Ordinary Beauty

Okay, first of all I have to love-hate a state whose abbreviation is MO.

Nevermind that were it not for MO, I wouldn’t have the adorable husband that I have (he, being born in STL, MO).

He is at The Pageant in STL, MO at this very moment, as I sit here in Seattle. And at this moment, he is probably listening as Rundgren & band sing, “One step, higher, higher” although if there was an opening band, Rundgren is probably right in the midst of declaring, “Now I’m mad“.

Before my dear flew off this morning, we had a long chat during which I tried to convince him that I have no issues with him stalking Todd Rundgren; it’s not something I have any interest in doing, and I cannot really “relate” to it. But it’s what he wants to do, and just because I don’t feel such compulsion (for Rundgren or anyone else) doesn’t mean that I don’t get it. As I’ve said before, Rundgren and his work had a gigantic, positive, life-changing effect on my husband in his youth–and the music is hot these days, too.

Besides, thanks to certain connections in STL, this time there’ll be an All Access pass to glue onto my dear’s black linen jeans, although he swears he will forego the back stage stalking for the better sound quality that will be found in front of the stage.

Oh, and then tomorrow night he’s off to VooDoo in Kansas City.

I know you have been waiting breathlessly for pix from the big ReFirement party. Hope to have some Flicker links soon. In the meantime, this is what the transition looked like:

Okay. Perhaps I’ve been a little too hard on the FANS, lumping all FANS together, when really only some of them are aptly labeled “stagnant”. I mean, some people really just are passionate about music and musicians. With all due respect I ought to acknowledge that. So.

We had amazing seats at the show tonight. Inches from the stage. So close I could read the label on the hem of Todd’s black T-shirt (Calvin Klein). And The Triple Door is such a civilized venue. Really a different place than Aladdin Theater. Plus the food and cocktails are amazing.

But those are just the perks.

No “music reviews” from me on tonight’s show. I’m not so qualified for that. But I can give you a “people” review.

Todd was not so cranky as last night. In fact, I couldn’t say he was cranky at all. All the musicians seemed happier, seemed more delighted, pleased with the music they were concocting. And, I liked the show much more; I always find joy in watching people create something together, and I love it even more when they are obviously finding joy in it themselves.

And when the creation is tinged with genius … I love that the most. So, I pretty much loved tonight.

I hope many, many copies of “Arena” are sold, and that many, many ears hear this music.

My husband has been demoted from the category of FAN. See, I didn’t really know what a FAN was until encountering the crowd at the Todd Rundgren show last night. I’m just a little out of the loop on this aging rock star, aging FAN thing.

For example, in the audience last night there was “Rick” (name changed to protect the innocent) who came decked out in Todd T-shirt, Todd laminate, and some other pieces of Todd paraphernalia that I can’t quite recall. Rick joined the 50- and 60-somethings who were worshiping at the stage. And you know, I’m sorry, but some of these people really seem to be stuck in the ’70s.

Todd was clearly pissed. He ragged on the venue and the promoters–railing on about lack of monitors and legs broken en route to the dressing room–but that was the least of “it”. The real temper was in the tunes.

He humored us for awhile, playing classics from the “Utopia” days, but then he moved on into his present-tense passion, material from the new “Arena” CD.

He opened with, “Mad” followed by “Afraid” and it wasn’t pretty. As in, as he pointed out later, no blue-eyed soul.

Loud. Speedy. Complicated. Loud. Todd’s vocals summarized the tone–lots of screaming and wailing, underscoring the words of the songs.

I don’t know how he does that; one moment vocalized angst and the next a loving purr. Then more Loud & Complex. Rather like life, I can see.

Part of life is that, people age. Rock stars age. Some of them stagnate and play all the old tunes forever. (I suspect that to be a FAN you have got to stagnate.)

Some people, such as Todd Rundgren, continue to grow. If we’re lucky, we grow with them.

I have always been attracted to geeks and dorks (defining “dork” as a geek with artistic tendencies). With only a few exceptions, the men I have loved have been musicians or scientists (or both). Dominique, who invented a new approach to division and taught himself how to play drums. Dr. John, ER doc with guitars in the attic and watercolor paints in the studio. Michael, “invisible” bass player. David, man of many strings. Greg, inventor of languages and fond of stringing his 12-string backwards, for the joy of relearning it. Randy, former Eagle Scout, now wreaking havoc with camera and code.

Anyway. With that “heritage” it is not a surprise that the man I am married to is a geek–musician, engineer, photographer, tinkerer. And with all that “heritage” you would quite fairly expect that I would understand being a FAN, a groupie so to speak. But I, um, don’t really know that territory.

My dear spouse however, is a FAN. FAN in all-caps, of a certain rock star who really truly opened the doors of possibility for him.

He was fourteen when he heard Todd Rundgren’s “Utopia”. He says, “the album opened my eyes. It was a doorway to the Rabbit Hole.”

This is his tribute to Todd’s 1974 album “Utopia” being both ahead of its time in content–”Like nothing else going on then”–and, Todd’s full-on hands-on involvement: Engineer, producer, songwriter, performer.

To hear my husband speak of this, there is no missing his passion, and his gratitude, for Todd Rundgren.

Imagine now, my man’s life as a boy child in the midwest–imagine dust and grime, and limited options. To have a musical bent but only the reference points of bad AM radio … and to finally breathe in the novelty and intelligence of Rundgren’s music. Really, “savior” is not too lavish of a credit to give to Rundgren.

I suppose it is a classic story, boy meets (real) music and his life is saved, his life is shaped; as Todd did, he grew up to be engineer/producer/songwriter/performer. However, this is the first time that I’ve lived beside such a living history, and I have a few things to learn to understand.

I am learning to understand, for example, what is a FAN. In this case, a FAN is someone who buys airplane tickets and travels long distances to hear and see his hero perform. Multiple times, same tour. Tuesday, we travel to Portland, Wednesday, we are among the lucky few who scored tickets to the show at The Triple Door.

On the 23rd, he’s off to a show in St Louis, and the 24th, a show in Kansas City. All of this following the show that wrapped up “Toddstock” Todd’s 60th Birthday/Fan Appreciation extravaganza–which explains the photo below–my dear spouse, in Todd’s kitchen, with Todd!

Finally, using my talents for good!

One entire week into “retirement” and now scrambling to get ready for The Inevitable Event next Saturday. This is the party we decided to host annually after we had such a great time at our wedding last year. Drop me a comment with your email address if you didn’t receive the Evite (a whole lot of folks got theirs stuck in a spam filter or something so perhaps that’s where yours is??).

The backdrop I am painting is for the entrance to the party. Quite welcoming, eh?

For awhile I’ve been coveting a certain set of glassware, that I’d seen in a catalog–because I have a particular fondness of sparkling wine, and actually had nothing in my (extensive) collection of glassware that I could use for bubbly on an informal basis.

I mean, check out this description lead-in: “Every flower is unique, as is every guest at your table … ” How can you resist?

Well, easy really. At over 100 bucks delivered, I just could not justify spending that much to indulge a certain dilettante pursuit.

But damn, I kept coming back to the image I’d seen in the catalog, so one day I Googled the product title, “Giardino Etched Glasses”, and several less expensive options popped up.

I plunged. And purchased a set from grounded: garden shop.

When the package arrived (mere days later) I was a little disappointed to find that my extravagance was MADE IN CHINA. I have been boycotting all things made in China, after hearing from friends the degree of pollution in that country. I was a little more disappointed to find one of the glasses with a defect that made it especially likely to tip and spill.

I steeled myself for a hassle, and secured the packaging and packing list, expecting I would have to return the entire lot to correct the defect.

But the customer service at grounded, it rocks. I called. Juli Risner confirmed which of the six different etchings was on my defective glass, and promised to ship a replacement straight away.

That was it, so simple.

The new glass was waiting for me this evening when I got home from work, all packaged in that nice, dissolving packing material, all of two business days later … sweet. (Although I suppose I should look into the possibility that those corn starch pellets are another faux “green” product.)

I’ll be good though, and not use this great customer service as an excuse to indulge some more :-)

Damn. Things are really on a roll.

This was yet another evening nestled in the midst of genius, enjoying the work of the 13 female performing artists who concocted and presented “Mercy Ride”, a well-woven tale of life, love, growing up, and growing up some more.

I left the theatre feeling sad and happy all at once–a deep sensation.

Again, I encourage you to take this in. It plays again tomorrow night, tickets here.

(And if you miss it, at least you can catch one of the stars, the lovely Tinka Jonakova, down at Hattie’s Hat for Sunday brunch. Well, she was keeping the coffee cups filled the last time I had brunch there.)

I woke this morning with confetti in my hair–thanks to some passionate dumb-ass clown who was protesting the abuse of animals in the circus, the Circus Contraption no less.

What animals? The mermaid? The cockroaches? The geeks?
Clown comes running in, screams something, and explodes a cannon of confetti.

In case you missed it, there’s still time to catch it. And you ought to.

Show to End All Shows. It’s Circus Contraption so of course there is some twisted genius subtext there. Let’s just say that parody and dark humour weave throughout the show–and giant cockroaches wrap it all up.

Show

To

End

All

(shows)

Just got home from this show. Still mostly speechless. What I CAN say though, is if you can make the show tomorrow, you truly ought to go. Last show in Seattle, 2:00, Mother’s Day, May 11. Go.

Genius.

Lightness.

Inspiration.

Last night the Black-haired Boy and I celebrated the second anniversary of our first date with a re-enactment–a voyage to Cirque du Soleil.

“Voyage” seems most apt as all the sailing metaphors kick in–sail away, swept away, transported …

I love the circus. You might already know that. What I don’t know–in words–is, why. But the thought of attending a circus makes me bubble up inside and I will clap and jiggle about with a very un-mitigated joy.

So I almost cannot stand myself right now–Cirque du Soleil’s “Corteo” last night, “Aurelia’s Oratorio” on Saturday, and the opening night of Circus Contraption’s “The Show To End All Shows” in just two weeks.

I so very much want my own circus tent, an undulating spiky-topped one with stripes, perhaps orange and crimson stripes. I am scheming to make my (humble, plain) laundryroom into an ode to circus. I’ve already hung both modern and vintage circus posters in there and am currently pondering how to drape the walls to give the sense of being inside a circus tent. I wonder if I will go so far as to strew artificial elephant poop about the floor?

plastic garbage bag
wind blows slowly down the street
city tumbleweed

Just back from a visit to New Mexico. I don’t recall ever being there before, and was eager to go off to this land of vast landscapes, and spend a few days soaking in the mineral waters at Ojo Caliente.

These are the “cliffside suites” of the Ojo Caliente resort. We stayed in number 49 (7 x 7) and the room was quite nice–fragrant with the wood from the kiva fireplace. The radiant heat floor didn’t work, but hey, with a fireplace, who’s complaining.

This is the Soda springs, my favorite pool of the lot. I adore the whole thing of it–the simple roof, the black rocks at the bottom of the walls topped by the white rocks, the colored glass blocks. And, that there is a water snake who likes to visit here. I didn’t get to see the snake, but I spent a long time sitting, waiting–and the time spent was delicious.

The view while soaking in the iron pool, my second favorite. The water here comes sometimes out of a spout above a boulder in the wall, and always from beneath the pebbles at the floor of the pool. I stood on the hot hot space and contemplated the strength of the earth and the water–and their force.

100,000 gallons of water come up to the surface here from within the earth–each day. I struggle to imagine this volume, this force.

On the plateau above the hot springs are the Posi-Ouinge ruins. A short but steep hike from the hot springs gets you there.

I was awed by the number of pottery shards scattered and gathered on the ground here. This is BLM land and the area was occupied 700 years ago, and abandoned during some epidemic. Now, visitors are greeted by a pamphlet with the plea to leave the pottery shards where they are found, so that archaeologists can attempt to reconstruct this civilization. But, time and weather forces thwart this–the shards are everywhere, including in the designated hiking path, where they would be walked upon if not set aside.

So, all about the area are arrays of shards that have been carefully placed atop red stone slabs. It’s really rather eerie. And, it’s difficult to resist the pleas to leave the shards alone and to not take any. There are thousands, and clear evidence that the rains and weather are going to sweep them away.

The photo above shows just a few of the shards gathered in a spiral that has been built by modern visitors. Standing in the middle of the spiral, there is a 180 degree view of the area, and down below, the Rio Chama.

This is me. Well, this is me as seen by a woman who can see things most mortals can’t.

There’s a lot to this portrait, that I’m not so qualified to go into, but I will say that the experience was marvelous, and I have a lot of new information to use as I ponder myself and my future.

If you want your own portrait painted, please contact Elke Macartney.