In this week's Onion, on the front page, there is an article worth reading. It is titled, "97-Year-Old Dies Unaware Of Being Violin Prodigy". Then there is picture of old woman next to an inset picture of a violin with the caption, "Hollander, and the instrument, inset, that she could have mastered with uncommon grace." The first sentence of the article states, "ROCKFORD, IL--Retired post office branch manager Nancy Hollander, 97, died at her home of natural causes Tuesday, after spending her life completely unaware that she was one of the most talented musicians of the past century and possessed the untapped ability to become a world-class violin virtuoso." Our hope is that this tragedy is not a wasted one, but will be remembered as a lesson by all of you prodigies in the making.
Tonight, if you are feeling creative, come out and help Diandra and the D crew turn the D Note into a bat cave at 8:30p, after trivia. Every year Diandra remakes the D Note for Halloween and she needs our help. Slo Children will be playing an early run of its Halloween set and raising the seasonal spirits while the decorations are being made.
This Friday Afternoon Concert, at 5pm, will be by Laurie Dameron, heckuva jazz singer and player. free. Then 7pm we have a couple of solid local bands acoustic rock bands, 2:10 Special and 7even Days Till Sunrise. 9pm we have our friends Conscious Elliot back with their smart and heartfelt alternative Americana. And 11pm we have Frokus. Frokus has played the D Note before and they were killer. Super talented group, like Tool crossed with early Red Hot Chili Peppers.
Saturday we are closed for a wedding. We love having the energy and spirit of weddings at the D Note.
Now is as good a time as any to get involved at the D Note, whether helping with decorations tonight, learning to salsa dance on Sunday nights, or taking a Zumba class, or getting up on open stage or during the blues jam, or playing trivia on Thursdays. There are lots of ways. So what are you waiting for?
Making the grade,
Extra Credit: Here's a wonderful poem by Michael Cirelli, from his book Vacations On The Black Star Line
You know, when you talk,
but if you're from where I'm from
you may be "tawking,"
and depending on who you're
tawking to, and where they're from:
which bend of road
or angle of sun or moon-
light hits the dark room
of throat, informs
the way they say what they say,
which side of lip
the words plummet from or how tongue
strings 'em together chops
'em screws 'em,
how Mona is from a below
place where the speakers
speak like they're pulling up
word anchors from the deepest
depths of Mouf, or in some parts
more salt, and others more peppa:
whether cayenne or corn—
I'm in love with a boy
from East Oakland whose word is
stretched longer than
and his Dickies are starched.
In Texas, it is the vibration of
the dinner bell, in Kansas
In New Yawk, Nueva Yol,
where the tongues pulse like
marquees, talk keeps the lights on!
When T-Pain dissected
the tone of Flux
Capacitor, of E.T.'s grand
piano, and named his album
Rappa Ternt Sanga, he wasn't being
ignorant, or ignant at that, wasn't bad
at spelling (maybe bad
at rapping which is why
he turned singer), but he was
accounting for the texture of the dirt
in his teef. He was showing it off
in his smile. This makes sense to me.
Because I want everyone
to see the Rhode Island in my elbow.
I want everyone to know
I was born in a kawfee mug
floating down Narragansett Bay
and raised by a Lion.
And by kawfee mug I mean:
I was born in an alphabet that left its R
on the dressa—and by Narragansett Bay
I mean: an estuary flowing with wrenches
and ratchets and uniforms—and by Lion:
I mean my mother, who's been serving
breakfast to regulars since 1975
(when I showed up),
and to this day they still come to see
her, my ma
who tawks to each and every one
of them cuz she's gotta hotta-gold.