Fox News Interview with Dalai Lama. Listen I deplore Fox News as much as the next Leftie, but when they get it right, you gotta give ’em credit.
Bret Baier recently interviewed the Lama, the flowing robes, grace, bald, and asked him the single most burning, and theretofore unanswered pop culture question of import.
He asked the Twelfth Son of the Lama if he’d ever seen “Caddyshack?”
Turns out the Lama’s not quite the big hitter Carl Spackler (Bill Murray) claimed to have caddied for. He advised Baier, he plays badminton, not golf.
Gunga galunga…gunga — gunga galunga.
Marshall Chapman (Facebook 6/14). Vandy grad Chapman’s always been pretty damn hip. No less an authority than Waylon Jennings said in the 70s, “Marshall’s a good ole boy. She can come on the bus.” She showed up and played Tim Krekel’s wake at Vernon Lanes. And did a great cameo as lounge singer in “Mississippi Grind.”
Then she recently passed on this great suggestion on Facebook,
“This just in – don’t know who wrote it:
“How about we treat every young man who wants to buy a gun like every woman who wants to get an abortion — mandatory 48-hour waiting period, parental permission, a note from his doctor proving he understands what he’s about to do, a video he has to watch about the effects of gun violence, and an ultrasound wand up the ass (for good measure). Let’s close down all but one gun shop in every state and make him travel hundreds of miles, take time off from work, and stay overnight in a strange town to get a gun. Make him walk through a gauntlet of people holding photos of loved ones who were shot to death, people who call him murderer and beg him not to buy a gun.”
“Junko Partner” Big Chief Monk Boudreaux and Anders Osborne. (Sirius XM, The Loft) Big Chief of the Golden Eagles Mardi Gras Indians Monk Boudreaux was sitting in a tent at JazzFest a few years back, carefully stitching beads to his costume for the next year’s parade. I had a question I needed to ask he who would know, about lyrics from the classic tune “Iko Iko.”
“What does “Jock-a-mo fee-no ai na-né” mean?
He looked up, glanced at the the Film Babe, who was with me, acknowledged her feminine presence, and asked, “You sure you want to hear the answer?” When we both nodded yes, he answered. “Get the fuck out of the way.”
Anders Osborne’s a Swede, who emigrated to New Orleans in the mid 80s. He’s consumed enough crawfish pie, étouffée and jambalaya that’s he’s extinguished any inner Abba.
Nothing like a little syncopated Crescent City coming out of the car radio to make you tap the steering wheel.
Man at Bus Stop, Brownsboro Road. The Fahrenheit was in the mid 90s. It was High Noon. The paraplegic motored his wheelchair to the bus stop. His suit was immaculate, without a crease, his tie knotted with a perfect Windsor. He was wearing a crisp straw summer fedora. He stopped pivoted his transport, lit up a cigarette, and tilted his head back like FDR in satisfaction.
“Tower of Song” Tom Jones. Tom Jones’s talent has been underestimated for decades. He’s never really gotten his due. All of it traceable to the ignominy his ’65 hit, “What’s New Pussycat?” The song remains a barnacle no amount of quality output has been able to dispatch, a blemish he’s had to endure throughout his subsequent career, like a goiter the size of a softball growing on the side of his neck. The Welshman’s got a huge voice, plenty of soul and a powerful stage presence, if a bit too much Vegas creeps into his between songs patter.
He’s 76, and, yes, he’s lost some of his vocal power, but it’s hard to discern. Leonard Cohen’s “Tower of Song” is just about the perfect tune for him these days.
Well my friends are gone and my hair is gray/ I ache in the places where I used to play/ And I’m crazy for love but I’m not coming on/ I’m just paying my rent every day in the tower of song
Chicken and Waffles (Butchertown Grocery, 6/03). Tasty. Bountiful. If you can get in the very busy hip new Butchertown eatery, and you should endeavor to do so, ask to have Lucas wait on you.
— c d kaplan