2000-12-21 || 8.45a

Justabunchashite

One of my co-workers told me this great story. He has a brother who is severely retarded, and a father who is a famous musician in the folk music industry-- you know, the kind of musician who isn't well-known by the general public, but who's been on everyone's albums and with whom all the other musicians have partied? Anyway, there was this concert at (I believe) Place-des-arts where a bunch of the Celtic guys were playing, including the Chieftains, and Jean Butler was dancing, etc. My friend's father was tuning pianos and such for the show, and he brought his family backstage after the concert. At one point, the retarded brother wandered off and got lost somewhere. So they had to go looking for him. By 'they,' I don't only mean the family, by the way. Next thing you know, the family, all the members of the Chieftains and the other bands, and Jean Butler were looking for this little retarded guy throughout the backstage area of the theatre. Jean Butler was the one who finally found him, and kept him occupied until the rest came back by teaching him Irish dance steps on the stage.

I think that's a great story.

Which reminds me: The New York Times is reporting that Kirsty McColl died after being hit by a speedboat while on vacation in Mexico. When I play the Pogues' 'Fairytale of New York' this Christmas, I'll feel a bit sad at the sound of her voice. I really think that this is a loss to the music industry.

And I can scarcely imagine a more ignoble way to go...

**********

Finally saw 'Charlie's Angels' last night. Rediculous but really fun.

One thing though: Taking all your marching orders from a man and his male sidekick, hiding your job from the boyfriend for whom you cook, and trying all the same old tricks to lure a potential lover do *not* constitute 'Independent women.' Kick-arse chicks, maybe. Severe geekboy-masturbation-material, maybe. But I think tha whoever's writing Destiny's Child's songs for them is off the mark here...

So tired these days. Lover coughs all night and no-one sleeps. Payday to-day, though. I'll get her some cough syrup or something. Poor thing.



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