My friend John just sent me this:
A septuagenarian named Frank “Little Sonny” Scott Jr. plays a homemade instrument made out of keys. Pretty cool. I’ve heard of wind chimes made out of old keys (which I’ve been saving some to create), but I’ve never actually heard of anyone making an instrument and earning a reputation for playing keys. Playing in key, maybe. I’d love to hear what this gent sounds like. Good thing he’s only 90 miles away.
Master Accordionist, originally uploaded by romanedirisinghe.
Last night, we got together with a bunch of Nicole’s friends at an Italian restaurant called “Il Dolce Vita,” or the sweet life. Situated in the historically Italian naighborhood of Boston’s North End, the restaurant dishes out an excellent culinary experience coupled with fine wines, live music, and exceptionally generous service, albeit at a lofty price. Glancing at the bill at the end of the night, I was quite thankful there were 10 of us to split it. Had I been dining alone, it would have amounted to a hefty car loan payment! Nevertheless, I enjoyed myself thouroughly. When the old crooning accordion player came to our table during his rounds, I scatted improvised vocal lines with him. He was so into singing that I would occasionally get sprayed with a fine mist of saliva. It was quite a blast. Really, it was. I felt like I was suddenly on the “in.” The food? Well, my scallops were excellent and slightly sweet, but I was disappointed by the shrimp, which were tougher than I expected from an expensive restaurant in a coastal city like Boston. Overall? I had a rippin’ good time, and the food was good. Bring extra money.
Once in Harvard Square, we stumbled upon the most fascinating street musician, Vera Meyer. She played an odd instrument called the Glass Harmonica, and was quite obsessed with Jay Leno and appearing on the Tonight Show. Vera ran through a gamut of songs with an audience member turning the crank on her instrument, and I was mightily impressed by the eerie sound. She informed us the instrument was rumored to make the musician go insane, but that she felt fine. I shrugged to myself as we walked away; sanity is in the eyes of the beholder.
This photo was taken shortly after we arrived in Boston yesterday morning. It was nice to be back in a city, and slough off the remnants of the Cape Cod Coma. We dropped off our bags at the hotel (check in wasn’t until 3:00 pm!?), and started walking around immediately. We hopped on the “T,” Boston’s subway, and made our way to Harvard Square.
My friend Tim just recently sent me this article, and I totally want to go to this outstanding event. However, my finances will likely not permit it, so I’ll have to encourage my friends and family in Sri Lanka to check it out.
The creation of WOMAD (which stands for World Of Music, Arts, and Dance) was inspired by Peter Gabriel in the early 1980’s, and since its inception has dazzled audiences by bringing together the most awe inspiring performers from around the world.
I’m quite excited that WOMAD will be held in Sri Lanka this year, especially since most people had never heard of the country prior to last December’s tragic tsunami. WOMAD’s presence in Sri Lanka will bring greater awareness of this cultural gem to the rest of the world, and only time will tell what creative bridges will be spanned as a result.
For any of you in the general area (Sri Lanka is quite a short trip from Europe, Asia, Australia, and India), the WOMAD festival will feature such greats as Billy Cobham, the Master Drummers of Burundi, and many more.
via World Music Central
Yesterday, we went to Dowses Beach, a local establishment for Hyannis residents in Cape Cod, Massachussetts. The water was thick with a green algae and Nicole and I had some fun dressing up as a mermaid and a merman. I think we look way too cool.
The beach was rather windy, and it amused us to no end that our towels were sandy within minutes of shaking them off. A sea gull snatched a bag of our potato chips. Nicole chased the bird down, and retrieved them. My only regret was not having my camera ready for that spectacle. We baked in the sun for hours and it was good. It was actually quite nice to sit on a beach that didn’t smell bad (aka Bradford Beach in Milwaukee, Wisconsin).
Today, we leave Cape Cod for Boston, where Nicole spent a good ten years or more before moving to Milwaukee. I’m excited to visit, as I have never been there before.
Brief synopsis of the day: Nicole, her mother Mary Lee and I went to Provincetown (also called P-Town by the natives) to check it out. It is apparently one of the top gay/lesbian vacation spots in the world. It was a very cool, laid back community, full of talented artists and tourists checking out the laid back Cape Cod life.
We picked up and order of fried dough (which I had never had before, save in its analogous form of beignet) and as we were eating I spied a woman wearing the shortest dress I had ever seen. Well…
Upon closer inspection, “she” turned out to be a he, complete with a spiral lollipop, Hello Kitty handbag and a balding head. (S)he bought a soda and then met up with a friend, who the photograph reveals was a transvestite as well. Check out the calves in the full size photo.
I just got done getting stuffed on lobster with Nicole and her parents. I can barely move, and the experience was quite exciting.
We left Milwaukee this morning and had an excellent flight. I took some cloud pictures along the way. After we arrived in Boston, Nicole’s dad Richard picked us up and we drove to Cape Cod. Then, we went and bought some fresh, live lobster. After a short nap, we prepared dinner. I found out that it is most humane to dip the lobster in the boiling water head first. What you see here is the giant claw of the lobster I laid to rest. Thank you, oh wonderful, feisty lobster.
Last Saturday, I had the misfortune of running into my seventh grade social studies teacher, Mrs. Joan Jacobson. Fresh in from Sri Lanka, I wasn’t quite prepared for the ordeal of this awful woman, who did everything in her power to make me feel like I didn’t belong. Not only did she affect me badly, but my parents hated her too. My grades were terrible in her class, and for once my parents felt it had less to do with me and more the teacher. I think I got a “D” in her class. I don’t remember. I don’t care.
Why, the reader may ask, would one invite an encounter with such an individual? The answer is that I really didn’t want to, and she was the last person on my mind as I visited my parents’ neighbor’s rummage sale. Anne, the unsuspecting neighbor, introduced me to her friends as the son of the people next door, and Joan Jacobson happened to be sitting there. I recognized her immediately. She asked me what my name was, and I told her, and she actually remembered me as the foreign student. Out of respect for the neighbors, I refrained from telling her that I remembered her as a bigoted bitch, and that I had had the worst year of my life in her stupid class. I wanted to tell her that her concepts of IALAC (I Am Loved And Cared for) and IAHAD (I Am Hated And Dumb) were the most inane ideas that I had ever endured, and that she should rot in a hell designed specifically for fascist teachers for all of eternity. Fortunately, my friend Ragani stopped by and I had an opportunity to excuse myself before I let my tongue get slippery.
I guess I resent her. I’m trying to figure out how to either let go of this or contact her and simply tell her how awful a person she was. I thought she would be dead by now. Honestly, death would be too kind a fate for this ignoble excuse for a teacher.
I actually worked on music last night.
Oumar Sagna’s Sindoolaa band had a rehearsal. We practiced for just under 2 hours, but it was quite productive.
Later, at home, I got my Pro Tools recording gear reinstalled on my Powerbook, and started digging through some recordings that I’d made. My goal was to notate some of it, in order for me to share it with other musicians. I opened up Sibelius and got started.
Hours later, I was still at it.
When I woke up this morning, I wormed my way to my basement, opened up the score, and continued where I left off. My enjoyment was so great that I got to work late.
