“Who publishes the sheet music of winds . . . ? “
Nobody. The wind improvises. Watch Ken Burns’ Jazz.
New SU Presidential Mansion
There’s an article in the latest SU alumni rag about the new, permanent president’s residence, a former trustee’s house atop Shades Mountain with the requisite, glorious view of the Sacred Bubble. Did they have to paint the dump Baptist white during the renovation?
Brings to mind the old sayin’, “There’s a place in hell for people who paint brick!” :)
Paradise Stinks
Well, it’s all coming out now: Honoluluans stink enough that certain political forces want to legislate who can ride public transportation. Stinky people aren’t welcome.
Oh, please! And let’s define olfactory offense: pleasant smells can be just as offensive as nasty ones. I remember my dear, childhood piano teacher glumly admitting during one lesson (to my great relief) that she had to stop wearing her favorite perfume because it made her students break out in hives, suffer watery eyes, sneeze, etc. (Curiously, when attending college recitals and concerts, I often sat next to a girl named Mandy who wore the same pleasantly lethal concoction–some sort of Giorgio or Chanel No. 5 knockoff?)
It was a nice scent, just not something you wanted to be trapped with for an hour.
Zenny Shines
Just learned that Zenny, fan nickname for the song “Light On,” just went platinum!
So verklempt with avuncular-like pride!
Halloween and Mrs. Slocombe’s . . . Errr . . . Cat
There’s nothing like the approach of one holiday to have me thinking of another. So, in honor of Labor Day, here’s a Halloween story (that’s Scottish, to boot).
Once, right after the Peanuts Halloween special had run on TV, a bunch of us in a local pipe band were standing around talking, when one of the group, Kathleen, started noticing everybody’s different clan crest badges. (The crest from each clan chief’s coat of arms, encircled by a strap and buckle inscribed with his motto, done-up in “silver” [meaning chrome-plated pewter], is worn as a badge or emblem pinned to the Scottish caps of his, sometimes her, clanspersons.)
Kathleen exclaimed, “How come you guys got a heart with a crown, or a lion holding a sword, or a stag’s head, or a kitty cat, and I GOT A ROCK!” (That being a mountain owned by the MacNeil of Bara, but rendered as a crest badge, it does come across like a pet rock.)
To which the the bearer of the kitty cat, the Pipe Major, flatly responded, “It’s a MOUNTAIN LION, Kathleen!” Then I added, “And it’s not even a flaming rock.” (That would be the MacKenzie crest.)
What I was thinking, but didn’t say, was that the fearsome Mackintosh cat-a-mountain is really more of a dwarf polecat . . . an overgrown, ferile version of Mrs. Slocombe’s pussy!
