American culture lost a legend last week, with the passing of Kinky Friedman. He, along with his band, The Texas Jewboys, were an underrepresented minority in country music.
A sampling of his wisdom. Some of these quotes make more sense in the context of his run for Texas governor in 2006.
Kinky Friedman - They Ain't Makin' Jews
Wishing a happy, loving Fathers Day to all the fathers in my life; who strive to be worthy of that title - and who remember their own fathers with love, and seek, and in in their memories, a source of guidance
I was gratified, while channel surfing this morning, to see that NBC is referring to the clay-court tennis tournament underway in a Paris suburb as the Roland Garros. I was in Paris twenty-six years ago, during this annual event. When I asked around about the 'French Open', nobody knew what I was asking about. Nobody there calls it that, and nobody seemed to know that anybody else did. Like Wimbledon, it is named after the stadium where it is played – and the stadium that hosts this is named after an early French aviation hero, Roland Garros. American television has just been very slow to respect that.
I'm a little conflicted about my post last week regarding the budget negotiations. I stand by every assertion in the post, but am trying to avoid politics on Facebook. So, in order to avoid controversy or disagreement, I offer this simple observation.
With all due respect for fans of the Beatles, the Stones, Elvis, or anybody else's body of work, I just want to point out that the absolutely all-time best Rock album is Bruce Springsteen's 1975 treasure, Born to Run.
Each song is a masterpiece of lyrical poetry, matched with the only conceivable instrumental accompaniment intense and evocative enough to complement the words - all with the intent of drawing the listener into the reality of tough sixties-era east-coast urban life life; lived on the wrong side of the tracks, the bridge, the law.
Any song from the album would prove the point; the exclamation of Jungleland is the amazing stop-you-in-your-tracks saxophone solo from the late Clarence Clemons.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lW1RAYYs8RI
You know what I love most about Easter?
It's a wonderful celebration for Christians of the signature miracle that defines their faith; along with celebrations among others of the return to growth and fertility, it is a time of hope and optimism.
But my favorite thing about Easter is shared with Halloween, Christmas, and birthdays. It is an opportunity for grown-ups to share a view with children that the world can be a magical, generous place, in which they are welcome, and loved.
I attended my high school reunion this weekend. Not gonna say which one ... but the Senate Watergate Hearings were on TeeVee as we donned cap and gown.
It's nice to see these folks I grew up with as we mature, and continue the process of growing up (yours truly possibly excepted). Friday evening Abby's Pizza; Saturday dinner and live music at Sylvan Ridge winery; Ah! sylvan indeed, not to mention verdant, pastoral, perhaps even bucolic – but I digress. Sunday, of course, was the mid-day potluck at Emerald Park, where we shared time together with everybody's (or their spouse's) best dishes. Unlike that same park, when we were growing up, nobody offered to sell me any pot, and only one person witnessed to me about Jesus – and he is a lifelong friend, who backed off before I had to witness back to him about the Flying Spaghetti Monster (Bless His Noodly Appendage). So it was all smiles.
I love these gatherings! With the mellowing of age, many who occupied the highest status have been chastened by time, and become truly enjoyable company – and a few of the wallflowers have sprouted into bold self-actualized extroverts.
I'm already looking forward to the next gathering!
