it look like a cannon and sound like death!

(1 comment)
September 16, 2006
I gave blood this morning. What they take out in blood the body instantly replaces with an equivalent amount of good karma, cut by just a dash of self-righteousness.

Anecdote of the Moment
"One night this big, bad-ass hood crashes into my dressing room in Chicago and instructs me that I will open in such-and-such a club in New York the next night. I tell him I got a Chicago engagement and don't plan no traveling. And I turn my back on him to show I'm so cool. Then I hear this sound: SNAP! CLICK! I turn around and he has pulled this vast revolver on me and cocked it. Jesus, it look like a cannon and sound like death! So I look down at that steel and say, 'Weelllll, maybe I do open in New York tomorrow.'"
--Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong, via Bartlett's Book of Anecdotes, a massive tome that makes great bathroom reading but hasn't produced as much kisraelable stuff as I would have hoped.

Armstrong's Wikipedia entry (which I think bears the scars of some harsh criticism being acknowledged but respun by admirers) had an interesting quote from Billie Holiday:
"Of course Pops toms, but he toms from the heart."
I took a number of African-American culture classes at Tufts (to do double duty for "Foreign Culture" and "English major" credits, and also because it was some great stuff) so I've been pondering on that quote within that context. It's a great line from Holiday, with a blend of coolness and sincerity that acknowledges a bit of the complexity in race relations and entertainment in this country.


Product of the Moment
I couldn't find a shot of it online, but Home Depot has this terrific, simple torchiere floor lamp for like $13. It has a dark rust finish and a shaded plastic..err, shade that looks a lot more expensive than it is. (And I've determined that plastic is a much better choice, frosted glass makes these things top-heavy and generally scrapey-sounding. It's line is so elegant, just a thin tube all the way up with the switch at the top.