stroke treatment or is Bret Michaels really the Golden Child?" I'm glad he's doing well, don't misinterpret me, here.  But this is too amazing.

So I called my close pal, and neighbor, Dr. Paul Hansen and undoubtedly former Primary class participant who gave me the following information:

He actually knows the doctor who was on duty when Mr. Bret Michaels came into the hospital and talked to him the other night!  Yes.  Yes.  You know the right people.  (I mean me, you fools.)

Mr. Bret Michaels actually drove his Bentley, parked it himself and walked into the hospital under his own steam, not complaining of the "worst headache of his life" but of what was like a pulled muscle in his neck.  The doctor just decided to do a CT scan "just in case".  He was having no balance or speech problems or other classic symptoms of a stroke.

But it was discovered he did have some bleeding from the brain stem but probably not much.

Paul got no diagnosis from his friend, but he said it certainly didn't sound like a "massive stroke" with lots of bleeding going on inside, and certainly not with much, if  any damage.

I asked him about repairs, which never take place until after things are stabilized and he said that they probably had taken place by now and the drop in sodium which can cause seizures was probably put together by the press on the internet without much hospital input.

You know what?  I don't think the hospital had to tell the press much at all.  I think that what they had been told was too boring so they ran with all the drama that popped into their own little heads.

Is there improvement in stroke treatment over the last forty, twenty years?  Guess not really much.

Paul and I also wondered whether Bret Michaels is just really lucky or . . . if God might like to hear a just little more Poison.  Hmmmm. Who's to say?

Yesterday's Project, Today's Job Well-Done

Finished putting my CDs on my IPhone and my report is 887 songs, 109 albums, 22 compilations (meaning what?)  361 composers,  and 13 genres.

I also attended a class on essential oils which surprised me by softening the stiffness in my shoulders and horrible pain therein caused by all the downloading of songs and albums to my IPhone, went to lunch with Loraine and did little else.

I did launch myself into Foursquare and was humiliated on Facebook for that by my son and a former student, but was much too busy doing other things to stay on top of that.

Busy, busy busy.  When will life get back to normal?  Oh wait.  I did say I finished up my music project, didn't I.  Well, I guess that happens tomorrow.

I hope you sense the sarcasm.

Madness and Compulsive Projects

I always thought that I wasn't smacked at all with the mighty family OCD brush until one day when I was talking with brother Scott and he asked "Do you count?"

"Of course I count."

But I knew what he meant.  He meant do you count the steps you take?  The times the shower cleaner machine beeps?  The times you scratch an itch?  Shut up Scott.

I got a little compulsive tonight.  I put my old CDs on my IPhone knowing that I'd not missed them much.  Yet I went through them all, not missing a one, not missing a song since I was unable to eliminate any.  I got through about half and neatly marked the perfect spot to stop and begin again the next time I begin again.

I couldn't bring myself to forget any either so I go from "Alley Oop" to "24 Hours of Loneliness" so far.  No one will be able to stand to listen to my music with me.  Who can stand to listen to a CD straight through without skipping.  No one CD has a complete selection of gems.  Not even "Pet Sounds".

I've got Simon and Garfunkle, The White Album, Elton John, Fleetwood Mac, Billy Joel, Janis Joplin, Eric Clapton, John Coltrane, and more.  Plenty of good ones, and I'm less than half way through.

When will I finish up?  Who knows?  Maybe tomorrow, maybe never.  When will I listen to any of it?  Maybe tomorrow maybe never.  But at least I've devoted (wasted) three (or more) hours (that I'll never get back) doing something that is important (to no one) in the course of human events.

Fiddler On The Roof With a Whole New Ending

Here's a jolly confession for ya.  I forgot that Fiddler on the Roof was not a happy, light little musical.

So the other night when we went to see it at Hale Theatre, I was happily tapping my foot through all of the merry tunes like "Tradition," "Matchmaker, Matchmaker Make Me a Match," "Sunrise, Sunset," "If I were a Rich Man",  on and on, . . . then things began to take a nasty turn.

Cossacks?  I didn't remember them exactly.  Pogroms?  What?  Threats?  "Three days and you better be off your land!"  NO!!!  That's not right, is it?

I did see the movie on the big screen in a theatre, so it was along time ago, but hey, I wasn't that stupid, was I?  I didn't miss the whole section on current events and I do remember having to watch Judgement at Nuremburg in high school.  I even had to bring a note from my mother.  I do remember that part.

Maybe the thing that threw me was how accepting they seemed of their fate.  I was young, you know.  I would have been in my sulky stage, perhaps, and would have been stomping around, complaining it wasn't fair, that I know my rights then would have started right in calling people names and kicking and screaming, pinching and scratching until I got my way.

I don't know.   All I know is that the whole second half came as a big surprise to me.  I really got my money's worth, don't you think?

Billy Joel and Elton John Come to Salt Lake and Me In Concert!

Now folks, understand this.  I am so glad I downloaded my Bick lighter app on my IPhone in advance because I used it liked crazy during the concert at the Energy Solutions Center.  I also screamed like crazy.  These two guys are not old and neither was I for three plus hours.  It was fabulous.  My ears are still ringing.  

They are a natural together.  Just as the two girls in the picture below said, "They're like Ranch and carrots."  The whole night was perfect.

They started out singing a few of each other's songs in duet perfectly, then Elton took over for an hour, then Billy was on for his hour, then Elton returned and  the two of them went at it together for three, or so more songs.  I was screaming like an crazy schoolgirl.  I don't know where it came from.  Carl even commented, and he usually tries to stay out of my business.  

The girls sitting by me kind of dumbfounded me because they loved John and Joel.  The wondered in the beginning if they would like them as much as they liked Fleetwood Mac!  I asked them how old they were and they thought that was pretty funny, but they were really cute the whole night.  I couldn't have sat by better people. They screamed, they danced, they drank beer so they got funnier and funnier.  It really was a cute little perk.  They took our picture below.  But I digress.

"Rocket Man", "Tiny Dancer", "Daniel", "Philadelphia Freedom", "Crocodile Rock", "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road", all made me crazy as I loved Elton.  

"We Didn't Start the Fire", "It's Still Rock and Roll to Me", "She's Always a Woman", and "Only the Good Die Young", were Billy's with power, beauty and style.  

Together they finished with "Uptown Girl" (I guess that Joel can't do that one alone anymore, what with Kristie Brinkley and all), "Bennie and the Jets", and "Candle in the Wind".  I knew that was about it and I wanted to rush the stage and beg them not to stop.  I know now how addicts feel for sure.

Look at this face.  Am I not an idiot?  That is pure joy, I tell you.  I know what Elton said a day or so before about Jesus, but I bet Jesus himself loves Elton just because he knows Elton is a little cracked and  . . . just because he can pound the socks off a piano and can make life just glorious for three hours.   It was wonderful.

This Is It Might Even Be For The Cynic

If you ever liked Michael Jackson, the adult Michael Jackson, even a little, go see his movie This is It.  It's only in theatres for two total weeks so you don't have much time and I'm too lazy to check for you.  It's really good.  You didn't even have to love him.  Just like.  And maybe just one song, like "Billie Jean."

It's surprisingly cohesive, complete and not at all choppy.  There's a really good segment that has MJ as a villain in an old Chicago movie with Gilda (Rita Hayworth), Bogie (Humphrey Bogart) and Edward G. Robinson with all kindsa nifty shooting and singing and dancing.  (The names above are for the benefit of Julia, who was my date for the evening.)

Also, Thriller was redone and shown in its completeness and if you liked that before, you'll like seeing this though the whole deal with the girl in the haunted house isn't there -- just the cemetery.  But that was enough.  It was great.

There wasn't alot of fawning over him either although there was some and that was to be expected.  They talked about his perfectionism and his knowledge of music in general and of his own music.  And they showed his "hands on" approach to rehearsing, but mostly it was singing and dancing, and he really could do both.  It was a pleasure watching him do both for a couple of hours.

The rest of what he was, or might have been, doesn't even matter anymore anyway.  He was just another tremendous talent from whom sorrow took the really big toll.

The Following Story is Ripped From the Pages Of ALMOST True Confessions

The great news is I bought tickets for the Elton John and Billy Joel concert at the Energy Solutions Arena next month.  Great news does not always require bad news, but I have some.  The number of tickets I bought is three and Carl and I are two.  Further, the single ticket is in a much better spot, costs almost as much as the other two combined,  and is alooooone.

This isn't the first time fiasco follows excitement at a concert at ESA.

We went to the Bob Dylan/Paul Simon concert years ago which provoked my flurry at getting tickets this time, and haste, as you know, makes Jill a dull girl.  But more on that later.

At the previous concert, BD/PS, to be specific, we were really in nosebleed.  Up in the rafters, were we, with the crazies, the hopped up and the drunks.  The concert was, of course, fabulous.  But its fabulosity didn't stop us from observing the wild scene around us.  As I recall, things were rowdy enough, but then there was some rough stuff between a guy who took umbrage at another guy who spilled beer on his date.  Then the police arrived and some other stuff happened, and we had to crane and bob and weave to see around the brouhaha and really crank our hearing aids to hear the concert.  It was totally crazy.  There were the performers, not missing a beat and the concert-goers on the floor swaying, dancing and singing along.  And we, upstairs, were in chaos.  It was glorious.

But back to the ticket buying.  SmithsTix online buying is scary.  They announce that they are going to TIME YOU OUT if you don't get on with your business, and your reservation will be given to another.  Certainly lots scarier than the police and a bunch of drunken bums.  It renders you incapable of reading the line which reads "Quantity of tickets purchased" and causes your hand to punch "This approves this charge to my credit card" without a second thought.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Away From the Bright Lights of Broadway, We Find Aida!

Aida at Tuacahn in St. George was so much more than I expected.  The costumes were fabulous, the actors and dancers were so good, the singing was amazing and they actually had the Nile flood onstage.

Further to that, we were sitting on the front row, right in the middle.   I worried a little that I'd have to pick up my purse.   Carl is very, very good at selecting presents and tonight was our 43rd anniversary.

I was kind of surprised to like it so much because I remember when Aida first came out that the critics lambasted it.  Elton John did not come out of that one smelling like a rose.  But with some retooling, things are quite different now.

Actually, I don't remember hearing any of the music before, but it was still so good right from the beginning.   It usually takes awhile for me to get the hang of songs,  but I didn't have to this time.

Another wonderful surprise?  it was so uplifting and inspiring.  Somehow I didn't expect that from Rocket Man (I mean Elton John, incidentally), but that's what I got.  I promise.  We are always being entertained, but not so often inspired.