Global Blooming

If you were ever curious about global warming, all you would have to do is look in my front yard.  Although I don't have any polar bears floating by on rapidly melting ice floes, I have flowers and trees far ahead of their bloom time; so much so that I wonder if there will be anything left come August.

Trees that didn't leaf out until May were going great-gusto in early April.  The columbines and lilacs are finishing up and the peonies and roses have geared up to take over the show.  Last night as I was cleaning out flower beds I noticed  one over-achieving black-eyed Susan that was thinking about blooming.  In May.  In Michigan.

I'm always very grateful for the pretty, yet a little worried at the accelerated time-frame.  Maybe if we all decided to take a walk instead of taking a drive, we could slow down Mother Nature's clock and stop and smell the roses at the same time.  It would be a win-win situation all the way around, I think.

"Look at the trees, look at the birds, look at the clouds, look at the stars...

and if you have eyes you will be able to see that the whole existence is joyful.

Everything is simply happy.  Trees are happy for no reason;

they are not going to become prime ministers or presidents 

and they are not going to become rich and they will never have any bank balance.

Look at the flowers -- for no reason.

It is simply unbelievable how happy flowers are."  ~~Osho

"Some people worry that artificial intelligence will make us feel inferior,

but then, anybody in his right mind should have an inferiority complex

every time he looks at a flower."  ~~Alan C. Kay

"Nobody sees a flower, really; it is so small.  

We haven't time, and to see takes time --

like to have a friend takes time." ~~Georgia O'Keeffe

Mila, the garden supervisor.

"The problem with cats is they get the exact same look on their face

whether they see a moth or an axe-murderer."  ~~Paula Poundstone

Global Blooming

If you were ever curious about global warming, all you would have to do is look in my front yard.  Although I don't have any polar bears floating by on rapidly melting ice floes, I have flowers and trees far ahead of their bloom time; so much so that I wonder if there will be anything left come August.

Trees that didn't leaf out until May were going great-gusto in early April.  The columbines and lilacs are finishing up and the peonies and roses have geared up to take over the show.  Last night as I was cleaning out flower beds I noticed  one over-achieving black-eyed Susan that was thinking about blooming.  In May.  In Michigan.

I'm always very grateful for the pretty, yet a little worried at the accelerated time-frame.  Maybe if we all decided to take a walk instead of taking a drive, we could slow down Mother Nature's clock and stop and smell the roses at the same time.  It would be a win-win situation all the way around, I think.

"Look at the trees, look at the birds, look at the clouds, look at the stars...

and if you have eyes you will be able to see that the whole existence is joyful.

Everything is simply happy.  Trees are happy for no reason;

they are not going to become prime ministers or presidents 

and they are not going to become rich and they will never have any bank balance.

Look at the flowers -- for no reason.

It is simply unbelievable how happy flowers are."  ~~Osho

"Some people worry that artificial intelligence will make us feel inferior,

but then, anybody in his right mind should have an inferiority complex

every time he looks at a flower."  ~~Alan C. Kay

"Nobody sees a flower, really; it is so small.  

We haven't time, and to see takes time --

like to have a friend takes time." ~~Georgia O'Keeffe

Mila, the garden supervisor.

"The problem with cats is they get the exact same look on their face

whether they see a moth or an axe-murderer."  ~~Paula Poundstone

The Great 48

One of my birthday cards this year had Fisher-Price 

"little people" on the front, and it said,

"I'm 'this many' years old."

Another year has come and gone and today marks year number 48.  It's not a "milestone" birthday, but there are many days when I'm just as happy to be anything, as long as it isn't past-tense.  This morning, as I was walking to the car, TeenTuna asked me how old I was, and without thinking, I answered her.  She said, "So, you're not 27 anymore?"  I said I guessed not, and chalked up my truthful answer to a combination not caring and the time of day, which was a tender 6:15 am.

You'll notice I didn't say anything about growing up or being mature.

To this day, I still sometimes wonder when I'll feel like a grown-up.  My age tells me I'm a legal adult, my teenager tells me I'm a parent, and my monthly bills tell me I'm obligated to pay what I owe.  All of those things, individually and combined, tell me that I'm a grown-up.  I accept it, but I don't feel it.

Oh sure, I can play the part, especially when it comes to parenting.  I know I must be responsible, protective, authoritative, and yes, even dictatorial.  ESPECIALLY DICTATORIAL (caps-lock, bold, leaned-over).  I make the rules, I enforce the rules, and I reward and punish accordingly. Based on that alone, you'd think I'd feel like a grown-up.  But I don't.


In all honestly, I'm not exactly losing sleep over my apparent deficiency, and I'm guessing that nobody else notices it (or cares) besides me.  But I do wonder, am I alone out here?  Did everyone my age progress emotionally, physically and spiritually to the Kingdom of Middle Age, while I was out playing on the swings?

Sometimes I envy those who knew what they wanted to be when they grew up, and then went out and did it.  Or who can name a favorite book, or movie, or color, or song.  It seems so decisive.  It seems so grown-up.  My dilemma is that I want to learn everything and do everything and be everything and choose everything.  That sounds like I'm flaky and unable to commit.

But really, the way I prefer to spin it, is that I'm decidedly non-decisive.  Plans are important and goals are a good thing, but I prefer broad horizons to narrow channels.  After 48 years I've learned there are so many more things for me to learn, books to read, songs to sing, flowers to plant, foods to try, and places to travel.  As an rational, realistic grown-up, I know I won't get to them all.  But the child inside me is really excited about the journey.

Here's to 48 more years of possibilities.
Ready. Set. Wander.

The Great 48

One of my birthday cards this year had Fisher-Price 

"little people" on the front, and it said,

"I'm 'this many' years old."

Another year has come and gone and today marks year number 48.  It's not a "milestone" birthday, but there are many days when I'm just as happy to be anything, as long as it isn't past-tense.  This morning, as I was walking to the car, TeenTuna asked me how old I was, and without thinking, I answered her.  She said, "So, you're not 27 anymore?"  I said I guessed not, and chalked up my truthful answer to a combination not caring and the time of day, which was a tender 6:15 am.

You'll notice I didn't say anything about growing up or being mature.

To this day, I still sometimes wonder when I'll feel like a grown-up.  My age tells me I'm a legal adult, my teenager tells me I'm a parent, and my monthly bills tell me I'm obligated to pay what I owe.  All of those things, individually and combined, tell me that I'm a grown-up.  I accept it, but I don't feel it.

Oh sure, I can play the part, especially when it comes to parenting.  I know I must be responsible, protective, authoritative, and yes, even dictatorial.  ESPECIALLY DICTATORIAL (caps-lock, bold, leaned-over).  I make the rules, I enforce the rules, and I reward and punish accordingly. Based on that alone, you'd think I'd feel like a grown-up.  But I don't.


In all honestly, I'm not exactly losing sleep over my apparent deficiency, and I'm guessing that nobody else notices it (or cares) besides me.  But I do wonder, am I alone out here?  Did everyone my age progress emotionally, physically and spiritually to the Kingdom of Middle Age, while I was out playing on the swings?

Sometimes I envy those who knew what they wanted to be when they grew up, and then went out and did it.  Or who can name a favorite book, or movie, or color, or song.  It seems so decisive.  It seems so grown-up.  My dilemma is that I want to learn everything and do everything and be everything and choose everything.  That sounds like I'm flaky and unable to commit.

But really, the way I prefer to spin it, is that I'm decidedly non-decisive.  Plans are important and goals are a good thing, but I prefer broad horizons to narrow channels.  After 48 years I've learned there are so many more things for me to learn, books to read, songs to sing, flowers to plant, foods to try, and places to travel.  As an rational, realistic grown-up, I know I won't get to them all.  But the child inside me is really excited about the journey.

Here's to 48 more years of possibilities.
Ready. Set. Wander.

Garden Party

Now that the snows have melted and the rains have stopped, it's been a good time to get the old hands dirty and work outside.  To tend to a garden is such a romantic notion: sitting quietly in the grass with a big floppy hat, a small metal bucket that holds matching garden tools and a well-loved pair of gloves.  Meanwhile the bees visit flower after flower and the butterflies flitter-flutter merrily in the sunshine.

My gardening experience is vastly different.  I garden with whatever beat up gloves I can find, no hat (hat hair), skunky tennis shoes and a shovel.  There's nothing genteel about it.  It's more like commando gardening.

"You can bury a lot of troubles digging in the dirt."  

Small, picky gardening is not for me.  I admire the weeds that so skillfully intertwine themselves around individual plant stems.  But I just don't have time to untangle each and every one, so sometimes the baby gets thrown out with the bath water, horticulturally speaking.  Luckily, GramTuna enjoys hunting down weeds stem by stem and root by root, so I pick up my shovel and walk to the big patches of mess, leaving the intricate work to her.

This patch has shovel written all over it.

"Earth laughs in flower."-- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Whether you are tending to- or battling with- a garden, they are very versatile and provide something for everybody.  Do you like mysteries?  Gardening is for you.  Flowers show up in the strangest places.  Take this little guy.  I know sometimes we are pressed for space, but I am quite certain we did NOT plant anything in a window well.  Will we move it?  Oh probably.  Well, maybe.  It doesn't look half bad, though, does it?

Sometimes flowers pick themselves up and walk somewhere else, sometimes they invite a bunch of their friends over for an extended stay.  Sometimes they just up and leave, without ever saying goodbye.  On the one hand, it's best not to get too attached, but then again, something else might show up in its place, or you can buy another one to replace it.  But be warned:  stubbornness in gardening will not always be rewarded.  After three or four or ten tries, if the plant isn't going to grow, it's time to move on.  Stupid Foxgloves.

"A weed is only a misplaced plant."

And then, there are weeds.  Oh, the weeds.  The weeds, everywhere the weeds.  The dandelions, the thistles, the Creeping Charlie.  The weeds you pulled yesterday, root and all, that show up a few days later.  The weeds that poke you, the weeds that blow their seeds all over kingdom come, the weeds that just wait for you to turn your back and then SPROING!  You see, sentimental weed quote or not, weeds actually try to impress you.  Maybe it is their stealth or their cunningness.  Maybe it is a pretty flower waving above stems of killer prickers.  Maybe it is their killer cuteness as they are clutched in the chubby hands of a three-year old who wants to pick flowers for mommy.

OK--that is killer cute and nobody can hate on dandelions in the chubby hands of a three-year old who wants to pick flowers for mommy.  But weeds, my shovel and I say you're still annoying.





Flowers are an army of amazingness.  They come in an infinite number of colors and shapes and sizes and there is always something new to add to the family.  If you plan it right, something will be blooming all the time, beginning with the earliest crocuses peeking out from the melting snow.  Although the crocus, daffodils and tulips have come and gone, we are full of later spring flowers.

Trillium

Columbine

Azalea

Forget-me-nots

Commando gardening may be a bit brutal, but the results are pretty damn cool.  And who knows, once my shovel and I put some hurt on the more unruly parts of the garden, we'll have even more friends to sit and enjoy as the bees and butterflies frolic.

Maybe I'll even buy a floppy hat.

As if.

Garden Party

Now that the snows have melted and the rains have stopped, it's been a good time to get the old hands dirty and work outside.  To tend to a garden is such a romantic notion: sitting quietly in the grass with a big floppy hat, a small metal bucket that holds matching garden tools and a well-loved pair of gloves.  Meanwhile the bees visit flower after flower and the butterflies flitter-flutter merrily in the sunshine.

My gardening experience is vastly different.  I garden with whatever beat up gloves I can find, no hat (hat hair), skunky tennis shoes and a shovel.  There's nothing genteel about it.  It's more like commando gardening.

"You can bury a lot of troubles digging in the dirt."  

Small, picky gardening is not for me.  I admire the weeds that so skillfully intertwine themselves around individual plant stems.  But I just don't have time to untangle each and every one, so sometimes the baby gets thrown out with the bath water, horticulturally speaking.  Luckily, GramTuna enjoys hunting down weeds stem by stem and root by root, so I pick up my shovel and walk to the big patches of mess, leaving the intricate work to her.

This patch has shovel written all over it.

"Earth laughs in flower."-- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Whether you are tending to- or battling with- a garden, they are very versatile and provide something for everybody.  Do you like mysteries?  Gardening is for you.  Flowers show up in the strangest places.  Take this little guy.  I know sometimes we are pressed for space, but I am quite certain we did NOT plant anything in a window well.  Will we move it?  Oh probably.  Well, maybe.  It doesn't look half bad, though, does it?

Sometimes flowers pick themselves up and walk somewhere else, sometimes they invite a bunch of their friends over for an extended stay.  Sometimes they just up and leave, without ever saying goodbye.  On the one hand, it's best not to get too attached, but then again, something else might show up in its place, or you can buy another one to replace it.  But be warned:  stubbornness in gardening will not always be rewarded.  After three or four or ten tries, if the plant isn't going to grow, it's time to move on.  Stupid Foxgloves.

"A weed is only a misplaced plant."

And then, there are weeds.  Oh, the weeds.  The weeds, everywhere the weeds.  The dandelions, the thistles, the Creeping Charlie.  The weeds you pulled yesterday, root and all, that show up a few days later.  The weeds that poke you, the weeds that blow their seeds all over kingdom come, the weeds that just wait for you to turn your back and then SPROING!  You see, sentimental weed quote or not, weeds actually try to impress you.  Maybe it is their stealth or their cunningness.  Maybe it is a pretty flower waving above stems of killer prickers.  Maybe it is their killer cuteness as they are clutched in the chubby hands of a three-year old who wants to pick flowers for mommy.

OK--that is killer cute and nobody can hate on dandelions in the chubby hands of a three-year old who wants to pick flowers for mommy.  But weeds, my shovel and I say you're still annoying.





Flowers are an army of amazingness.  They come in an infinite number of colors and shapes and sizes and there is always something new to add to the family.  If you plan it right, something will be blooming all the time, beginning with the earliest crocuses peeking out from the melting snow.  Although the crocus, daffodils and tulips have come and gone, we are full of later spring flowers.

Trillium

Columbine

Azalea

Forget-me-nots

Commando gardening may be a bit brutal, but the results are pretty damn cool.  And who knows, once my shovel and I put some hurt on the more unruly parts of the garden, we'll have even more friends to sit and enjoy as the bees and butterflies frolic.

Maybe I'll even buy a floppy hat.

As if.

Eating Rainbows and Pooping Butterflies

On March 1st, I wrote:

Here's to a kinder, gentler March.  ReadySetGO.

Obviously I was high on Unicorn dust and fairy farts.

Eating Rainbows and Pooping Butterflies

On March 1st, I wrote:

Here's to a kinder, gentler March.  ReadySetGO.

Obviously I was high on Unicorn dust and fairy farts.

The Devil in the Details

If March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, it's my guess that February is best characterized as a rabid Tasmanian Devil hopped up on Gatorade.  Translation:  February kicked my butt.

It used to be (in the good old days) that December was the busy month.  School holiday parties, and then Christmas vacation and visiting family.  Several years later May got shoved into the busy-month category.  Now there were winter school concerts and spring school concerts, and if you lump the first week of June in with May, you can include some end-of-the-year activities.  Now it seems as if all the months want in on the action.  From the second week of January until yesterday there was an event every single weekend. 

We started with State Honor's choir out of town.  TeenTuna was selected for this group based on an earlier audition last fall.  She was awarded the opportunity to go out of town and rehearse for three days straight and sing a concert.  The choirs were amazing and the experience was fabulous.  GramTuna and I threw in a quick trip home on Saturday morning of the weekend extravaganza so I could sing a gig and turn around and come back again.  Good times.  TIRED TIMES.

The next weekend was District Solo & Ensemble.  Time to sing for the judges again.  Despite the fact that it really was an all-day affair, everything went well and all judges were duly pleased.  The reward for doing well at Districts is doing it all over again at the State level this April.

The next weekend?  Sadie-Hawkins dance.  If you don't think there isn't just a tiny bit of stress in that event, then you obviously don't live with a teenage girl.  Luckily the gang went to the dance in herd formation, and once again, a good time was had by all, OMG drama notwithstanding.

It's so funny....I actually have to refer back to my Google calendar to remember all this because it may have only been two weeks ago, but heck, last weekend might well have been last year.  SO, the weekend after Sadies was a little trip to New York City.  The high school choir was selected (along with several others) to perform Carmina Burana in Carnegie Hall.  Add to the fact that the school was scheduled to perform it the Tuesday before they left with yours truly singing the soprano solo work.  We got to dress rehearsal, sang the entire work, and then they canceled the performance due to snowpocalypse number I've-lost-count.  Luckily the weather cleared up enough two days later for the kids to have a nice lllooooong busride to NYC.  Unlike her trip five years ago to NYC and Carnegie Hall (and yeah, what teenager makes a RETURN APPEARANCE to Carnegie before she's 16??) when we went along to hear the concert, I lovingly drove her to school, tossed her stuff out of the car, and told her I'd see her on Monday.  My kid is growing up.

Immediately after the return from NYC there were school auditions for the select choral group, and auditions for the spring musical, neither of which were insignificant events in the life of a teenager.

The final huge event was the high school talent show.  Drama!  Nerves!  Buy New Clothes!  Everything has to be perfect!  Wow.  I hadn't been to a high school version of the talent show and really had no idea what to expect.  TeenTuna was singing and I was playing, which is our usual MO.  The talent show included rock bands, dancers and singers doing a Lady Gaga medley.  We were second in the 2nd half, and as the first act started (some rock-type song ... I guess?) I was so worried people wouldn't be quiet.  We were just a singer and a piano.  But when the lights came up, they quieted right down, and off we went.  The song -- very funny and cute -- seemed to be just the right choice.  The audience laughed in the right places, and when we got loud and crazy (the actual musical direction says "rip shit up") the crowd went wild.  To say that TeenTuna had the time of her life would most likely be an understatement.  It was more than she could have ever hoped for, and frankly, the perfect wrap-up to six weeks of insanity.

Now it's March and we've survived the beast of February.  This week I'm on break from teaching, and as I wished all my kids fun and restful breaks, several of them asked me what I would be doing over break.  I told them I was going to only work 40 hours over break and not 60 hours.  I told them I looked forward to zero hour-long commutes in lousy weather.  I hoped I could catch up a bit on my sleep.  I really have a lot of work to do this week, including blocking and choreographing everything for my workshop class and getting a large chunk of music under my belt, but somehow, someway, it will get done.  After all, if the Tasmanian Devil can do a grapevine exit stage left at the end of February and we're all still standing, there's hope.

Here's to a kinder, gentler March.  ReadySetGO.

The Devil in the Details

If March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, it's my guess that February is best characterized as a rabid Tasmanian Devil hopped up on Gatorade.  Translation:  February kicked my butt.

It used to be (in the good old days) that December was the busy month.  School holiday parties, and then Christmas vacation and visiting family.  Several years later May got shoved into the busy-month category.  Now there were winter school concerts and spring school concerts, and if you lump the first week of June in with May, you can include some end-of-the-year activities.  Now it seems as if all the months want in on the action.  From the second week of January until yesterday there was an event every single weekend. 

We started with State Honor's choir out of town.  TeenTuna was selected for this group based on an earlier audition last fall.  She was awarded the opportunity to go out of town and rehearse for three days straight and sing a concert.  The choirs were amazing and the experience was fabulous.  GramTuna and I threw in a quick trip home on Saturday morning of the weekend extravaganza so I could sing a gig and turn around and come back again.  Good times.  TIRED TIMES.

The next weekend was District Solo & Ensemble.  Time to sing for the judges again.  Despite the fact that it really was an all-day affair, everything went well and all judges were duly pleased.  The reward for doing well at Districts is doing it all over again at the State level this April.

The next weekend?  Sadie-Hawkins dance.  If you don't think there isn't just a tiny bit of stress in that event, then you obviously don't live with a teenage girl.  Luckily the gang went to the dance in herd formation, and once again, a good time was had by all, OMG drama notwithstanding.

It's so funny....I actually have to refer back to my Google calendar to remember all this because it may have only been two weeks ago, but heck, last weekend might well have been last year.  SO, the weekend after Sadies was a little trip to New York City.  The high school choir was selected (along with several others) to perform Carmina Burana in Carnegie Hall.  Add to the fact that the school was scheduled to perform it the Tuesday before they left with yours truly singing the soprano solo work.  We got to dress rehearsal, sang the entire work, and then they canceled the performance due to snowpocalypse number I've-lost-count.  Luckily the weather cleared up enough two days later for the kids to have a nice lllooooong busride to NYC.  Unlike her trip five years ago to NYC and Carnegie Hall (and yeah, what teenager makes a RETURN APPEARANCE to Carnegie before she's 16??) when we went along to hear the concert, I lovingly drove her to school, tossed her stuff out of the car, and told her I'd see her on Monday.  My kid is growing up.

Immediately after the return from NYC there were school auditions for the select choral group, and auditions for the spring musical, neither of which were insignificant events in the life of a teenager.

The final huge event was the high school talent show.  Drama!  Nerves!  Buy New Clothes!  Everything has to be perfect!  Wow.  I hadn't been to a high school version of the talent show and really had no idea what to expect.  TeenTuna was singing and I was playing, which is our usual MO.  The talent show included rock bands, dancers and singers doing a Lady Gaga medley.  We were second in the 2nd half, and as the first act started (some rock-type song ... I guess?) I was so worried people wouldn't be quiet.  We were just a singer and a piano.  But when the lights came up, they quieted right down, and off we went.  The song -- very funny and cute -- seemed to be just the right choice.  The audience laughed in the right places, and when we got loud and crazy (the actual musical direction says "rip shit up") the crowd went wild.  To say that TeenTuna had the time of her life would most likely be an understatement.  It was more than she could have ever hoped for, and frankly, the perfect wrap-up to six weeks of insanity.

Now it's March and we've survived the beast of February.  This week I'm on break from teaching, and as I wished all my kids fun and restful breaks, several of them asked me what I would be doing over break.  I told them I was going to only work 40 hours over break and not 60 hours.  I told them I looked forward to zero hour-long commutes in lousy weather.  I hoped I could catch up a bit on my sleep.  I really have a lot of work to do this week, including blocking and choreographing everything for my workshop class and getting a large chunk of music under my belt, but somehow, someway, it will get done.  After all, if the Tasmanian Devil can do a grapevine exit stage left at the end of February and we're all still standing, there's hope.

Here's to a kinder, gentler March.  ReadySetGO.

OSCAR! OSCAR

 

It's that time again.  There are six more days until the 2010 Academy Awards which means it's time to dive into the Oscar Pool and make your picks.  

!! CLICK HERE TO VOTE RIGHT NOW !!

As past Oscar Pool winners can attest (*cough*GramTuna*cough*), actually seeing any of these movies prior to voting is not a requirement, and in fact is often a detriment.  Sometimes it can muddy the tea leaves and make you all sympathetic to what you actually LIKE instead of what everybody on God's green earth knows is going to win.  So feel free to vote by studio, favorite actor or actress, or degrees of Kevin Bacon.  Whatever works for you, works for the pool.

As always, we are voting on EVERY. SINGLE. CATEGORY.  That's right.  Best Best Boy.  Grippingest Gripper.  Outstanding achievement in gaffing.  You're just lucky we don't vote on all the scientific categories that some D-listed celeb awards earlier at the undisclosed location.  Other than that, everything is up for grabs.  Documentary, Documentary Short, Animated Short ... all there.

Voting is free, prizes are imaginary, and, of course, live-Oscar blogging will be had next Sunday.  C'mon, go vote.  Optimus Prime would want you to.

OSCAR! OSCAR

 

It's that time again.  There are six more days until the 2010 Academy Awards which means it's time to dive into the Oscar Pool and make your picks.  

!! CLICK HERE TO VOTE RIGHT NOW !!

As past Oscar Pool winners can attest (*cough*GramTuna*cough*), actually seeing any of these movies prior to voting is not a requirement, and in fact is often a detriment.  Sometimes it can muddy the tea leaves and make you all sympathetic to what you actually LIKE instead of what everybody on God's green earth knows is going to win.  So feel free to vote by studio, favorite actor or actress, or degrees of Kevin Bacon.  Whatever works for you, works for the pool.

As always, we are voting on EVERY. SINGLE. CATEGORY.  That's right.  Best Best Boy.  Grippingest Gripper.  Outstanding achievement in gaffing.  You're just lucky we don't vote on all the scientific categories that some D-listed celeb awards earlier at the undisclosed location.  Other than that, everything is up for grabs.  Documentary, Documentary Short, Animated Short ... all there.

Voting is free, prizes are imaginary, and, of course, live-Oscar blogging will be had next Sunday.  C'mon, go vote.  Optimus Prime would want you to.

But first, a number

This afternoon, prompted by a Facebook post, I visited the website This Day in Music to find out what song was at the top of the charts the day I was born.  After setting my birthday, it gave me the option of displaying the hit song in the U.S., the U.K. and Australia.

Somehow I thought I would be familiar with the results and give a big nostalgic aww when it popped up on the screen.  Why?  I don't know, except that I think that I should know all songs everywhere at all time.  It's a hazard of the biz, I think.   The results of course, were not at all familiar.  Two of the three I did a total, HUH? and the third, well, to my credit, yes indeed I was familiar with Elvis.

The number one song in the United States was a little ditty called Stranger on the Shore by Mr. Acker Bilk.  Yeah.  Never heard of it.  Or him.  And, Acker?  Well, this hip song was a piece for clarinet and orchestra.  Yes, indeed.  The number one song in the United States on the day I was born was a piece for CLARINET.  Mr. Acker Bilk (nee Bernard Stanley Bilk) was so nicknamed because Acker was British slang (yep, he's a Brit too) for "friend."  He took up the clarinet during his stint in the military, and practiced out of sheer boredom.  Stranger on the Shore was originally called Jenny (after his daughter), but the name was changed when the song was used for a BBC television series.  He's still kicking at 80 years old, and after listening to this tune a couple times, I have to admit, it's very charming.



The number one song in the U.K. was Good Luck Charm by Elvis Presley.  It had hit the top of the charts in the states about a month earlier, and is one of those very middle of the road songs. Not too raucous, not too slow and shmoopy.  My personal opinion is that it's also a little dull too in that musically predictable way, but heck, what wasn't in those days?  Well...maybe a jazz clarinet song by some British guy.  Good point.  It was recorded in 1961 and hit the charts in 1962, which was just about the time Elvis was crafting the image of a movie star that happened to sing instead of a singer who happened to be in movies.



The third and final hit is courtesy of the Australian charts. Leave it to the gang down under to launch to the top a sort of Spanishy Mexicany instrumental piece whose lone lyrics Si Senor are peppered throughout the piece, until the very end when he chooses to end it with what can only be described as possibly unfortunate, probably insensitive and definitely bizarre utterance: I theeenk.  Was he not sure?  Whatever the answer may be, it didn't seem to slow him down any.  He got career advice from Beatles' manager Brian Epstein, he came to the States and starred in episodes of Daniel Boone and Mannix -- an unlikely combo in and of itself.



So there you have it. Three songs as different as they could be. Considering they were all hits on MY birthday, the fact that they are unusual, bizarre, and just plain different should not be surprising whatsoever.

I theeeenk.

But first, a number

This afternoon, prompted by a Facebook post, I visited the website This Day in Music to find out what song was at the top of the charts the day I was born.  After setting my birthday, it gave me the option of displaying the hit song in the U.S., the U.K. and Australia.

Somehow I thought I would be familiar with the results and give a big nostalgic aww when it popped up on the screen.  Why?  I don't know, except that I think that I should know all songs everywhere at all time.  It's a hazard of the biz, I think.   The results of course, were not at all familiar.  Two of the three I did a total, HUH? and the third, well, to my credit, yes indeed I was familiar with Elvis.

The number one song in the United States was a little ditty called Stranger on the Shore by Mr. Acker Bilk.  Yeah.  Never heard of it.  Or him.  And, Acker?  Well, this hip song was a piece for clarinet and orchestra.  Yes, indeed.  The number one song in the United States on the day I was born was a piece for CLARINET.  Mr. Acker Bilk (nee Bernard Stanley Bilk) was so nicknamed because Acker was British slang (yep, he's a Brit too) for "friend."  He took up the clarinet during his stint in the military, and practiced out of sheer boredom.  Stranger on the Shore was originally called Jenny (after his daughter), but the name was changed when the song was used for a BBC television series.  He's still kicking at 80 years old, and after listening to this tune a couple times, I have to admit, it's very charming.



The number one song in the U.K. was Good Luck Charm by Elvis Presley.  It had hit the top of the charts in the states about a month earlier, and is one of those very middle of the road songs. Not too raucous, not too slow and shmoopy.  My personal opinion is that it's also a little dull too in that musically predictable way, but heck, what wasn't in those days?  Well...maybe a jazz clarinet song by some British guy.  Good point.  It was recorded in 1961 and hit the charts in 1962, which was just about the time Elvis was crafting the image of a movie star that happened to sing instead of a singer who happened to be in movies.



The third and final hit is courtesy of the Australian charts. Leave it to the gang down under to launch to the top a sort of Spanishy Mexicany instrumental piece whose lone lyrics Si Senor are peppered throughout the piece, until the very end when he chooses to end it with what can only be described as possibly unfortunate, probably insensitive and definitely bizarre utterance: I theeenk.  Was he not sure?  Whatever the answer may be, it didn't seem to slow him down any.  He got career advice from Beatles' manager Brian Epstein, he came to the States and starred in episodes of Daniel Boone and Mannix -- an unlikely combo in and of itself.



So there you have it. Three songs as different as they could be. Considering they were all hits on MY birthday, the fact that they are unusual, bizarre, and just plain different should not be surprising whatsoever.

I theeeenk.