My neighbor loves me. She does. Cuz she got us tickets to Los Lobos and Los Lonely Boys about three months ago or something (they played at the amphitheater at the zoo) and I have been counting it down on my fingers and toes ever since I heard we were going. I’ve seen them I don’t even know how many times, 7, 8, 10 — a lot. They’ve been loyal about coming to Portland since they first started touring. They used to sleep on my friend Fred’s floor when they first started playing here cuz they were broke. And they liked Fred. Because, who wouldn’t? (Who else crashed with him? X. Fishbone. Everyone.) He’s a great guy, plus he looks a lot like Joey Ramone. Even though he has always been too hip for the room, he still let me hang out with him, which I appreciated. Also, Los Lobos weren’t the only ones who were broke. Fred is the one who got me on the guest lists and got me listening to Los Lobos.

I love all of their songs. I can only say that of Tom Petty and of Los Lobos: I love every single song they play. But the song I linked to is the one that undoes me every time. It’s my absolute favorite. Next to “I Got Loaded,” which we won’t talk about because the wine last night, it was good.

Too good.

Bad wine, bad. I can’t drink anymore, people. My metabolism won’t metabolize for me. It bites.

“A quiet voice is singing something to me
An age old song about the home of the brave
In this land here of the free
One time one night in America”

One thing that bugs me about zoo concerts. Well, besides the parking, the pandemonium, the kids chucking frisbees at my head. Only white people there.

My neighbor went to hear the Neville Brothers there and they called out, “Where are all the brothers?”

Yeah, I’m asking the same question.

Great show. Los Lonely Boys is fun, too, but you know. They’re not Los Lobos. Sweeties, I’m sorry. Although midway through the wine, it occurred to me that we could be their grandmothers.

“If they were newborns!” my neighbor scoffed. “We could be their mothers, though.”

Ouch.

here’s a gift for you…

“Warm Beer & Cold Women,” by Tom Waits…

Remember my preview of Shine a Light? Yeah, my review of it would go something along those lines, too, so let’s skip it.

One thing: Too many close-ups of the guys, and the 75 dollar girls were trying a little too hard to look perky and excited about men who are old enough to be their grandfathers. (Or great-grandfathers, if everyone had started young enough.)

One more thing: Pretty sure that Ron Wood and Keith Richards are wearing wigs.

“me and room service/well we’re living the life of sin…”

Nice cover of Jackson C. Frank song by Nick Drake.

Oh, hey. This one is nice, too.

You know, when you think you have a 5:30 meeting, find a sitter, get your day set, then the meeting is canceled, YES!, pick up the kids, pick up the groceries, are reveling, nay riotously celebrating having the night off, unexpectedly… then you remember no, we forgot piano.

We never figured piano into the original 5:30-meeting-sitter-dinner-late night equation. Huh. How did we forget piano?

Then you think, damn Monday holidays, anyway. No! We need Monday holidays! It’s just… it throws my whole week, y’know?

Made it to piano, made it home (again), now it’s time for a nice glass of Bad Girl Blanc and a little Wuz (Not Wuz).

Yes.

OK, usually, dear readers, I think you know that I do not do that thing of trying to transfer a particularly annoying song from my head to yours. It’s called… what is the Internet expression? I cannot remember. Song transference or something.

But this is kinda an emergency.

It’s Iron Man. Ozzy, why must you torment me?

A couple of weeks ago, Hockey God asked me, “Why do our kids know all the words to Iron Man?” I’m all, “Their P.E. teacher.” (Wild guess.)

(And who is also why they know how to play Soak ‘Em, have learned some square dancing dances, have incredibly fun field days and is pretty much the only reason they agree to go to school. They love their P.E. teacher.)

“I am the ice cream man/
running over kids/
in my big white van…”

Yes, that’s all they’ve been singing for two weeks solid now.

Head. Hurts. Make it stop? It goes to your head, it leaves mine, yes?

wm

Still stuck in the ’80s over here. It’s my new comfort zone apparently. I’m all better, recovered from surgery, feeling okay. Now Wacky Girl has a cold, fever, sore throat and wants to throw things around the room. She’s learned from the best, I guess.

Off to do yoga, vacuum, watch more videos and placate my sweet daughter.

xxox

wm

ps — who can live without a little Ebn Ozn?

You know how many times the Nirvana video “Smells Like Teen Spirit” has been viewed? 11 million, eight hundred twenty-nine thousand, one hundred and 12 times, that’s how many. So far. Ah, what’s not to love about anarchist cheerleaders? So. So, so, so. Because I’m in an Oregonian-bashing kinda mood today… Did you realize the writers and editors there didn’t write shit about Nirvana until Kurt died? (more…)

“Miss Otis regrets, she’s unable to lunch today, madam,
Miss Otis regrets, she’s unable to lunch today.
She is sorry to be delayed,
but last evening down in Lover’s Lane she strayed, madam,
Miss Otis regrets, she’s unable to lunch today…”

Oh, now. It wasn’t anything grim, don’t get excited. But I wasn’t able to lunch with y’all last week because I was… Where? You guess. Vixy was the only one who missed me, apparently. (And no, you don’t get a guess, girl. Cuz you knew!) (Ditto the rest of yins who already know the answer.) So, where in the world did the Wacky Family go on vacation?

And did it really warrant removing the children from school for an entire week? (I’ll answer that one: Yes, it did.)

Would you like to know the lyrics to the song my daughter sang most of the way home? Yeah, OK. Here you go:

“That darn party pooper there he goes,
pooping out parties!
Paaaaaaaarties once again! Yeah, yeah.
Shake that booty, right in the Baaaaaaaaaarbie’s face! Woo!
Where’s… Super Granny? Where?
There she is! Look Super Granny, it’s the party pooooooooper!
‘Little girls, do not be crude!’
That darn party pooper, Super Granny can’t solve the riddle.
Oh! Oh! There’s my pizza, left over from yesterday!”

(Like how she worked the reality of finding old Pizza Hut in the car right into the song, no problemo?)

Her brother, in a deep voice: “Super. Batman. Is. Here.”

Yes. Imagine all that, times 2,000 miles. (That’s a hint.)

xxox

wm