I don't know what to do here," says the devil. "You are on my list, but I have no room for you. You definitely have to stay here, so I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I've got a couple folks here who weren't quite as bad as you. I'll let one of them go, but you have to take their place. I'll even let YOU decide who leaves."

Bush thought that sounded pretty good, so the devil opened the first room: In it was Richard Nixon and a large pool of water. He kept diving in and surfacing empty handed. Over and over and over. Such was his fate in hell.

No," George said. "I don't think so. I'm not a good swimmer and I don't think I could do that all day long."

The devil led him to the next room: In it was Ronald Reagan with a sledge hammer and a room full of rocks. All he did was swing that hammer, time after time after time. "No, I've got this problem with my shoulder. I would be in constant agony if all I could do was break rocks all day," commented George.

The devil opened a third door: Bush saw Bill Clinton, lying on the floor with his arms tied over his head, and his legs restrained in a spread-eagle pose. Bent over him was Monica Lewinsky, doing what she does best. Bush took this in with disbelief and finally said, "Yeah, I could handle this."

The devil smiled and said, "OK, Monica, you're free to go."

How Enron Came Into So Much Trouble
Capitalism
You have two horses. You sell one and buy a stallion. Your herd multiplies, and the economy grows. You sell them and retire on the income.

Enron AdVenture Capitalism
You have two horses. You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother-in-law at the bank, then execute a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer so that you get all four horses back, with a tax exemption for five horses.

The breeding rights of the six horses are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Island company secretly owned by the majority shareholder who sells the rights to all seven horses back to your listed company. The annual report says the company owns eight horses, with an option on one more.

Now you know why a company with $62 billion in assets declared bankruptcy?
How To Google-4
Google is a units-of-measurement converter. Type "teaspoons in a gallon," for example, or "centimeters in a foot." Click Search to see the answer.

SALON Interview with Tobias Wolf: Click HERE.
Billy Crystal Sez
"Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place."
How To Google-2
Put a hyphen right before any word you want screened out. If you're looking up dolphins, for example, you'll have to wade through a million Miami Dolphins pages unless you search for "dolphins -Miami."
Ellen Jantzen Art
Beautiful digital images. Click HERE.
Ellen's Web Site HERE.
Other Friends' Web Sites

NYC Street Scenes
Taking my youngest daughter to swim team yesterday and saw a gorgeous woman coming towards us in the crosswalk. Then Emma said, "Hi Mommy." And it sort of made my day.
Watch Steve Ballmer Do The Monkey Dance
Click HERE. Not too embarrassing Steve but don't ever run for (U.S) President.

Ethics-101
The Latest CyberToon. Tricky Dick Returns. Click HERE.
Subject: New Emblem for the Republican Party
The Republican National Committee announced today that the Republican Party is changing its emblem from an elephant to a condom. The Republican committee chairman explained that the condom more clearly reflects the party's stance today: A condom accepts inflation, halts production, precludes a next generation, protects a bunch of pricks, and offers a sense of security while you're actually getting screwed.
(Passed on by her lovliness, Midnight Mango.)xxxxxxxxoooooooo

Porsche Owners
If you drive a Porsche, my son, Aaron has a shop in Minneapolis that caters to your every need.
Click HERE to visit his homepage.
Monty Python
Miss Monty's boys? Click HERE.

The idea of best lists is somewhat silly since many of the artist on such lists have 10 great albums each. And as we all know music doesn't really respect boundaries. As Townes Van Zandt said, "There is only two kinds of music. There is the blues and then there is Zippity do-dah."
And take a guy like Ray Charles: He can sing a country song with the best of them, he defines soul music, he was rock'n and rollin' along side Little Richard and Chuck Berry at the beginning. Put him beside Fathead Newman and he plays straight on jazz, and he can sing the blues better than anyone. He could probably hold his own alongside Pavoratti.
None the less, HERE is a list of great albums. Think of it as a starter kit.

* Part 4 of Music Memoirs. More to Come.

For Billie(who died)

april 7th Billie died
she would be sixty
had she lived
a little less
or had we loved her
a little more
the door slammed shut
finally on friday
in fifty-nine

O'Hara had a shoeshine
he could recall
sweating
short of breath

i was sleeping
in study hall
i never knew her
and its been years
since Billie died
but today i cried
bitter tears

When Alex Haley's bogus Lady Sings The Blues was first published my jazz fanatic roommate Jim bought a copy and we all read it diligently. We then speculated on who should play Billie in the inevitable movie. I thought Carmen could do it. Jim thought Abby Lincoln would be better. Then Jim said, "Shit, y'know damn well whose gonna get the part."
"Who? Doris Day?" I said.
"Naw," Carl said. "Natalie Wood."
"Diana Ross." Jim said, and we all shut up because, sadly, we knew he was right on the money.
That was on Lake street in Minneapolis in 1964. The movie came out in 1972. Of course we all had to see it. The song that betrays the whole misguided scheme is Good Morning Heartache. As rendered by Ms. Ross it is a paean to herself, acting. When Billie sings it you hear a double edge sword as keen as Occam's Razor. Billie's singing about the lousy men in her life but she's also mourning her addiction to junk.
* Part 3 of Music Memoirs. More to come.

Carmen McRae*
Who knows why Carmen was singing a benefit in some low-rent auditorium south of the Haight in early 60s San Francisco. I had seen her the night before at Sugar Hill and leapt with joy when she announced it between sets. I was there an hour early and got a seat in the first 10 rows. Of course Carmen was also running on jazz time so I sat there reading The Chronicle:
Herb Caen had written an item about a guy who called a book store to inquire if they had any books on suicide. Told that they did, he then asked for the address and was informed that it was on Market street. "Is that near the Golden Gate Bridge?" the caller wanted to know.
Caen then went on to quote statistics on suicide and announced that San Francisco was high in the rankings and the Golden Gate Bridge an especially popular point of departure. And for some reason, jumpers often left their shoes placed neatly on the walkway. I chuckled and moved on to Ralph Gleason's column. Gleason was singing praises for Lenny Bruce who was everywhere in San Francisco in those days. They often played his records over the P.A. between sets at The Blackhawk and the mixed-race audience laughed nervously when he did his Nigger, Nigger, Nigger routine. "How many niggers we got in the house tonight." I still don't think Bruce was very funny except in a very broad historical context. I didn't get it and felt embarrassed and uncomfortable.
I have always felt perfectly comfortable in integrated situations except once when I was in graduate school in New York. I saw a poster in the neighborhood around Pratt Institute announcing a huge concert deeper into Bedford-Stuyvesant with James Brown as top billing. Cool, I thought, and trotted on over. The line-up at the ticket booth was mostly black, actually all black, but I didn't really notice. I bought my ticket and came back that night.
In the midst of the concert, when the audience was enthusiastically out of control (and I was not), I looked around and noticed I was literally the only white person in the place. I stayed until the encores when Brown did his big cape routine then crept out the door feeling guilty for some reason.
All these years later, I know why. Many of my heroes have been black musicians and I rather assumed black was not only beautiful but usually correct. As in knowing. I didn't then and still don't like James Brown; think he's as phony as P Diddy. I've relaxed my PC guilt and like to think that Coltrane and Miles and Monk and Jimi Hendrix are turning over in their graves trying to understand Snoop Doggy Dogg and all those other recent posers. Hip Hop is the first black music I hate as much as disco. In fact it is hard to even call it music. It is more a form of aggression and not in a good or useful way. And as overkill, the best rap 'artist' is a white guy called Eminem.
My reading was disrupted by applause. I turned my head and (speaking of beautiful) saw the most gorgeous milk chocolate babe in the world strutting down the center aisle. For a few seconds I didn't know who she was. On stage at Sugar Hill with makeup and lights, Carmen looked regal and properly in place. But here in dim incandescent light, striding ten inches away, perfume wafting in my face, my lord!!!! Brown sugar! Wrapped in some sort of fur, she tossed it to a friend in the 3rd or 4th row, revealing a shiny sleek form fitting dress, and hit the stage. Her trio kicked in and she was off. Later she pushed aside the piano player and played a bit herself.
Carmen! Up close and delicious. Who remembers what she sang: No doubt Black Coffee, Dedicated To you, Tenderly, I'll Be Seeing You, perhaps Lover Man. At that time she only touched on Billie who she would later just come flat out and emulate on her tribute album. Carmen and Sarah Vaughn are probably the only post-Billie jazz or pop singers who don't sound silly singing Miss Brown To You.
You may have noticed that great record albums, like your chocolate stash, tend to disappear. I'm not saying that my friends are thieves but some people steal and when I recently had an urge to listen to some Carmen there was not a track in my stacks. About a year ago, I digitized and packed away in boxes most of my classic albums no longer available. Or if available perhaps re-packaged with added tracks and alternate takes. When you have lived with Relaxin' with The Miles Davis Quintet for 40 years and know each note as well as you know your mama's aroma, you don't need to hear a second take of Oleo.
Well I got out the old Visa and logged on to Amazon. For starters I had to have three by Carmen: You're Looking At Me, Lover Man and Sarah: Dedicated To You. Left to right her tributes to Nat King Cole, Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughn. Not a track on any of those CDs make you wish for the original which is a pretty amazing vocal feat.

* Part 2 of Music Memoirs. More to come.

Riding The Trane*

Maybe your first indelible encounter with John Coltrane involved a rooming house, around 1961, waiting to move into your off campus apartment in Minneapolis. Perhaps your roomie had 3 or 4 hundred jazz LPs and had just bought My Favorite Things but all the two of you had unpacked was your old pre-stereo turntable with a single three inch speaker twittering the sound. But it was enough to make it through a few plays. And then, after moving into your apartment and setting up a decent stereo, you played it over and over, day after day for months. Full blast!!!!!!!

Perhaps you dropped out of art school after a couple years and headed to San Francisco. And after securing a place to live and employment, you began to explore the reasons that San Francisco is not Minneapolis. You discover they have many clubs where for $1 (one dollar) you can get in the door and for another $1 you can buy a bottle of beer. And, oh, by the way, Miles, or Dizzy or Chico Hamilton, or Art Blakey, or Carmen McRae, or MJQ (name your favorite) happens to be playing two or three sets a night this week.

So for $5 you can nurse your beer and listen to the preaching, or sidle up next to Ralph Gleason chatting with Miles between sets hoping they might include you in the conversation. But they don't and eventually you have to go home to sleep a few hours before going to work again to make another $5 so you could go out again that weekend. You had your choice of The Blackhawk in The Tenderloin or The Jazz Workshop, or Sugar Hill across the street up in North Beach. There were others but those three supplied you with the best and that was plenty. There were only so many nights a week.

Thus it was that you found yourself one night sitting at the bar at the Jazz Workshop waiting for The John Coltrane Quartet to begin their first set. You got there early so as not to have to pay for the two drink per set minimum at a table. Across the street, Carmen McRae is singing at Sugar Hill and you had thought about maybe going there instead. Jazz fans know about jazz time and learn patience but you have yet to learn this. You spring for a second beer and try to be cool for the tawny barmaid; maybe she will notice you and ask you out. Maybe not.

Soon enough JC and the boys wander in chattering about how gorgeous Carmen was, and with no intro, hit the stand and on the first beat lay into I Want To Talk About You. After that the quartet started Chasing The Trane and when Coltrane started his solo, the other three walked off the stand went outside to have a smoke. Trane continued solo for about 30 minutes and when he was finished your brain was about exhausted. Check it out!

First, you got an on-rushing feeling of "Ok, right."
Then you took a sip of Falstaff, settled in and said to yourself, "Go on, tell me!"
Next you utter a little, "Oh yeah", and the Trane Ride picks up speed. This isn't the Rock Island Line chugging across Iowa. This is Coltrane, destination Universe.
Knowledge, buck-naked knowledge, smacks you in the face, grabs your balls, gooses you and makes you plead not to die before the song is over. And you feel certain that, for once, you are in the right place at the right time.
There is truth and IT is knowable. At least Coltrane knows. So, you know, IT is knowable. And it was good.

You have to walk the 50 blocks home that night, just to clear your head. Then for the next ten, thirty, forty years or more you get to marvel at the genius of Coltrane; (with Miles, after Miles; on junk, off junk, pre and post LSD). You buy every album you can afford and when CDs take over, you replace all your old scratchy LPs and listen anew. You get to listen to an artist evolve and grow until the boy you were becomes an old man. And Coltrane stays young for eternity.

Listen to Coltrane's break on Freddie Freeloader (Kind Of Blue; Miles Davis Quintet- 1959). It comes right after Cannonball has had his say. Or say you've found a new sweety: Play Ballads or John Coltrane And Johnny Hartman for her. It won't be as obvious as Let's Get It On by Marvin Gaye but It will work just as well.

You probably had a hint of this new found knowledge before. Back in cold, bleak Minneapolis. You (or your roomie) had read Steinbeck, maybe even Camus. But mere literature could not prepare you for the intensity of listening to Coltrane. No words nor mere painting, nor camera could capture Coltrane. You can Chase The Trane but he always stays ahead of you.

* This is one section of a memoir in progress. More to come.

Rumsfield Caught Lying

The agent grabs her, drags her into the back room, ties her to a large
inner tube, then drags her out the back door and downhill to the river,
where he pushes her in and sends her floating.

A second blonde comes by a few minutes later, sees the sign, goes inside,
lays her money on the counter, and asks for the $99 special. She too is tied
to an inner tube and sent floating down the river.

Drifting into stronger current, she eventually catches up with the first
blonde. They float side by side for a while before the first blonde asks,
"Do they serve refreshments on this cruise?

The second blonde replies, " They didn't last year."

Riding The Trane
Working on a memoir of my addiction to music. Will post it incrementally in the days to come.

And this from today's New York Times
"Hollywood Rethinking Films Of Faith After 'Passion'." ($267,000,000 to date)
Ambivalence here has been conquered by the buck.

Wanna know how to spot a TERRORIST? Go HERE.

You can download a Word document HERE full of The DerryDries Family's favorite recipes.

Download info re: A Response To Bush's Pacyderm Conclave In NYC This Summer

Pun Of The Day
A Freudian slip is when you say one thing but mean your mother.

Kate Plays Piano

John Kerry This is your mantra: "Anybody But Bush".
Spare change, anyone? Bush only has $200,000,000.00 + or -.

Too Stupid to be Prez
Nuff said.
Bush In 42.1 Seconds
Billionaires 4 Bush

Urban Legends & Hoaxes
Check out Hoaxes before passing them on.

The Center for Public Integrity
The Center for Public Integrity, a nonprofit, nonpartisan, tax-exempt organization, was founded by Charles Lewis following a successful 11-year career in network television news.

MoveOn.org
You've heard of it. Now sign on.

The American Civil Liberties Union
You've heard about if for years but now YOU SHOULD JOIN.

You will find here links to Non-Republican Anti-Bush Propaganda.

If you are on the dark side of reason, don't bother coming round; it will only piss you off.

Art related and cultural info, plus assorted items of possible general
interest to those with an active mind.

These pages offer a voluntary source of information to replace the frequent shotgun emails
some of you have been burdened with in the recent past. Take the load off Fanny... for those of
you Band fans.

GO HERE

GO HERE

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