We went to hear Bo Ramsey and Greg Brown at the Aladdin last night. The guys were great; the audience was not. Steve: “Portland audiences may be obnoxious, but at least they’re enthusiastic.” How diplomatic of him. Here’s a song for you, and it kinda sums it all up for me:

“Where’s your wife?” one heckler yelled. Greg Brown’s wife being the beautiful and talented singer, Iris DeMent. “She’s at home cooking!” Brown yelled back.

“Get her out here to sing with you!” the same guy yells.

“She won’t sing with me. She’ll only sing with… John Prine.”

It’s true. Or maybe if you’re Josh Turner, she’ll sing with you.

Can’t blame her there.

Also, i’m in love with Pieta Brown, Greg’s daughter:

Now, since this is basically a love letter to Iowa and all the good musicians I’d never heard of ’til I married Steve:

And I don’t want to overlook Bo, so here he is, too.

Love you all, thanks for the music.

– nancy

We had fun.

goddangit do i hate obituaries.

“Well I think I’m losing my mind this time/this time/i’m losing my mind/that’s right…”

i went to one of their shows with my sis. they were wearing orange jumpsuits, and pissed off at the crew for calling them their “costumes.” “They’re our *uniforms*!” Yeah, get it straight! ;) They made me so happy, these guys.

Peace and love to Adam’s wife and daughter.

– wm

“My child, we are not born to hold a gun, we are born to love. Love is the only weapon we carry.” — Thich Nhat Hanh, from “Creating True Peace: Ending Violence in Yourself, Your Family, Your Community, and the World”

Amy Chua has gotten a load of grief over her memoir, “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother,” about parenting her two daughters. I liked the book — I thought she was brave and forthright, and funny, too. She’s the first one to admit her flaws, people, so get off her back. I agree with some of her methods. I know, I know — she got a little extreme. But you know what? Motherhood makes you crazy. It’s the truth.

Maybe we could talk honestly about our struggles and demons, instead of going all judgmental and focusing on finger-pointing. When did it become such a sticky wicket, “modern parenting”? Try to do the best you can and call it a day. Gah.

“Next Stop Grand Central” is another great picture book by Maira Kalman. It was published in 1999, but I just got a copy of it a couple of months ago. I’m trying to collect everything by Kalman — some of it is expensive and hard to find, but if you poke around on eBay and Amazon, or at the used book stores, titles show up and you can find them at reasonable prices.

Just received a review copy of Sophie Kinsella’s latest, “I’ve Got Your Number.” (My disclaimer.) I started it and it is fun and engaging, like her books always are. I needed something a little lighter — I’ve been on an F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald kick — novels, bios, short stories. I like these self-imposed author studies I do, but it’s a little much sometimes, eh, Sylvia? So Ms. Kinsella, thanks for another good read.

(Edited on 3/12/12 to say: Finished the Kinsella book last week — loved it. There’s a touch of sorrow and intensity to this one, woven through. V. good.)

“No one wants to hear stories about about bad things. That’s the truth. I remember that my tutor at college once asked me if I was all right and if I wanted to talk. The moment I started, he said, ‘You mustn’t lose your confidence, Poppy!’ in this brisk way that meant, ‘Actually I don’t want to hear about this, please stop now.’”

Next: Somehow, when I was doing my library work, I missed reading Jon Scieszka and Lane Smith’s picture book, “The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs!” (flipside in Spanish: “!La Verdadera Historia de Los Tres Cerditos!”). You know why? It’s such a great book that the students and teachers always had it checked out and I never got to enjoy it! How dare they! Ha. Found my kids’ old copy awhile back, out at their grandma’s house, and brought it home with us.

I give this one five out of five stars. Yes. !Si!

Jarrett J. Krosoczka (who also wrote the hilarious “Lunch Lady” series of graphic novels) has a new picture book out: “Ollie the purple elephant.” Too. Cute. Really liked the art in this one, and the story is fun. That’s it for books. Now how about a short film and some music? Alright.

This short film won an Oscar last night. I just adore it.

And now, just because I am still so bummed about Whitney Houston’s death, another video — this one of an impossibly young Whitney and her incredible mom, Cissy. Peace, peace, peace to the Houston family

Dear Bobbi Kristina,

I’m so sorry you lost your mom.

love,

nancy

ps — I appreciated this report by Lee Hawkins, I thought it was good.

(Photo by Steve Rawley.)

Misc. everything, by me, Wacky Mommy:

1) No one told me Will Smith and Jada Pinkett (soon to be not) Smith were divorcing. Explain yourselves, prettiest couple in the world next to President and Mrs. Obama.

2) Is it really necessary to make one movie, much less two, about the poor, sweet, late Linda Lovelace? Do all oppressed women everywhere a favor and skip the soon-to-be-released movies. Skip Deep Throat, too, if anyone happens to suggest that you view it together, for a little “fun.” Go read her autobiography/biography by Mike McGrady instead. Seriously. She was one of my heroes growing up, because she lived through her past. Rest in peace, hon.

3) The wild tom, Baby, is back at the vet. There goes another several hundred dollars that I don’t have. Love you, fluffy boy. Please stay healthy.

4) Tired today. Gardened and planted all weekend. It’s looking nice out there… Maybe Stevie will take some pictures this week for me to post.

5) My kid is getting some dental work done soon. Not so much fun. Send some good thoughts his way, would ya? Thanks.

6) Off to read now, and possibly write. No word from the vet about when Baby gets to come home. Soon, we hope. Well, our grouchy old-lady cat is glad he’s gone, but the other cat and I miss him.

7) I was thinking about this Goldschmidt situation a little more. How I feel about this can be best explained by Andrew McCarthy, telling off James Spader’s douchebag character, Stef, at the end of “Pretty in Pink.” (Somehow I never saw the movie — watched it with my daughter this weekend. It’s awfully good.) Anyway. The douchebag has convinced his BFF, Blaine (played by McCarthy) that Molly Ringwald’s character is a poor, ugly, worthless slut, and that he shouldn’t date her. And like the big idiot that he is, Blaine listens to him. Then he wises up.

Blaine, to Stef: “You couldn’t buy her, though, that’s what’s killing you, isn’t it? Stef? That’s it, Stef. She thinks you’re shit. And deep down, you know she’s right.”

That’s what I’m saying. That’s what we all want, am I right here? For people to not think that we’re pieces of shit. For Goldschmidt, he can atone forever, but there is no hope for him. He is upset because he knows Steve and I can’t stand him, and are calling him out for the child rapist asshole from hell that he is. So he needs to go climb back under his rock and stop re-traumatizing the rest of us by trying to crawl out again. Give up, already. Done.

For the rest of us? We all need to be a little more like Duckie, and a little less like James Spader. Or Charlie Sheen, as the case may be.

8) Just heard from the vet: The cat has cystitis. They’ll shoot him up with antibiotics and send him home with pain meds. Three hundred dollars, please. (Edited to say: Total was $353.13, and that included pain meds for him only, not me.)

all for now,

yours, as always,

wm

Man, I loved Tori Spelling’s memoir. Yeah, she had a writer help her with it, but it’s her voice, her stories, all Tori, all the time. I love that girl. Yes, I was a big 90210 and Melrose Place fan, back in the olden days before there was high-def TV. Her dad was just a crazy writing, producing, Hollywood machine gun of a guy, and her mom is named Candy and loves to buy shit and… The Spellings are as close as we have to royalty in this country we call the U.S. of A., no? Steve and I think her husband, Dean McDermott, is funny as hell, too, cuz he played Stan Ryckman in one of our favorite TV shows ever, The Tournament. (It’s a Canadian show about hockey, it’s as if they designed it just for us.) I love those two, and their kids, and their other kids (their goats) and that’s all. xoxoxoxoxox to you and your family, Tori. Next?

Oh, yes. Next is the bad news. I tried to read Jeffrey Eugenides’s (“The Virgin Suicides”) latest, “The Marriage Plot.” Made it through the first 71 pages. Yeah, you take a pee. Whatever. (This is an “adult” book.) You do not “pee with taurine force” (p. 59.) (Yeah, your guess is correct. “Like a bull.”) You have breasts. You may even have pale breasts. But a “pale, quiet, Episcopalian breast”? (p. 71.) Now you’re just trying to show off wif your writing, boy. Eh.

Next? “Wildwood,” by Colin Meloy (from the band the Decemberists, and that one episode of the TV show “Portlandia”) and his lovely wolf, Carson Ellis. Was it named for Wildwood restaurant, the fancy-shmancy place in Northwest Portland? Maybe they like to eat there or something. I do not know. Oh! It’s named for the Wildwood Trail in Forest Park, no doubt. There you go.

I do love Ellis’s art — she has done illustrations for Lemony Snicket and Florence Parry Heide and (one of my favorites) Trenton Lee Stewart (“The Mysterious Benedict Society”). She, Meloy and their kid, who is, I’m sure, adorable, as kids usually are, live in Portland, Ore. They are referred to as “hipsters.” (Ellis-Meloy, that is.) Their young adult novel has been getting rave reviews and lots o’ press and wow, what a book, etc. Babies, all I could think about was “Portlandia,” and a ways into the book, I became convinced that Carrie Brownstein and Fred Armisen, who I know, I know, a lot of you find as adorable as the Ellis-Meloy kid is, no doubt… I started thinking that they wrote the book, even though of course they didn’t, it’s Mr. Meloy and Ms. Ellis’s book and chicken people, no, crows, crow people and St. Johns in North Portland oh-my-gawd it’s so hip I could die, and gah…

gah argh gah blech arrrrr etc. gah argh gah blech arrrrr etc. gah argh gah blech arrrrr etc. gah argh gah blech arrrrr etc. gah argh gah blech arrrrr etc. gah argh gah blech arrrrr etc. gah argh gah blech arrrrr etc. gah argh gah blech arrrrr etc. gah argh gah blech arrrrr etc.

I’m telling you. Hell hath no fury like a native-born and -grown Portland girl who can’t live there anymore cuz it’s not her people anymore and…

Where was I? Oh, yeah. “What right do you have to even review books? Who are you, anyway, Little Miss Astor Butt?”

I. Love. Books. I have a B.A. in English, I write and edit, my kids and husband are all big readers, I come from a family of big readers on both sides, mom’s and dad’s, and… right. I’m a librarian, too, in my free time. You know what a book needs to do? Move me. And these last two just didn’t, fancy words, gushing accolades, pretty covers, what have you. So gimme Tori Spelling. She’s funny, she’s real, and she’s not trying to impress me. She’s self-deprecating as hell. She does something kooky, things don’t turn out well, and she says, Surprise, surprise…

You can keep your hip references and wordy-wordiness, alright? Please, for the love of Mike, don’t be pretentious.

(PS — I purchased “Wildwood” for my kids. They do like Portlandia, but refuse to read this book that I plunked down $17.99 for. The other two I checked out from the library. No disclaimer needed. Although I did get hungry for apple pie, reading “The Marriage Plot.” Two of the characters are discussing when pie used to arrive with a slice of cheddar on top, yeah, I remember that, one of the characters says, followed by no, actually I don’t. So I put the books aside and baked a pie. It was delicious. So there’s my disclaimer.)

all for now,

wm