Cahiers du Moment

~Some seriously fleeting ephemera grabbed outta the air~

* My Sophie Tucker obsession rages unabated. Can't start my day without listening to "Fifty Million Frenchmen." The song that nukes me the most--musically, I mean--is "After You've Gone." My favorite songs are usually ones that transition well in and out of choruses/verses, and that one just...folds open like a flower. Drops achingly into the emotion of the chorus that the verse sets up even as the melody reaches higher. Creates the sound of resignation. I don't know how to describe how well I think that song's written. And I sure love her scratchy yearning version of it.

* More B&W fabulousness recently seen: the Powell/Pressburger film I Know Where I'm Going (1945), which contains a lot of slightly clichéd romantic through-lines familiar to contemporary audiences (not its fault, I think), but still...boy is it GOOD. Oh boy oh boy. And how did I not realize that I'm in love with Roger Livesey before? Colonel Blimp didn't do it for some reason. Golly. That diffident Cecil Parker-ish voice with those dashing looks and that Nose. Matinee idol dreamy...

* People are often fond of 'complaining' about their eclectic music tastes--OMG I'm so diverse!--rather as people might complain about buying bras for their big big boobs (in certain contexts, I mean; god knows that's a valid complaint)--but I have to say that that ill-thought out playlists really are kind of hard on the ears. Richard and Linda Thompson don't go well with anything other than more Richard and Linda Thompson, much less Michael Jackson. Or Pebbles. Or Journey. See? I did it too.

* Sheldon Leonard has to have the most recognizable voice in show business. Period. Full stop. TV, movies, whatever. Was there anybody else whose voice was so immediately, exactly theirs?

* I now own a ukulele. I can plink away on it not too terribly badly, as long as I don't follow a time signature, correct form, or any of the directions for chords other than C or G7. But hey. Onward and upward. Start making requests.

* I am new to the Ella Fitzgerald version of "Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead" and oh! does it swing. Such a fabulous mix of stuff, her voice and that tune. It's a powerful thing.

* Just throw your hands in the air
and do the best you can, everybody

* I was lucky enough to receive a few books in the mail recently, most of which belonged my grandmother--pretty old editions of works by Louisa May Alcott. Not the rarest things in the world, as far as I know, but very valuable to me. Lovely to see my grandmother's ink signature, written in them 100 years ago on the far south side of Chicago. Thank you, Uncle K.

* I dunno about you, but my eyes are constantly rimmed with both red and then dark circles underneath these days. It is Allergy Time.

* I could drink grapefruit juice by the swiggy gatoradecommercial gallon. Just love that stuff.

* Delicious lunch at Smoque today (hi Mike!). The brizkit fell apart under my fork and with some vinegary coleslaw on a squishy bun made an unbelievable sammch.

* I have been experiencing wild, technicolor, E!-Entertainment-meets-my-life dreams these days, populated by walk-ons from all weird corners of my life. Last night's, solipsy aside, must be recorded in the sketchy ways I can still remember it at this point, because it was rather juicy. It was set in the 70s, and there were all sorts of lucite-y, Helvetica-y, NY-Art-Scene nods to 2009 technology in it: "twitter" postings projected onto the wall, "cell phone" messages on paper, "Facebook" connections. Reverse nostalgia. Rachel Ray was in the dream, and as part of a TV promotion she was helping me pick a dog to match my cats, in this case a kangaroo-like Yorkie/Rottweiler mix that had really short arms like a T-Rex and hopped around. Also for part of the dream I was in a mansion (that Rosie O'Donnell was renting for her family), which a friend realized was the Spelling mansion because of the Monet-pained lily wall murals--half lilies, half flat hotel purple/mauve--in one of the indoor bar areas. I was also running around a mall trying to get paper-wrapped canvasses to somebody or other (more 70s...I remember DVF wraparound dresses and big earrings) and the only other thing I can say here is that my brain also found a way to incorporate some of the "Jizz in My Pants" SNL video in the mix. Nuts.

I'm going to bed.