Fridays with Frank

Just the Way You Look Tonight.
"Someday when I'm awfully low,
And the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you
And the way you look tonight."

Jerome Kern. Music.
Dorothy Fields. Lyrics.
Nelson Riddle. Arrangement.
Me. Goosebumps.



The Best is Yet to Come
by Cy Coleman and Carolyn Leigh

"You think you've flown before
But you ain't left the ground."

You can hear the smirk in his voice, can't you?


Fly Me to the Moon
by Bart Howard

"Fill my heart with song, let me sing forever more,
You are all I long for, all I worship and adore."

That instrumental break makes me feel like I am flying to the moon. Or at least the International Space Station.

Orville to Orbit: I Want America to Keep Doing Big Stuff

From the the fall of the Twin Towers to the end of the space shuttle. Quite the decade. Quite the symbols. Powerful symbols falling suddenly and fading away slowly. Symbols of America now seeming to become smaller, poorer - turning inward instead of upward and outward.

Twin Towers and the space shuttle. They seem like companion pieces now. Both often reviled in their time as clumsy, ugly. Yet, when they're gone, then, in the rearview mirror, we see how beautiful they were.

And what is left with the end of the space shuttle era, the long wait to an uncertain future for NASA? Now, as the only country in the world to have walked on the moon humbly hitches a ride on old-fashioned Russian rockets.

Where now do we find vision and inspiration? What kind of country are we at this shaky moment in time? Are we turning on each other, instead of uniting to pull each other up?


Or do we merely turn away from each other, and from anything worthwhile? To mindless entertainment, the unreality of reality shows a poor substitute for the joy of truly stirring achievements?


My grandpa was born before the Wright Brothers took their first flight. He lived to see men walk on the moon and fly a big spaceplane called the shuttle.


I'm old enough to remember "One giant leap for mankind."  I want to live long enough to see people walk on Mars.

Yes, me. The one with aerophobia. I myself may be afraid to fly. But all the more reason for a poor gravity-bound S.O.B. to watch someone else spreading their proverbial wings. Because perhaps that in turn motivates me, pushes a lot of us to dare something in our own small way.

We need someone to make us take giant leaps again.

Gather Ye Beatles Concerts While Ye May

Been listening to a bit of those Brit boys lately. (Confession: I didn't appreciate them as much back in the day. In my defense, I was a wee bit young at the start of their brief, insane reign.)

For instance, here'sThe Rooftop Concert.  It's actually a bit ragged at spots, especially in the second "Get Back." But that's picking of nits.

Did you check out the bemused and enthused bystanders? Notice how some of them merely glance up and then move on?

Oh London people of 1969, STOP! Jagged as the sound may be, cold as the day was from what I can see, still, this is the last time the bleeping Beatles performed together. And in a decade John will be gunned down an ocean away. Oh London people of 1969, maybe some of you will be gone even before he is. So tarry in that glorious moment.

Anyway, back to the young lads. Most of all, I've been listening to this: And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.

Sometimes I hate getting older. But it's kind of good to be old enough to remember when humans walked on the moon and made music like this.

In Which My Lazy Ass Creates a Blog Post Out of Tweets

I was in high school back in the Mesozoic Era - when you had to TYPE your papers and use WHITEOUT or re-do the whole page to correct mistakes.

One day my AP English teacher, Mrs. Timm, praised me with words along the lines of “You’re the best ‘tight’ writer I’ve ever had in a class.”

I don’t think she meant I was at my peak while drunk. Rather, I expressed my thoughts well in a concise manner.

Oh, Mrs. T., my papers were just short ‘cos I wrote them late the night before. But it turns out I also was prepping myself for My Future Career in writing - songs, scripts, brief features on deadline.

And too, it helped me ready for the even farther-in-the-future hobby of goofing around on the Internet thingy, where brevity is the soul of tweets.

So without further ado - or a transition 'graph - herewith are some of my 2011 140-character strokes of genius (twitter.com/amyjp3):

* You better watch out, better not cry, better not pout, I'm telling you why: The Google car might be taking your picture.

* Shortest note I've ever written to myself re: a possible script topic: "MARS." (Plz don't tell me anyone else already wrote a story on that.)

* Great news re: Gabrielle Giffords' speech, walking, memory, personality, no impulsivity issues. IOW she's better than 1/2 of Congress already.

* "Spacewalk choreographer" sounds like the world's coolest job. [Just heard the term used on NASA TV.]

* More and more lately I find myself hearing a name and can't remember if that's someone I work with or the latest hot thing on a WB show.

* MY attractive politician is a charismatic, telegenic, visionary leader. Yours is a Barbie/Ken bubblehead.

* MI guv dumps EITC. Sez poor losing only .20 for every $1 they still get from Feds. IOW "Let them eat 20% less cake."

* I watched classical music on PBS tonite. Forgot about Grammys. But that's OK- a violist on Live from Lincoln Ctr. entered in an egg.

* The feel-good word of the day is "toast." (Posted 5:21 PM Feb 9th)

* Comment on YouTube vid of 2001:A Space Odyssey theme - "I want to make it so this piece plays every time my garage door opens."

* I don't watch the show regularly but it seems like Dexter's coworkers must be the worst cops in the world.

* (After the 2011 “Civility” State of the Union) Re:"Who sat where" - I think I saw the Levins side by side. Couldn't get a date with an (R) so they had to sit with their brother.

* Can't Jack & Liz stay married? They don't have to have the sex or anything.

* Foursquare - another thing that makes me feel 173 years old. (She tweeted, just to prove that she wasn't a total Old.)

My Fair Lady: Happy Double-Nickel Anniversary

If I had a time machine with a limited number of journeys allotted me, I’d be sorely tempted to spend one of them visiting the New York City of March 15, 1956. Premiere night of Lerner and Loewe’s “My Fair Lady.”

Why that moment in theatre history? Because "My Fair Lady" is simply the perfect musical. (This is not open for discussion.)

Wonderfully adapted book from the Shaw play. Fantastic score. L & L made it all seem so easy. The same material that had defeated the likes of Rodgers and Hammerstein in trying to  adapt it.

Fussy, sexy Rex Harrison. Julie Andrews, at the time still younger than most college graduates but bearing a voice from heaven.

Well, hell, I’m just gonna let the score make my argument.

In 'artfor, 'ereford and 'ampton, 'urricanes 'ardly hever 'appen. The Rain in Spain (Film version)

Wouldn't It Be Loverly (TV broadcast of OBC)

Freddie, an insipid, two-dimensional character who gets to sing the gorgeous On the Street Where You Live. (Film version)

I only know when he began to dance with me I Could Have Danced All Night. (Julie Andrews)

Oh, and Audrey was a lovely person. But still, Julie wuzrobbed.

Happy Valentine's Day from Ella, Etta, Fred & Frank

I'm dipping back into the old Great American Songbook again.

Note how many of the comments accompanying the YouTube videos are by 19 year-olds who say, "They don't write them like that anymore."

You'll see that sentiment in regards to the great 60s songs of Motown and the Beatles too.

Good taste, Youth.


I never thought of Ella Fitzgerald as particularly sexy until I heard her sing All The Things You Are. (Music - Jerome Kern, Lyrics - Oscar Hammerstein.)


Meanwhile Etta's gonna love you Come Rain or Come Shine. (Music - Harold Arlen, Lyrics - Johnny Mercer.)

Fred sings to Ginger and Frank sings to everyone:

"Someday when I'm awfully old,
And the world is cold,
I will get a glow just thinking of you,
and the way you look tonight."
(Kern-Dorothy Fields)

Dorothy Fields said of that last song: "The first time Jerry played that melody for me I went out and started to cry. The release absolutely killed me. I couldn't stop, it was so beautiful."

Le sigh.

If you're with someone, enjoy it for Valentine's day. If you're not, enjoy it 'cos it's damn great music. And we'll always have YouTube.

I Need a Hero or a Hug or a Good Song or Four

Long time no post. Feeling like I should write something big and profound and worthy of the the electricity and pixels and bits & bytes.

But instead I had a cold. Was writing articles.  Doing the day gig. Creative writing & workshopping.

And all of it overshadowed by the what happened in Tucson. Me obsessively following it and trying to decide if I wanted to say something, something about the many things that it brings up, here.

Maybe later.

Instead, I've been turning to old classic songs for comfort. Well, maybe not all classics, but somehow fitting and/or lifting my mood.

This one seems appropriate. I Need a Hero  Let's dedicate it to Daniel Hernandez. Twenty-freaking-years old. Daniel Hernandez who, five days into his college internship, was called upon to be extraordinary and did not disappoint. 

Daniel Hernandez who is not allowed to marry whom he would like to in most U.S. states, and who could be stopped for no reason in Arizona because he's Hispanic. But who still gives me hope for this country.

And jumping to Broadway, from a few years earlier than Bonnie Tyler's song, I found myself listening to a musical plea that means ever more to me as the years go by. Give me a chance to come through ...  Cassie of "A Chorus Line," begging just for a chance to do what she knows she can do. And even in this old, blurry B & W video something extraordinary shines through, the talents of of Michigan's own Donna McKechnie.

Maybe there is a theme here. Because another song I've been drawn to is about Michael Jackson's man in the mirror, who wants to be special too. Wants to show he can give something back.

And with all this YouTube surfing, the old tunesy website brought me back to this video. I can't believe I've never written about it here. Ms. Patti LaBelle, baby, one of the great modern R & B-ers.

 Lady Marmalade Live With Audience

But how in the world does this, the raunchy Lady Marmalade, fit with the people in the songs above, the ones longing for a hero, or begging to be given another chance, or admonishing themselves to be a standup guy?

Well hell, it's pretty great to see these four regular dudes holding their own against one of the pop world's great divas. That's something special.

Plus, it makes me smile.

And I needed that.

Ode to YouTube - and a Woman Named Valaida

I recall life pre-Net. I lived a goodly portion of my life without instant access to the wit and wisdom of Ashton Kutcher, or knowing how much blow (and blowing) Paris Hilton did last night.

For decades my life was rows and rows of stacks and stacks of books. Typewriters and whiteout correction tape. Waiting for the print edition of the Sunday New York Times to arrive in my small town at midweek.

33 and 1/3 vinyl.

That was my access to the world as a child and young adult.

What's Dial-up, Daddy?
Hell, it changes so fast. Even the sound of a modem (ssssshhhhh, wack-wack, doodle-doodle, eeehhhhhhhh) is ancient history to a mid-teen. Soon, discussing what a Blog is, or how you sometimes read it on a machine at a desk, will be lost to the text-only gen.

It's changing every second. A cousin to my first computer, an iMac, is at The Henry Ford Museum already. Down the road - in about 18 months - your i-This and your Bluetooth that, your Flip-corder and your 3D TV will seem so ancient. People will laugh at images of us *TYPING*. With our FINGERS!!!

The commercials made these 50-pound bastards seem like so much fun.

And yet, though I remember my life BC (before computers) I still can't believe some of the wonders I missed. Maybe it's because I remember that I still occassionally feel the magic of it.

Golly, How They Do That?
"Letters" that are transmitted more quickly than I can type one individual letter of the alphabet.

Becoming good friends with someone you've never met. Online friends versus those old-fashioned RL friends.

Bing Maps and Google Earth.

And You-freaking-Tube. Where was that all my life?

As a writer and musician, I know all too well the downside: That we can get so much for free that we once might've paid for. And yet, I can't help soaking up so much of it myself, rolling around in it like my dog used to roll around in a good pile of wet sod.

So I end 2010 with a couple more of my YouTube discoveries.

This smoking, mysterious voice calling to us from 80 years past. Valaida Snow* performing Ellington's Caravan. And"I Can't Give You Anything But Love" And St. Louis Blues.

And wow, what a fascinating, tragic life - A black female trumpet player and singer from the Jim Crow South, accused of bigamy when she married a handsome teenaged dancer 10 yrs. her junior. 

An ex-pat in the late 30s. Legends of her being driven around Paris in her orchid-colored Mercedes. 

A controversial missing period of her life: Was she confined to a Danish prison for drug use or actually thrown into a Nazi concentration camp?

Whatever the answer to that, it's said she returned to the U.S. broken, and had an early death around age 50, in the mid-fifties. 

This woman who recorded 78s would've never imagined the technology that would bring her voice and story to us. And what a story.


[Bio info from Encyclopedia of the Harmlem Renaissance]

Passive-Aggressive Alvin & Other Christmas Songs

Did you ever notice how many characters in Christmas songs seem deeply troubled? Require some type of professional help?

Rudolph needs rhinoplasty.

Alvin and his perpetual, petulant tardiness issues should be addressed by his guidance counselor.

And after mama has a fling with Santa Claus she could use a session with Dr. Phil, Dr. Laura or maybe even a legitimate therapist. She could get a two-for-one deal with that oversexed lady from “Santa, Baby.”

Then there’s the idiot on the radio telling me it’s the most wonderful time of the year. He obviously doesn’t have my long commute through the snow. I need a one-horse covered-up sleigh.

But the kings of trippiness are Felix Bernard and Richard B. Smith, who conspired by a fire back in the 30’s to write “Winter Wonderland.”

Gone away is the bluebird,
Here to stay is a new bird

‘kaaaaay. Dunno what that means, but we’ll let it slip.

In the meadow we can build a snowman,
Then pretend that he is Parson Brown
He'll say: Are you married?
We'll say: No man,
But you can do the job
When you're in town.

Now what the hell is that all about? When I was a kid I used to think they were singing Farmer Brown, not Parson Brown. But either way this makes no sense. When is Parson Brown going to be in town? And what does that old bastard care if they’re married or not? Oh wait, it’s not really him. It’s a snowman.

Far out, man.

And we haven’t even gotten to Grandma’s lawsuit against the reckless reindeer or the kind of migraine I’d get from twelve drummers drumming and eleven pipers piping while six geese pooped all over the Christmas tree.

Which Christmas characters do you think need an intervention? 

Annie Lennox makes "Winter Wonderland" almost tolerable

"Down-and-out Detroiters Dance"

You're stressed from the weekend. Stressed from going back to work. Or not having any work to go back to.

That can only mean one thing.

Time for a cha-cha break, baby. Because Hey, Daddy, it's just like what Steve Martin used to say about playing the banjo. You can't be sad listening/ dancing to cha-cha.

Not to mention some people find it a little sexy.

And it's that sass, that sex that drives my people in "International Latin," the play-turned TV show. They may be unemployed, hopelessly in love, running from their past, wanting a baby or dealing with daddy issues - but they let it all out on that dance floor:

INTERNATIONAL LATIN
excerpt from the television pilot
copr. 2010 Amy J. Parrent

TEASER
FROM BLACK:

The irresistible driving force of HOT LATIN POP MUSIC: BONGOS and CONGAS and TIMBALES, saucy tenor TRUMPETS, a clinking syncopated PIANO running wild up and down.

Glimpses of gyrating HIPS. Trim TUMMIES and tight BUTTS. A FLASH OF SHOULDERS, a SWIRL OF HAIR.

FOREPLAY ON THE DANCE FLOOR.

INT. A SMALL HOTEL BALLROOM, DETROIT - NIGHT
A BRIGHTLY LIGHTED DANCE SPACE. Surrounded by hazy dimness.

As if the sideline is just a dream and the golden dance floor the only reality.

And in that hot-white light SEVERAL PAIRS OF DANCERS peacock with all they’ve got. Strutting. Pulsating. Posing.

While JUDGES on the fringes eye them intently -- Like bow-tied and evening-gowned lions looking for the weakest gazelles to fell.

A SMALL AUDIENCE ON THE SIDELINES, alert to the ballroom bacchanalia before them.

AND THREE COMPETING COUPLES STAND OUT:

MICHAEL POWERS and LALANA CHASE PATEL. HIM: 18, your average suburban white boy dancing ballroom. HER: A divalicious 20-year-old, half South Asian-/half African-American.

FRANK TITAN and KAROLE MARKER. FRANK: Around 30. One big tight top and snug pair of pants, showing off a still-fit jock bod.

KAROLE: Early 30s. Less pizazz than the others. Dress a Saturday Night Fever reject. But works what she has. Perhaps a vague resemblance hints that they’re cousins.

SASHA SARKOV and NATALIA DUBANSKAYA (aka NATALIE HUNTER). Sparkliest of all, top of the game. Pelvises like Slinky toys.

NATALIE an elegant mid-30s. Legs up to here match a dress slit down to there. SASHA’S shirt opens even closer to the earth’s core. He’s slim, hanging on to late 20s, moody Slavic good looks.

They’ll speak with RUSSIAN INFLECTION, though her accent fluctuates.

Each couple winds their way around the floor. Marking their territory.

Frank, alpha-male-gone-wild, guides Karole too close for comfort to the Russians.

Sasha won’t back down. Two objects fighting to occupy the same space at the same time.

It’s Natalie who saves the day from a sequin-and-satin disaster. She whirls, and with a quick, sparkly flaunt, parades away, Sasha stalking after her.

In the front row ARNIE TYLER, a slim 70-year-old black man, smiles, whispers to his young seatmates, CAITLIN LAKE and BEN RYAN. The boy’s in tiny tails, the girl Ginger Rogers, Jr.

THE SONG ENDS. The dancers move to sidelines. Judges confer.


Photo: Slavik Kryklyvyy & Karina Smirnoff

Live from 30 Rock It's 30 Rock Live

The 30 Rock Live episode was like finding two bosses or two teachers making out in a back room: Not what I’d expect and didn’t feel quite right.

Compare it to “Live from Lincoln Center,“ for instance. Something originally written for live performance - a stage production like “South Pacific” (which aired on PBS in August) - actually works better on live TV than a TV show that’s usually written/directed/performed/edited in a filmic format.

The look, the timing, everything seemed just that little bit askew tonight.

For instance, a couple lines that should’ve gotten bigger laughs got lost in the shuffle.

And a number of people on other blogs mentioned how much fun the cast seemed to be having. I thought almost all the regulars except Broadway vet Jane Krakowski looked nervous as hell at the start.

Cameraman must've been nervous too. Shaky handheld camera? Might want to rethink that. Oops, too late. It was live.

And did the show actually run short? Seemed they were stalling at the end.

Not to be all Debbie Downer -- here were a few of the fun, funny moments:

Well, yes, nice that Dratch was back and she and Tina fell into their old Second City/SNL/first-year 30R rhythm easily.

Jack sniffing Jenna’s alcohol breath was hilariously bizarre enough that I want to make it my Facebook picture.

Didn’t see the Julia Louis-Dreyfus stuff coming. Man, do all the successful SNLers eventually come back to the fold? (Except Jane Curtin.) Oh wait. This wasn't SNL.

(But speaking of that - I'd seen a picture of Jay Pharoah hanging around 30 Rock this week. Damn, I thought we were going to get him playing Tracy in flashback.)

The executed-criminal hand was dark/ sick - but it made me laugh anyway. Damn you Hamm.

So 30 Rock, it was like our own game of seven minutes in heaven. After today we’ll be glad we got it out of our system, and then move on.

Saturday Night (Live) Housecleaning

Saturday Night Live @ 36

 

Season debut. Oh yes, I knew Poehler would not disappoint. Although didn't she look just a wee bit nervous during the opening? Then imagine the butterfly garden other hosts‘ tummies must be when the clock moves from 11:29 to 11:30 p.m.

But seeing NBC advertising “Outsourced” while Amy Poehler is hosting? Kind of like seeing some douchebag brag about his skanky new wife when his former, fantastic wife is standing right there.

I loved the gay wedding at Ground Zero mosque bit ("20 percent discount for the military"). Or maybe I just loved the idea of how apoplectic some people would get at the real thing.

"The kids'll come for the boobs and stay for the books." Thanks for addressing the Sesame Street controversy. (Altho' what would Leslie Knope think of Amy saying nice things about punkass book jockeys?)

However, let’s not get too overjoyed. I think a lot of what was good in this episode was an Amy influence. I don't hold as much hope for episodes hosted by non-SNL veterans. Not while the show is still dominated by some of the cast who've been there too many moons.

Which brings me to this -- After the almost complete and utter disaster of the last 1.5 seasons, wouldn‘t a radical housecleaning have been a wonderful shock? Sure, they’ve garnered some publicity already with a stellar set of fall guest hosts. After Poehler Cranston, Lynch and Hamm are now on the menu.

But you can‘t keep nursing the show along with good guests being forced to do bad material, or incessant cameos from former favorite cast members. Who only remind us of wonderfulness past.

Dump a couple more old-timers and let the raw newbies take over right away. What’s with this acting like you need to slowly integrate them into the environment?

Once upon a time Aykroyd, Radner, Curtin, etc. not only went on the air without a chance to break in gradually, they were working without a template. They were creating the template. And it was brilliant.

Give the newbies major airtime. Get some fresh blood in the writers room. Find a way to keep the stale long-termers otherwise occupied. Maybe send ’em out to make some SNL movie. (And hey, you know the punch line to that thought.)

I'm Too Sexy for Elmo

Katy Perry banned from Sesame Street

This video is "too sexy" for Sesame Street? Ah, the good old US of A. "Hey kid, stop staring at her cleavage and go play Grand Theft Auto."

Actually this is aimed at *pre-schoolers,* right? I think the only breasts that interest very little kids are the ones they nurse from.

Hell, in my universe Katy Perry could sing "I Kissed a Girl" for the whole half hour but there wouldn't be any violent video games.

I recently watched "No Country for Old Men" on a local over-the-air station at eight o' clock in the evening. Person after person being gunned down in glorious bloody full color.  No editing, from what I could tell. But if someone swears? Or there was a little frontal nudity (especially, Flying Spaghetti Monster forbid, male nudity) - yikes, NO, NO, NO! CUT IT!

OK, now that you've read this, here's a quick quiz on Acceptable Images in the United States. Answer yes or no to the following:

1.

and

2.

and

Answers: 1. Yes  2. No

How'd you do?

The Other AmyP(oehler)

In honor of Amy Poehler (or as I call her, The OtherAmyP) hosting SNL this weekend, a few of my fave Poehler bits.

"I don't know your life, bitch." 

"I want 50 dollars worth of "circus tickets."

You're a tickety-tack tranny hot mess out-of-control super tranny from Transylvania who’se not apologizing for it.”

And I've probably posted it before, and I know I've said it before, but The Shooting of the Moose, and everything else about the Palin rap, will never not be funny. (Although, if you can track down the "I'm No Angel" sketch from the same, Josh Brolin, episode - equally as hilarious.)

FIERCE!

Do Birds Say, "That's for the Humans?"

On September 11, 2010, migrating birds, disoriented, it is said, by the two beams from the site of the World Trade Center, floated and swirled in the light.

Eerily beautiful. Sad for the birds. And heartwarming that some humans realize what happens to birds in cities, and try to help them.

I'm struck again by how strange it is that we share the same planet and yet we go about so unknowing of what other species are doing. Even the common animals we see all around us, in the cities.  And they too are living their own lives, attending to their own drives, and do not have a whit of knowledge of what humans are, or what humans concerns are.

If you've never seen the astonishing film Winged Migration, rent it - Now. Trailer.  Clips.

It's almost heartbreaking to see what birds go through to get to their summer and winter homes. (And I thought I-75 on a Friday night was bad.)

But, of course, some people have other ideas about The Birds.

Things I Need to See on TV This Year

• "Outsourced" outsourced to Mars. OK, the show has an attractive-looking cast. And the film that suggested the TV series was sweet and mildly amusing.
• But you know what's funny about the TV show? When the customer service guy from India tells someone he's in Detroit. Ha-ha. That's especially hi-larious to those of us living (and barely making a living) in Detroit. This show is perfect proof that the coked-up network Suits have no clue what's really happening in Flyover Country.
• I really need Leslie Knope, Ron Effin' Swanson, MouseRat & "Shut up, Jerry" back on the teevee. ASAP. In the plum 9:30 spot the network maroons gave to "Outsourced."
• I've heard no  buzz at all about it, but I had hopes "Raising Hope" would be good. Because for some reason I loved the "threw up on the baby"  bit.

• "Wesley Snipes" and Liz Lemon getting together.  Curling up under the Snuggie, enjoying a cheesy blaster, watching a DVD of "Chums."  (Tina Fey, you managed to sink my good ship Jack& Liz.  So gimme this at least.)
• Julianna Margulies' character getting together with Josh/Dan from "Sports Night"?
• Or "Sports Night" coming back.
• On a bill back-to-back with "Better Off Ted." Followed by "Moonlighting," "Gilmore Girls" and "Northern Exposure."
• "Dancing With the Stars" with actual stars. Which means actors, musicians, athletes. Not someone whose claim to fame is being a dope on "reality" shows or the daughter of a dope in politics.
• All reality TV disappearing. Except the ones I occasionally watch.
• Two-and-a-Half Men getting outsourced to Uranus.
• My name in the credits somewhere.

Shake It One Time For Me, Honey!

Miscellaneous YouTube Finds

Ostensibly this was all found through research for my scripts. Yeah, research, that's what it was.

1. There is nothing that is not fantastic and fun about this vintage vid of Jerry Lee Lewis killing it on the mid-60s Brit telly. His insanity, the arrangement, the audience. Check out the goofy, cute blonde guy to Jerry's right. (This'd be a great jive for my ballroom dancing script, "International Latin.") 


2. And why, why, why do I love Latin-style dancing? Do you still need an explanation?
Exhibit A (Karina & Max, Burn the Floor) (See about :50 seconds in.)

3. Among the hundreds of songs I've screened while planning the ballroom script, this reminder of  Peggy Lee's sizzling greatness on "Fever." 

(Ignore the visuals and just enjoy the performance. I like to imagine the choreography for my "imaginary friends" in the script.)

And yeah, yeah, I should write some longwinded (me, longwinded?) post about how as a former musician and longtime writer I worry that YouTube equals bad for creative people. That composers and musicians and writers and actors, etc., are shortchanged on compensation for their life's efforts.

But then I read comments from kids who've had their ears opened to Brahms and Benny Goodman, their eyes dazzled by the Nicholas Brothers and Fred Astaire, in part thanks sonic surfing on the Net - and well, I can't help be a little glad for it.

4. One more. For my feature film, "Do Not Delete," two 30-somethings time travel back to college days. Researching what we were listening to in the late 80s/ early 90s brought me to Bruce's Pink Cadillac. Lousy picture, great performance. (And speaking of longwinded - if you want to skip the Garden of Eden part, jump to around 6:20.)


Yep, not for the first time, or even the thousandth time, do I wonder what I did without the www.