Tag Archives: television

Pancakes and Rain and Smacking Fred in the Head

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I know I’m always yammering about how balmy (and fucking expensive) life in San Francisco is, but even here, winter visits occasionally.  Like today, gray, drizzling, the kind of dank cold that settles into your every nook as soon as you set foot out the door.  Of course, when I feel the urge to whine about our winter, I remember Mistress Infomaniac trapped up in the tundra of Canadia, battling caribou just to get a goddam coffee, eking a living as a professional seal blubber gatherer, and I have to count my blessings.

Like going out for delicious pancakes and sausage for breakfast in a cozy cafe with humpy waiters.  Since I tend to go to sleep at dawn, breakfast is a rare treat for me, but today I couldn’t get to sleep so I battled my way through the clammy chill and wound up with my favorite, lemon pancakes with marion berry sauce.  Because it’s San Francisco and we’re all fancy and stuff.  originally, the waiter appeared with French toast and when I demurred, he corrected his mistake by reaching over to the table behind me to pick up my pancakes from them and give them their French toast.  Which leads one to wonder, why hadn’t they said something when a large plate of pancakes appeared before them?  Do they not know what French toast looks like?  Were they simply blinded by the waiter’s massive chest muscles? The waiter (and his big round titties) assured me they had not spit on the pancakes, so I tucked in.

Anyway, tasty.

I came home, made a pot of stew, puttered around, never could get to sleep until about 9:00 this evening, almost exactly one hour before a thoroughly drunken Super Agent Fred decided to rock out downstairs with the worst music ever recorded.  Dylan.  The Association.  Gary Puckett and the Union Gap.   God knows why, his tastes are eclectic to the point of random.  I went downstairs, threatened to hit him in the head with gong mallet (it’s padded, OK?) and then did because he turned the volumeback up.  Sometmes beating your child is the only answer.

Speaking of abusive realtionships, have you seen Good Behaviour?  It’s fabulous.  It stars Michele Dockery, late of Downton Abbey’s Lady Mary, as a white trash crackhead grifter who hooks up with the astonishingly hot Juan Diego Botto who is by turn both sexy and menacing.  The banter is very tight and amusing, but not brittle and Dockery is great.  Thumbs up.  Go watch it.

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Botta.  Mmmmmm.  Botta

One Simply Must Boogie Down

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In the midst of all the sad brouhaha over David Bowie’s passing, I ran across a mention someone made of the great show he did on Midnight Special.  I’m not including the video of it here because everyone else is already covering Bowie better than I ever could (if you do feel like trotting over to youtube to catch a peek, I’ll wait for you.  It really is quite something, in a loose, sloppy sort of way and shows Mister Bowie as a master of shiny peach blush.)

Mostly, I was amazed that Bowie had graced the show with his genius. If it had ever crossed my mind, I  think I would have classified Midnight Special as simply a disco phenomenon, but a quick peek at our old friend Wikipedia assures us they highlighted everyone from Tom Petty to the New York Dolls to Fleetwood Mac to Dolly Parton.  The list of guests is most impressive; apparently anyone who could stand up long enough to grab onto a mic was on it, LIVE.

As I remember it, the show was simply something you turned to on Friday nights when you were already too loaded to leave the house.  There you would be, stoned stupid, hoping for something toe-tapping only to be confronted with the Magic of Helen Reddy.

Here’s a little something that’s much more memorable.  Ish.  A sort of affordable version of the Jackson Family called the Sylvers and their deathless anthem Boogie Fever.

Now isn’t that better?  Footwork that defines the term “tight,” mauve velour, and a bass line serving up funk you could eat with a spoon.  My favorite is the drummer, with a blase look that explains more clearly than words that he is immune to said fever, and yet performing as flawlessly as a metronome.