He drives past my house so my father won’t see and pulls up in the cul-de-sac circle, in the woods, and shrugs because he isn’t sure how to kiss me, he isn’t sure how to navigate the center console, or how to keep the windows of his Chevy from steaming up, or even the best way to wrap his arms around me to express what he wants to express, without scaring me back down to the city, without letting me think he just wants to be friends, so he smiles, and I smile, and together we sit together, just for a few moments, in un-silent silence in his Chevy in the woods, enveloped in the crickets and cold condensation and a decade-long crush and a soon-to-be crash.

Dua hal saya sampaikan dalam dialog Presiden dan para pemimpin media di Istana Negara, Minggu (22/11) malam, yaitu pola pikir legalistik formal yuridis dan sikap mengambang.

Sejak kasus “cicak lawan buaya” menjadi isu nasional, amat jelas kita telah disandera pikiran legalistik. Kita menjadi tawanan legalistic mind. Sikap dan tindakan kita dipengaruhi secara kaku dan berlebihan.

Akibatnya, kecil ruangan bagi hal yang lebih utama, yakni kehidupan dengan nilai-nilainya yang lebih berharga seperti keadilan dan kebenaran. Makin jelas nila mengamati perseteruan di kalangan lembaga penegakan hukum, bagaimana pikiran legalistik dinomorsatukan atas kerugian keadilan sosial. Kebenaran menjadi korban.

Mengapa sampai begitu ? Bangsa Indonesia sebetulnya kurang bakat untuk legalistic mind, dibandingkan dengan bangsa Jerman atau Jepang yang memperlihatkan sifat legalistiknya dalam urusan dagang, investasi, kontrak, dan sebagainya. Bukti gejala legalistik kita ialah ramainya diucapkan istlah seperti : supremasi hukum, fakta hukum, proses hukum, koridor hukum, prosedur, mekanisme, sistem, dan lain-lain. Kita menafsirkannya dengan subur dan keadaan ini menyesakan dada.

Mengambang

Ada pemeo berbunyi, “12 ahli hukum (pengacara), 13 pendapat (opini)“.  Apabila gejala legalistik dibiarkan berlanjut, kita bisa masuk jalan buntu, suatu cul-de-sac. Karena itu, perlu ada orang yang muncul untuk mengucapkan kata yang membebaskan kita dari penyanderaan legalistik.

Belakangan, istilah yang banyak digunakan adalah mengambang. Media menulis misalnya : Presiden SBY mengambang. Setelah rapat dengar pendapat Komisi III DPR dengn Kepala Polri, media memberitakan : Kepolisian mengambang. Menyusul Kejaksaan mengambang. Kemudian DPR mengambang. KPK mengambang. Setelah Tim Delapan menyelesaikan perumusan yang berkata : Ya, juga media mengambang ! Kalau ini terus berjalan demikian, sampailah kita pada keterangan : Indonesia mengambang.

Gejala ini jelas tidak bagus dan harus dihentikan. Maka, perlu dibuat jangkar, dimana bahtera bangsa berteduh saat ombak besar untuk kemudian melanjutkan pelayaran bila badai berlalu.

Harapan

Siapakah orang yang akan mengucapkan kata yang memerdekakan kita dari penyanderaan legalistik ? Siapakah yang bisa menghentikan gejala mengambang, membuat kita terapung-apung tanpa arah, pasrah pada tiupan angin musim ?  Jawabnya, Presiden. Tidak ada orang lain yang bisa mengatasi gejala pola pikir legalistik kaku serta gejala mengambang itu, tetapi Presiden Yudhoyono.

Harapan  inilah yang saya sampaikan dalam pertemuan silaturahim Presiden dengan para pemimpin redaksi media, Minggu malam. Keesokan malamnya (23/11), Presiden memberi respons atas rekomendasi Tim Delapan dalam sebuah tayangan TV secara nasional. Reaksi publik beragam. Mulai dari kecewa, sebagaimana dikatakan generasi muda yang menonton bareng pidato SBY, melalui penilaian pidato jurus tanpa bentuk menurut pendapat para aktivis, terus melalui ketua Tim Delapan yang mengatakan, meski berputar-putar, tetapi arahnya jelas, sampai kepada advokat penguasa hukum yang bilang masih bingung, atau kata Chandra tunggu satu dua hari lagi bagaimana pelaksanaannya oleh pihak Polri dan Kejaksaan Agung, atau pernyataan Bibit yang jelas, yaitu kembalikan kami ke pimpinan KPK.

Pertanyaan timbul, apakah masih relevan kesan pengamatan saya mengenai tersanderanya kita oleh pikiran legalistik berlebihan dan sikap mengambang setelah respons Presiden tadi ?

Kendati bisa timbul kesan bahwa Presiden tidak berbicara secara eksplisit, tidak menyebutkan tegas tentang beberapa hal yang tertera dalam rekomendasi Tim Delapan, saya belum kecewa dan saya tetap punya kepercayaan terhadap Presiden. Een goed verstaander heeft maar een half woord nodig (Orang yang pandai memahami, membutuhkan separuh perkataan), artinya tahu berbuat apa yang diharapkan dari dia.

Di dalam ini termasuk mengambil aneka tindakan sanksi, memberkahi keadaan internal institusi masing-masing, membasmi mafia hukum di peradilan dan para makelar kasus yang berkeliaran, demi meningkatkan usaha pemberantasan korupsi dan memperkokoh daya gempur KPK, bahkan secara bertaat asas kalau perlu melaksanakan pembersihan terhadap diri serta posisi sendiri, demi mengembalikan kepercayaan rakyat kepada lembaga-lembaga yang telah dipandang rendah.

Semua itu untuk melaksanakan creative destruction, sebuah istilah dari Prof Muladi dalam seminar hukum The Habibie Center yang saya tidak tahu apa maknanya, tetapi secara harfiah saya artikan “penghancuran yang kreatif”.

Demikianlah adanya bila kita ingin menghancurkan isu “cicak lawan buaya”.

Sumber  :

Legalistik dan Mengambang, Rosihan Anwar |  Wartawan Senior
Kompas, 25.11.2009

The company Jake works for supplied the jet for President Clinton.

 He said, “The aircraft remained on the ground in Pyongyang for 20 hours during the President’s diplomatic mission—boring! Once the President’s team was safely aboard with Lee and Ling, the jet was escorted by North Korean fighters during the entire time it operated in North Korean airspace.” I overheard Clinton’s advisors talking, “Kim Jung- Il felt the former president has qualifications that North Korea wanted to see before releasing the two Americans: a serious attitude and connection to the Obama administration. Clinton’s mission provided the isolated North Korean regime with the respect and legitimacy it wanted.”

 I asked, “what about the fact that what the two reporters did was illegal, moreover, Al Gore is their employer?”

 “From what I understand, there was not a lot of talking on the way back.”

 I stated, “I guess we owe N. Korea a solid!”

 One 18 seat corporate jet round trip to Pyongyang N.Korea…$200k

Government fuel costs for the trip … $20,000.

 Satellite phone use… $15,000. (Conference call with Obama, Hillary and Al, reminding Bill that even though 15 yr. old girls are legal in N. Korea; you should abstain).

 Secret service and non-restricted air space…$? (No transparency). There are some things that money can buy—for everything else there’s… Steve Bing, a long-time friend of Clinton’s and a huge democratic supporter.

Jake said, “This is nothing; I just found out that the owners of my house are murderers.”

Quaint townhome located in the heart of Cary! 

Best location in Paxton!

Located at the end of the street on a cul-de-sac! 

Neutral paint scheme throughout – move-in ready!

 Just a few highlights:

• 2BR / 2.5BA / 1364 sq. ft.
• Laminate hardwood floors throughout first floor living areas.
• Kitchen & breakfast area has crown, Oak cabinets, chair rail, all white appliances, and a subway tile backsplash.
• Dining room hosts an updated light fixture and a chair rail.
• Living room features a corner gas log fireplace and large triple window.
• Master bedroom has crown, a ceiling fan with light, and His & Her closets.
• Master bath has been updated with crown, tile floors, a double vanity with triple globe fixture.
• Secondary bedroom with a walk-in closet.
• Private back deck overlooks peaceful wooded area.
• VISUAL TOUR

Directions:

NW Cary Parkway, Right on Two Creeks, Right on Greenmont, townhome located at end of street.

Please stop by and take a look – for more information, please call Katy Sizemore, Buyer Specialist for Linda Trevor, at (919) 744-1637

Well, what has happened today… I mean, since the ridiculously early…

Well, I crawled out of my ghetto to go to English. I bloody despise English. The woman tells them lots of wrong English, and I can’t say a thing, because my English is even worse. English-French is worse. I dread the day when she will pick on us. I hope she doesn’t. Anyway, that passed uneventfully, apart from our consultation on how to butcher the apparently French term “cul-de-sac”. I won’t lie. It’s Catalan. The French have the worst superiority complex that I have ever known. Anyway, I happily butchered it. Pronouncing the L. “But yoo eengleesh, yoo do nut prunarnce all ze lettairs”. Prime example that we do. Morons.

I encountered a man from Cafe Español last week. We shook hands. This is the custom here. Shake hands with men you do not know well. Shake hands with most men. Only if you are a man. Otherwise, as demonstrated when I saw Eva later on, stick to cheek kissing, or “faire les bises” as they call it here. Right cheek first. Only women-women, or men-women. In exceptional circumstances, and only in such circumstances, is men-men cheek kissing allowed. Generally two gays, or two friends who have been best friends for years.

Tomorrow is a bank holiday, or ‘jour ferié’ here. Carrefour has implemented an exceptional opening for tomorrow, and people have no lessons. Carrefour’s closing tomorrow means that it was absolutely packed this evening. I only wanted my 2 2€10 bottles of wine and my chicken. Is that too much to ask?

DC public health officials have cut back on Swine Flu vaccine clinics so they can divert more vaccine doses to local doctors’ offices and community health  clinics, WaPo reports.

On the DC Streets Blog, Sarah Goodyear has a post on a new study that asserts living on cul-de-sacs are dangerous.

I like this image from, ahem … Fuck Yeah DC. Not really news, not really ecological, but, hey! It’s Friday! This guy has some other beauty shots of our fair city, which kinda calls into question entire theme of his blog. But anyway, on with the day. Have a good one!

Razor, pleasure zone, blood, odor
blade, sharp cut, shaving cream, smell, shaven
amazing, soap, zipper, unshaven, unzip
cul-de-sac, shave me, clit, close to skin, apple bottom, smooth as a baby’s behind
Red, tub, sensual, straight edge, water

Foodie: Did you know that this is the best preserved structure from Antiquity?  Well it is!  And you see up there above the columns of the porch?  Well that used to be covered in bronze but the Pope stole it so that Bernini could melt it down and make that garish baldacchino in St. Peter’s that marks Pete’s tomb!  And you see how it says M Agrippa up there?  Well you might think that Agrippa, your buddy Augustus’s right-hand man, had this built.  That’s sort of the case:  you see Agrippa did fund a temple to the gods (aka Pantheon) on this very site but it burned down.  Hadrian had this Pantheon built but in a bold propaganda move, he kept Agrippa’s name up there–it sort of connected Hadrian to the Imperial heroes of the Augustan golden age.  And did I mention concrete yet?  Isn’t it interesting that the recipe for concrete, which was invented by the Romans, was eventually lost?  It wasn’t rediscovered until the Renaissance!  But this dome couldn’t have been built without concrete.  And over there, that’s Raphael’s tomb.

Beast:  Who else is buried here.

Foodie:  Oh I don’t know.  Who cares though.

Beast:  Is this the original floor?

Foodie:  Um…maybe.

Beast:  I think I’m going to get the audio guide.

Foodie:  Excuse me?

Beast:  The audio guide.  What’s wrong?

Foodie:  Oh, I just thought I told you everything about the Pantheon.  Why would you want the audio guide?

Beast:  Oh what you told me is great!  I just want to find out a little more is all.  Is that okay?

Foodie:  Sure.  I guess so.  I’m going to wait outside though.

(Foodie exits Pantheon, and then enters again, trying to find the Beast in the crowd)

Foodie:  May I have your pack of cigarettes?  Don’t forget the lighter.

Beast:  Sure, here you go.  Are you sure you’re okay?

Foodie:  Whatever. I’ll be sitting on the fountain steps.

And that’s where I went to smoke and cry.  I don’t know what happened.  I guess it was just a culmination of things:  I was in charge of getting us everywhere; of speaking; of ordering; of planning; of researching; and of showing the Beast how to use a bidet–I think it just hit me, right there in the middle of the Pantheon.  I felt my efforts were going unnoticed.  I felt like a baby.

Beast (ten minutes later):  Hi there.  You’re not crying are you?

Foodie:  YES I AM!

Beast:  What’s wrong?

Foodie:  What are you an idiot or something?

Beast:  Is it because I got the audio guide?

Foodie:  It’s just that I’m trying so hard to tell you everything and make sure you have the best first time in Italy ever and you go and get a stupid audio guide.  How do you think that made me feel?

Beast:  Not very good.

Foodie (long pause):  Did it tell you anything good?

Beast:  No!  It was stupid!  I hated it.  Everything you told me was so interesting.  I’m never getting another audio guide.

Foodie:  You mean that?  You know sometimes I just need to hear OUT LOUD that I’m doing an okay job here, or  ”thank you so much for planning this whole amazing trip and all I have to do is have fun and just say thanks occasionally, or give you complements.”

Beast:  You’re doing an incredible job, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been saying this everyday.

Foodie:  Well I haven’t heard it.  (Pause)  Are you hungry?

Of course he was, and obviously I had a destination planned for lunch:  Cul de Sac, which is steps away from the Pantheon, just outside Piazza Navona.  It’s a great place for cry babies to have a pit stop for cheese, meat and wine.  We ordered a mixed platter, a caprese salad, and two glasses of Verdicchio, a minerally white wine from the region of Le Marche.

Beast:  This is just what I  wanted.

Foodie:  Me too!  We’re so much alike!  (Pause)  Hey, can you not tell anybody about my melt down at the Pantheon.

Beast:  You didn’t really have a melt down.  You just went crazy for a bit.

Foodie:  Maybe I just needed to have a little cry.

I think that’s the case because the rest of our day was incredible.  We went to look at the Caravaggio paintings in San Luigi dei Francesci, and peered down into the archaeological remains at Largo Argentino, the spot where Julius Caesar was assassinated.

And we visited the new Richard Meyer-designed museum that houses the  Ara Pacis–an “altar of peace,” built by Augustus 2000 years ago.  (I’ve been to Rome several times but this was the first chance I’ve had to see this incredible structure.)

And then we walked along the river Tiber and saw Hadrian’s tomb by moon-light and street-lights.

And finally, we found the restaurant I was most anxious to visit in Rome, Taverna Trilussa in the Trastevere neighbourhood.  And boy, were we ready to sit down!

Foodie:  My feet feel like jelly.

Beast:  I’m starving.  You order.

I found a bottle of “Le Volte,” a red wine made by famed Super Tuscan producer Ornellaia, for only 30 euros. We’d start with the fritti misti, a platter of fried vegetables and mozzarella in carozza (essentially, deep-fried mozzarella sandwiches).  I’d have a plate of their award-winning ravioli mimosa and the Beast would have the rigatoni carbonara.   And finally, we’d share a simple tagliata di manzo (thinly sliced steak) with arugola and parmigiano.

Beast:  Did you see the photos of famous people on the wall behind you?

Foodie:  Like who?

Beast: There’s Mel Gibson.  And that’s Tiger Woods, and there’s Roger Federer.

Foodie:  Neato!

Even better than Braveheart was the platter of deep-fried delights.  It was so bad and good all mixed up together.  But the pasta…oh my, the pasta!  I’ve only had pasta carbonara-a very typical Roman dish of eggs, guanciale, black pepper and pecorino cheese invented around WW II–a couple of times, and I’ve always liked it, but this one at Taverna Trilussa will stay with me forever.  The ravioli wasn’t too shabby either.  Actually, both pastas overwhelmed us so much that we forgot to take photos.  And we very nearly forgot to take photos of our steak salad and roasted potatoes too.

Our hotel was just a short walk over the Ponte Sisto bridge and past the Campo dei Fiori.  We slept like babies that night. Good thing too because the next day was as action-packed as the first, minus the melt-down.  We visited the Capitoline museum to start…

…followed by the Colosseum:

Beast:  You know what they should do outside this place?

Foodie: What’s that?

Beast:  Grow a big field of wheat and play that music form Gladiator and then visitors can run their hands through the wheat like Russell Crowe did in the movie.

Foodie:  That’s an incredible idea.

And then we did something I would have never expected:  we got audio guides for the Colosseum!  And you know what?  It was so much fun.  I mean, I totally could have told the Beast everything about this Flavian Amphitheatre that he needed to know, like how it was started by Emperor Vespasian in 70 AD, and how it was built right overtop of Nero’s Golden Palace to erase the very thought of that crazy guy, and that it sat 50,000 spectators and about how they’d flood it and how they had trap floors and neat stuff like that, but I didn’t want to sound like a know-it-all.  And besides, the lady who speaks on the guide has a nice British accent.

After that, we walked through the Roman Forum, one of my favourite things to do of all time.  This is a place that oozes history and it gives me goose bumps just thinking about being on the hallowed ground where Etruscan civilization once flourished; where Caesar’s body was burned; where Cicero’s head hung; and where literally all roads across the Empire once met.  I think the Beast liked it too.

But he was itching to see some more Michelangelo sculptures after our visit to the Medici Chapel in Florence, so I dragged him up a hill to the church of San Pietro in Vicoli to see Pope Julius II’s tomb.  That’s where Michelangelo’s Moses is.

And because we didn’t get into the Borghese museum (it was all booked up) to see all of the incredible early works by Bernini, I wanted to make sure that the Beast saw at least one work by him.  So off we went to the church of Santa Maria della Vittoria where the artist’s Ecstasy of St. Teresa perches in the Cornaro Chapel.

After that, thank God, it was dinner time.  We decided on a restaurant called Maccheroni, just north of the Pantheon on a little side street.  We’d been instructed to order the spaghetti carbonara and the rigatoni all’amatriciana–another very typical Roman pasta.  We also decided on a nice bottle of Morellino di Scansano, a bresaola antipasto, and grilled sausage and vegetables to share as a secondo.

The antipasto was great, but our pastas were extraordinary.

Actually, the carbonara pasta was extraordinary (it was a very close second to Taverna Trilussa); the amatriciana pasta was only very good.  (Terroni restaurant makes a far superior version if you ask me.)

The grilled pork sausage was a nice reprise from all the beef we’d been consuming.  Maybe the best part of the meal was all the people-watching we got to do: There were real-life Romans all around us, and more waiting to get a table.  And the severs, who juggled their waiter responsibilities with text-messaging, kept going for smoke breaks, not to mention the cooks. The best siting though was a chubby little accordian player who kept playing “My Way.”  His tight little plaid pants broke my heart.

The next day was all about the Vatican.  We started at St. Peter’s where there was a very scary looking line.  But it moved fast and we were inside in ten minutes flat.

Foodie:  Look look look!  There’s the round piece of porphyry I was telling you about!   Charlemagne was crowned Holy Roman Emperor in 800AD on that piece of marble!  And see those marking on the floor all along the nave?  Those mark the lengths of all the cathedrals in the word.  It’s  a subtle way of saying that St. Peter’s  is the biggest.  Did I tell you that technically this isn’t  a cathedral?  Because a cathedral has a bishop so this is called a basilica because it’s the pope’s seat, not a bishop’s seat.   Rome’s cathedral is actually the Lateran.

Beast:  Did we go there?

Foodie:  No, but remember how I told you that they stole the giant ancient bronze doors from the Senate house in the Roman Forum to use as the Lateran’s front door?  And lookie!!!!  There’s the bronze baldacchino that Bernini built! Isn’t it garish?

Beast:  And they got the bronze from the Pantheon right?

Foodie:  Sweetie I’m so proud of you!

Beast:  Thanks.  Now where is she?

Foodie:  Oh her.  She’s over there just on the other side of that crowd of Japanese people, behind thick glass.

The Beast took his time to get to the front of the crowd to catch a glimpse of Michelangelo’s Pieta.  I can’t blame him–it’s an incredibly moving and beautiful work.  The Beast also took his time examining every other sculpture in St. Peter’s.  It was cute at first I guess.  But we had a reservation at the Vatican museum to make!

After a quick lunch that isn’t worth speaking of, we started the pilgrimage through the 40+ rooms that eventually lead you to the Sistine Chapel.  Unfortunately, we weren’t alone.

Beast:  They should really make it so that the tour groups have to come at a set time. This is fucking insane.

Foodie:  Yes it is.  Don’t you feel like cattle being herded?

Beast:  And nobody’s even really looking at anything.

Although the crowds do make it difficult to “have a moment” in front of some of western civilization’s most glorious accomplishments, the Beast still tried.  He even got yelled at by about 30 Germans for standing too long in front of the Laocoon.

But the Beast lightened our mutual pissy mood by making some really good jokes that went a little like this: The Sistine chapel’s ceiling looks so different than it does in all the pictures! (He repeated this joke in every room we entered) What’s in that cabinet?  Who painted that?  Will we see the Pope?  What will we call him? Are we at room sixteen yet?  I want to see this sixteenth chapel.  Why are the penises so tiny?

We did manage to score a seat on the benches in the Sistine Chapel once we got there, so the Beast could take his time and crank his neck to look up at those glorious frescoes.  I must say, even though I’m getting pretty crotchetty in my old age, this place still gets to you no matter how many times you’ve seen it.

After the Vatican, it was back to Florence for the night.  And then the next morning, we’d head off to Piemonte–the foothills of the Alps; the land of truffles, of hazelnuts, of Nutella, of lakes, of nebbiolo, barbara and dolcetto grapes; and of wild boars!  VIVA THE CINGHIALE!

Taverna Trilussa:  **** (F)  **** (B)

Cul de Sac:  **1/2 (F)   ** (B)

Maccheroni:  **1/2 (F)   *** (B)

]]> http://workandworry.com/2009/10/20/review-glenn-jones-barbecue-bob/ Tue, 20 Oct 2009 11:58:51 +0000 Work & Worry http://workandworry.com/2009/10/20/review-glenn-jones-barbecue-bob/

by Raymond Morin

In the avant-rock band Cul de Sac, guitarist Glenn Jones and his bandmates combine fingerstyle electric guitar, krautrock rhythms and harsh electronics, creating a challenging, textured sound that defies categorization. In 1997, the group famously collaborated with acoustic guitar icon John Fahey and released the album The Epiphany of Glenn Jones. Now, over a decade later, comes the third solo outing from Jones, and on Barbecue Bob in Fishtown the spirit of John Fahey and his American Primitive approach is alive and well.

Though his band is known for their experimental leanings, Glenn Jones the solo artist is considered something of a traditionalist, and the Barbecue Bob… package is very much presented in the grand tradition of instrumental acoustic guitar collections of years past. From the light-hearted cover image and the eloquent, self-penned liner notes to the tuning references and instrument notes for each song, the art direction has a classic feel… the album could pass as an artifact from any point in the last 40 years. When the included booklet is flipped over and reversed, we’re treated to a photo-diary of Jones paying a visit to Belmont Nails, for what appears to be an application of fresh acrylics. All of this is the kind of stuff that guitar geeks eat up, myself included!

Well, as everyone knows, the best compliment to great packaging is great music (to listen to while staring at the great packaging, of course!) and on Barbecue Bob in Fishtown, Jones delivers some fine picking indeed. The album kicks off with the upbeat alternating bass of the title track, the bends and rolls evoking both Fahey and some of the modern purveyors of his style, such as Nick Schillace and Jack Rose. Jones’ style immediately stands apart from those players in its more relaxed attack, never quite approaching the tidiness of Schillace or the determined physicality of Rose. I find the easy, slightly ragged character of Jones’ picking to be very charming, particularly on “Barbecue Bob…”, “Dead Reckoning” and album closer “A Geranium For Mano-a-Mano”.

There are two brief banjo pieces on the album, and both are compelling listens. Mood and tempo-wise, “Keep It A Hundred Years” and “A Lark In Earnest” are very similar, a possible product of Jones’ relative newness to the instrument… but in spite of this, his knack for composition wins out, and the banjo songs stand up as some of the most melodically driven on the album. “Keep It…” contains some unexpected chord changes, keeping it interesting and unpredictable, while “Lark…” benefits from a simple, memorable melodic theme and some very nice finger-rolls.

Glenn Jones in action

“1337 Shattuck Avenue, Apartment D”, Jones’ tribute to Robbie Basho, is one of the most emotive tracks on the disc, and also its longest. In the liner notes, Jones explains that this loosely structured composition was one of many takes, and was chosen for its “uncertain” feel. There is definitely a palpable degree of uncertainty in the playing, with many of the notes fretting out around the 4 1/2-minute mark as Jones begins descending into dark, dissonant territory. Still, the emotional thread that runs through the song, coupled with the variety of the sections, keeps the listener wholly invested.

My favorite song on the album is “For Wendy, In Her Girlish Days”. This selection contains some of Jones’ most delicate and beautiful playing, and its primary theme is a nice hybrid of Leo Kottke-style alternating bass and chord voicings, supporting a vaguely British-tinged melodic approach.

Glenn Jones – “For Wenday In Her Girlish Days”

Glenn Jones is something of a staple in the current solo acoustic guitar movement, and Barbecue Bob in Fishtown makes a great case for why that is. Jones’ playing shows him to be a guitarist with a distinctive touch, an experienced player with a pleasing affection for traditional picking as well as a flare for varied and innovative composition.

Buy the LP or CD from Strange Attractors
Buy the LP or CD from Insound
Glenn Jones’ website
Glenn Jones’ on Myspace

When I was a kid, my friends and I debated whether or not it was possible to swing in a complete circle, looping around the top bar of a swing set. I was skeptical, although I secretly hoped that such a thing were possible. I would ask my dad to push me as hard as he could and would kick my legs out at the height of the swing. The higher I got, the more excited and nervous I became about clearing the crossbar. I also worried that my momentum wouldn’t carry me far enough, and that I would end up hitting my head on the metal swing set. Needless to say, the only time I saw a swing clear the crossbar when there was nobody sitting on it and my friends and I pushed the nearly weightless rubber as hard as we could, trying to prove a point.

i have a hankering to play soccer right now. i really cannot for the life of me wait till indoor starts.

but i have to wait.

so i suppose i’ll convince Miss Tandy to go to the cul-de-sac and juggle around with me. i think we should find some old pop-bottles and practice knocking ‘em down. that would be sprucey. then, maybe if i’m lucky, the soccer boys will scrimmage with us today.

(i’m wearing shin-guards right now. *blush*)

………….

today is DARYEL’s birthday.

so…

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARYEL.

(even though you’ll probably never read this…)

……………………

i went on J.Crew and what do you suppose was on the first page?

FRILLY SHIRTS.

i have been wishing my head off for a frilly shirt.

like this one.

or this.

and this.

i’m really in LOVE with all things ruffles and frills and pleats and layers right now.

but i am not in LOVE with big price-tags.

so i’m content to hunt in the GOODWILL for a frilly shirt.

(i already found ONE J.Crew shirt there…so chances that i’ll find another aren’t too slim.)

p.s.(on the J.Crew note) i am head over heels for this MERINO ETHEREAL RUFFLE CARDIGAN too.

so scrumptious.

………….

love.

-Bella(with her wishes to DARYEL for a happy birthday and wishes for

indoor soccer

and wishes for J.Crew

cardigans

and

frilly shirts.)

]]> http://cescfortuny.wordpress.com/2009/09/23/viii-festival-internacional-de-poesia-moncayo-2/ Wed, 23 Sep 2009 05:43:48 +0000 Cesc Fortuny i Fabré http://cescfortuny.wordpress.com/2009/09/23/viii-festival-internacional-de-poesia-moncayo-2/ http://lasolitudedesbordsderoute.wordpress.com/2009/09/16/salle-a-manger-hotel-du-centre-2/ Wed, 16 Sep 2009 15:20:18 +0000 Martin Sauvageot http://lasolitudedesbordsderoute.wordpress.com/2009/09/16/salle-a-manger-hotel-du-centre-2/

Brice descend dans la salle à manger avec sa valise. Anita tartine délicatement une biscotte à une table proche de la fenêtre. Les vitraux renvoient une lueur bleue sur son visage apprêté. À peine a-t elle bougé la tête quand il est entré, évitant son regard.

Il hésite à lui parler.

Il n’a pas bien dormi. Lui parler pour lui dire quoi ? C’était bien… Pardon d’avoir éjaculer si vite… Sans rancune… Brice s’en fout, il a d’autres chats à fouetter. Il a la gueule de bois ce qui a toujours pour effet de lui attaquer le moral et Mélanie ne répond toujours pas à ses appels. Et puis Bunuol. Maintenant qu’il a trouvé…

Bonjour. Vous voulez du café ou du thé ?

Louise vient de sortir de la cuisine. Nouvelle blouse toujours aussi serrée. Regard direct, impassible. Les deux pieds sur le sol, elle donne l’impression de pouvoir résister à des vents de force 8.

- Bonjour… Du café. Un expresso si possible.

- Oui. Vous vous mettez avec Madame.

Anita n’a pas bougé, comme sourde à leur conversation.

- … Euh, non. Non, pourquoi ? Non, je vais me mettre là.

Il a montré une table éloignée.

- Merci…

Et je dis merci !? Quel con ! Pourquoi elle voulait nous mettre ensemble ? Elle joue les marieuses ou quoi !?

Louise dispose un bol, une serviette, des couverts sur la table. Brice y glisse sa valise avant de se planter devant le buffet. Il ne regarde pas vraiment ce qu’il voit. Il sent Anita dans son dos, l’agacement de sa réaction. Il aurait peut-être dû accepter. Après tout, on n’est pas des sauvages. Il en a marre de se sentir si con, si maladroit, un doberman dans un magasin de cristal.

- Oh, au fait !

Louise qui se dirigeait vers la cuisine vient à lui et sort de sa poche un billet et de la monnaie.

- Y’avait trop… regard d’incompréhension de Brice. C’est gentil de payer les consommations hier soir, mais vous aviez mis trop.

Brice : Non, mais je… Ce n’est pas m…

Louise le coupe : On n’est pas à Paris ici ! On vole pas la clientèle. Le morito c’est 3, la prune 2,80. Vous avez bu quoi ? 3 verres chacun. Vous avez laissé trop.

Elle a toujours la main tendu avec les billets… Brice soupire et les prend.

-       Merci.

“No comment !” pense-t’il pour lui-même. Sourire amer.

Louise disparait dans la cuisine qdf Brice la rappelle.

- Vous avez de l’aspirine ?

- Sans problème !

La porte claque sur la blouse bleue pâle.

Brice regarde l’argent dans le creux de sa main.

Bon !

Brice rejoint Anita.

-       Bonjour.

-       Bonjour, vous avez bien dormi.

Il hausse les épaules.

-       À mon avis on a bu plus qu’elle ne pense.

Il pose l’argent sur la table d’Anita.

-       Votre monnaie.

-       Vous pouviez la garder. J’en ai plus besoin.

-       Vous avez ouvert les résultats ?

-       Oui.

-       Ah…

Anita prend l’enveloppe dans son sac à main et la tend à Brice. Il est embarrassé. Il ouvre, lit, la regarde.

- Je ne sais pas lire ça.

- Cancer du sein, des poumons et sans doute gagné le système nerveux.

Brice regarde encore la feuille. Il a du mal à se remettre de l’info. Y’a écrit tout ça.

- J’ai appelé mon toubib. C’est une amie. Je lui ai demandé la vérité.

- Oh !

…

Anita : si vous voulez vous mettre à ma table, ça me fera plaisir.

Brice : euh, oui, oui, bien sûr… Il va chercher son couvert, revient. Il essaie encore de comprendre ce que lui a dit Anita.

S’asseyant : C’est très grave, donc ?

Anita : oui.

Brice rêve. Il  vol au-dessus de l’Atlantique. C’est un jour de tempête. Mais le courrier doit passer. Il le sait. Un vol qui n’en finit pas. Enfin il arrive au-dessus des indiens empapaoutés qui lui allument de grands feux pour lui signaler la piste.

Ils attendent le courrier.

Et là Brice réalise qu’il a oublié son sac.

I’ve read a lot of strips that lampoon the back-to-school rituals of children, but very few that depict their genuine fear of entering the classroom. Today’s Cul de Sac does just that, and in a very sweet way, to boot. I was moved by the image of a little girl clinging to her mom’s leg as her teacher emerges from a somewhat scary school building. This strip strikes just the right balance between an adult’s knowing recollection of childhood and a child’s earnest wish to hang tight to the familiar.