Welcome to the mish-mash that is today's blog. It's the Kibbles and Bits of Life that have sort of stuck to my essence over the last several days. Come to think of it, I suppose that makes it more like lint than dogfood, which in turn makes my blog the literary equivalent of a little Scotch-tape ring that I put around my fingers because with God and Martha Stuart as my witness, I couldn't find a lint brush in my house if my fuzzied soul depended upon it. So, here goes.
I watched oh, about half. Why only half? Because there WAS. NO. TALENT. OK, Technically there was a little talent. And the talent that was there was suspect at best. What could tear me away from my annual ritual of score sheets, ice cream and giggles? A super-sized repeat of The Apprentice (Now with 10 extra boardroom minutes!) which was great. The Apprentice is fascinating, because to me, Corporate America is as far from Academia and the Performing Arts as one could get. Of course, I know Sopranos more ruthless than The Donald and Stage Directors more clueless than Omorosa. Still in all, it's like watching animals in a zoo. Well, animals in a zoo that wear business suits and drink coffee and have to design new toys and ice cream flavors.
But back to Miss America. I switched over just as they were taunting me a second time by playing 5-second talent snippets of the top ten finalists. They cut it to five, and then they cut it to two. I was somewhat dismayed to see the cut to five left us with an awfully pale panel of scholarship hopefuls. The final two included a jazz dancer and a "singer." Yes it's in quotes for a reason. They tried to sell us on the premise that (IMPORTANT: INSERT MONSTER TRUCK RALLY VOICE HERE) the final two were going to go head-to-head in a talent competition that could tip the scales to either one. Based on who was wearing the crown and sashaying to Clay Aiken doing his best Bert Parks, she only tipped the scales if atonal singing was the goal. Yuck. If we have to suffer through crappy talent, I want equal opportunity for all 50 states. And make baton twirling mandatory, dag-nabbit!
The Obscurity of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Today I finished up the Folk Song unit in Class Voice. I played folk songs of the Aborigines, folk songs from the Carolinas (waves to Ocracoke and Roy Parsons), Scottish and Irish folk songs, and some Limeliters. I also played TinyTuna's favorite, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald as an example of a folk song that told a story, recounted history, and was also a success on the American pop charts. Only ONE student had heard of either the song or Gordon Lightfoot. How can that be? He's a legend. And the legend lives on from the Chippewas on down from the big lake they call Gitcheegumee. I mean, really. Her comment? "They play it on the oldies station in November." Oy gah. It won't be long before they say, "Beatles, who?"
States and Capitols, Continued
Yes. Yes. New Hampshire. Concord. I forgot. This week? The Virginias (again), The Carolinas, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Tennessee, Kentucky and Louisiana. Do I know all the capitols? You betcha. And I can spell 'em right, too!
The archival calendar tells me today is the one-year anniversary of this little pile of bits and bytes. How did that happen? I've always loved the written word, but I've loved it by singing it, not writing it. And here I am, writing (more like blathering today) and enjoying it immensely. I read everyone on my list religiously, and many more besides. You've all inspired me in your own ways, made me think, and I am thankful and blessed to be one small part of this community of talented, creative souls. To those of you who visit regularly or just now and again, thank you. You presence is appreciated, your comments are welcomed, and No, I don't have any information on why Kirstie Allie is fat.
To another year of TunaNews. *Clink*