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7/4

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Everything posted by 7/4

  1. I'll hold him back while you punch him JazzMoose.
  2. I think so. Steve Martin writes for the Times sometimes, why not Moranis?
  3. The Cut the Crap Party.
  4. 7/4

    Max Roach Health

    Reminds me of how my sister kept her dead parrot in the freezer for years. I sure hope she doesn't care for me in my old age.
  5. "I say we blast a cap in their ass."
  6. And Mosaics.
  7. “The Somerville Gates” begin with the Door Gates.
  8. February 19, 2005 OP-ED CONTRIBUTOR, NYTimes Heaven's Gates By RICK MORANIS I had a dream last night. I was 5 years old. It was summer. There was no air-conditioning in our little bungalow on the small crescent-shaped street in the suburbs of Toronto. And so to cool ourselves, we ran through the freshly hanging sheets on the backyard clotheslines. I had no idea that every one of my neighbors had the same apricot-colored linen that we did. Towels too! It was beautiful; as far as the eye could see, rows and rows of shimmering golden-orange fabric dancing in the light. I hoped it would stay like that forever, or maybe another week or so max. I heard my mother calling me. In a French accent. She was much older now, with bright red hair. "Come 'ere," she said. "It's time to unwrap the house!" Our tiny home was covered in 9,000 square meters of ivory woven polypropylene tied with 35 kilometers of 1.5-centimeter diameter steel cables and blue polyamide rope, anchored to 325 tons of concrete foundation. A team of 23 professional mountain climbers and 275 laborers, volunteers and students of architecture from my Hebrew school class had toiled for some 17,000 man-hours to complete the installation. Our neighbors thought we had an earwig problem and were spraying. But many, except for the Applebaums across the street, could appreciate the beauty and majesty of the project. For years the city had told my parents this would never happen and then, boom, one day my Uncle Manny gets elected mayor! The documentary crews were filming everything. My mother was doing yet another interview explaining how she'd come up with the idea and paid for it by selling pictures of my father wrapped in 312 square meters of tinfoil bound with 400 kilometers of waxed polyethylene 390-filament nylon amine-fluoride mint-flavored dental floss. It was time. The helicopters roared overhead, narrowly missing a confused homeless family of red-tailed hawks. The street was clogged with 1,000 cars. No one had ever seen this many New Jersey license plates in Canada. Finally, I took the long extension pole and hooked the tiny partly hydrogenated trans fat ivory loop that an army of seamstresses and chefs had prepared for the unveiling. The crowd roared in astonishment. The chrysalis had been shed. A new beginning! A rebirth! I went inside what had been my tiny childhood home. My bedroom was now an enormous luxury skybox. The floor was covered in 300 square meters of celadon tufted colortec synthetic broadloom from Carpet Liquidators on 14th Street, marked up like crazy by the architect, contractor, installer, union and the city so that what should have been $5 a yard was costing a fortune. The house was massive, completely dwarfing the entire neighborhood. There were 100 more skyboxes, a retractable roof, convention facilities and 80,000 seats overlooking the most beautiful ice surface I'd ever seen. But, sadly, no hockey was being played. I asked my mother how we could ever afford to pay for this. She smiled and took me outside, unwrapped my father and then pointed to a perch at the top of the mammoth structure. The family of hawks had quickly begun building a nest out of tiny pieces of the orange sheets and towels, paper tubing, vinyl covering, hats, T-shirts, buttons and other discarded licensed and copyrighted merchandise. "See those birds?" she said. "Someone bought them the penthouse." Rick Moranis is a writer and actor.
  9. February 19, 2005 With $3.50 and a Dream, the 'Anti-Christo' Is Born By SARAH BOXER CAMBRIDGE, Mass., Feb. 18 - You've seen Christo's "Gates" in Central Park. But what about Hargo's "Gates" in Somerville, Mass.? Sure, Hargo is unabashedly riding on the coattails of Christo and Jeanne-Claude. But it did take him some time to make his gates: 0.002 years, he estimates. That's a good chunk of a day. You may as well take a look: www.not-rocket-science.com/gates.htm. Just who is Hargo? Is he some kind of genius wrapper? His name is Geoff Hargadon, he is 50 and, in a telephone interview, he would only say, enigmatically, "Art is not my profession." His last installation was a studio full of discarded ATM receipts. The show was called "Balance." It was about "people, privacy and money," he said, adding: "You want to know how much people have? Here it is." Like Christo and Jeanne-Claude, Hargo used recyclable materials for "The Somerville Gates." Unlike them, he accepts donations to defray the cost of his installation, which was $3.50. The mayor of Somerville did not come to the unveiling, on Valentine's Day. Does Hargo have a Jeanne-Claude at his side? His cat, Edie, is a redhead, like Jeanne-Claude, he said on the telephone. But his partner in art is his wife, Patricia La Valley. Together they installed "The Somerville Gates" at their home on Monday night, while watching the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show on television. They took pictures, posted them on a Web site and sent the link to 30 friends by e-mail. Within 24 hours, the site had 99,000 hits. "The Somerville Gates" has now become, Mr. Hargadon said, "the anti-Christo." Each saffron-colored gate that makes up "The Somerville Gates" is a 3.5-inch-high structure made of wooden dowels, cut-up roof shingles and clear corrugated plastic, all painted with orange tempera. (Hargo made 16 individual gates and moved them from room to room, following Edie's footsteps.) On the Web site, the installation begins with the Door Gates, then moves on to the Poopatorium Gates, the Fridge Gates, the Table Gates, the Feeding Gates, the Tub Gates, the Fluffy Rug Gates, the Desk Gates, the Media Gates and finally the Stairway Gates. There are some obscure parts to the installation, at least as it appears on the Web. You can't really see where you are when you approach the Poopatorium Gates. The sinuous path of the orange flags seems to run alongside a bed, or perhaps it is a hallway. What is that black thing looming in the distance? Where is the kitty litter? A few passages of "The Somerville Gates" sound as if they're going to be repetitive. Did Hargo really need to have Fridge Gates, Feeding Gates and Table Gates? But if you spend some time on the site, you will see that each passage has its own aura. The Fridge Gates have an airy feel while the Feeding Gates have a finality to them, dead-ending at a blue bowl and a hungry cat. The Table Gates passage is ominous, with dark table and chair legs dwarfing the little orange structures. For pure beauty and rhythm, you can't beat the Stairway Gates. But the Media Gates are the most suspenseful and loaded with meaning. At the tip of a V-shaped arrangement of orange gates sits a television screen. On the screen is a baleful looking dog. (He was one of the contestants in the Westminster dog show.) You can see Edie the cat looking over the gates and staring down the dog. The situation cries out for a mouse to run the gates' gantlet. Mr. Hargadon said he had told his friends not to call him Geoff or Mr. Hargadon anymore. It is just Hargo. But he doesn't go for bombast. "I like the idea of 'The Gates,' but maybe something smaller, something more subtle." Something more like "The Somerville Gates." "There are no invitations," Hargo says at the Web site. "There are no tickets." "If anyone tries to sell you a ticket, do not buy it," he continues. "The Gates are not for sale. Neither is the cat." "Signed photos, however," he writes, "are available directly from the artist in limited editions." There is no wind blowing these gates, no matter what the weather. So you don't have to pick your viewing date. And the Web site will stay up for a long time. The Somerville installation itself, though, is ephemeral. It goes down when "the cleaning lady comes."
  10. I saw that in the album racks years ago. I really need to get a turntable....
  11. Not low enough for me, thank you... types in a lower voice:
  12. What AfricaBrass said. Mmmm And your view is? Che. See the post above this one... Me too.
  13. What AfricaBrass said. Mmmm And your view is? Che. Those are the ones we are not nice to. We respond to friendliness.
  14. Apparently it's common for guitar players. BTW: a bass player called me last night, I think we're going to start playing together, guitar and bass. Did you tell that bass player that your name is not "last night?" I'm not joking, and don't call me Shirley.
  15. What AfricaBrass said.
  16. Is there a thread for those new to jazz? If so I did not see it. The comment was about why people do not seem to become 'regular contributers' to the board. Maybe not a thread, but we generally act nice to 'em. They don't have as much spare time?
  17. As if this doesn't happen anyway.
  18. Manny is also a total Fripp fan boy too.
  19. Sold!
  20. For the funny rat crowd: Figuring Derek Bailey, guitar; Barre Phillips, bass.
  21. Like trying to push a sponge through a keyhole.
  22. Apparently it's common for guitar players. BTW: a bass player called me last night, I think we're going to start playing together, guitar and bass.
  23. Ah! That reminds me: John Abercrombie & Don Thompson - Witchcraft
  24. As well it should. Hair bands by a mile with me. I liked some Taylor, and still have some stuff that would fall into this category (I remember a Dave Mason LP...does Nilson count?) but the hair bands NEVER appealed to me. Pure bubblegum for thirteen year old boys as far as I can tell. YEAH BUT AT LEAST THERE ARE GUITAR SOLOS.
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