Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Jumping. . .

. . . flea. . .

Victoria Davitt (Victoria Vox) claims influence from The Cranberries, Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Patty Griffin, Sting and Peter Gabriel and specializes in pop music accompanied by her ukulele playing.  A teenage year living in France, graduation from Berklee with honors, a stint in Nashville and a release in England brought her back home to Green Bay in 2003. In 2004 she recorded 'In Between', an acoustic EP that began to experiment with more pop sounds than her previous work. Following this release, the ukulele became her primary instrument and fans requested an album focusing on the uke. In 2006, she released her first album of ukulele music through Obus Records. The album was entitled Victoria Vox and Her Jumping Flea because "jumping flea" is the literal translation of the Hawaiian word "ukulele". While on tour in Hawaii in 2006, Vox was offered an endorsement with KoAloha Ukuleles of Honolulu, Hawaii. Though her professional, performance repertoire contains little traditional Hawaiian ukulele music, with the 2008 release of Chameleon, Vox gained renown for her use of the ukulele with pop music. She is currently also sponsored by Mya-Moe Ukuleles and Petros. Vox is featured in a short segment in the extras on the DVD release of Mighty Uke: The Amazing Comeback of a Musical Underdog, a 2010 documentary on the ukulele.  (source:  wikipedia.com)




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Tuesday, October 29, 2013

It Was Murder. . .

. . . in our Avalon . . .

This town's like the one they sang about
in The Green Green Grass of Home
All the perfect picket fences
And gingerbread cottages in a row
Brightly colored walls on every house
And if figure on the lawn
Peace and calm
I found where I belong
Til the murder in our Avalon

You could hear the children laugh and play
All their games on any day
Pretty Moms and Handsome Daddies
Would walk hand-in-hand down the street
Any summer night
You could never find another place
Where your life would be so good
I considered this my jackpot won
Til the murder in our Avalon

Now and air of uneasiness
Pervades everything
I can't seem to get any rest anymore
Might have been a heaven on earth
A place we could be
Safe from all the rest of the world and humanity
There was no stranger
No homicide
You killed our love
It was clearly a job from the inside

Now the trees are greener than before
But a chill is in the air
People go about their business
And everyone acts like I'm not even there
I've been told it's time to move along
And that life continues on
I've described your heinous crime in song
It was murder in our Avalon


AVALON
© 1997 Raymond M. Jozwiak






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Monday, October 28, 2013

Pair. . .

. . . ing


(from http://www.wikihow.com/Pair-Food-and-Wine)
Build on the basic understanding of what might match. It's easy enough to say that chicken goes with white wine, or beef goes with red wine but which wine exactly? And is this choice clear cut? The wine that goes with the food will depend heavily on the manner in which the food has been prepared. For example, it isn't as simple as saying that chicken goes with white wine. If, for example, the chicken has been poached, making it simple and delicate, a simple wine such as a young Semillon will be good. When roasted, the fat makes the chicken richer, thus requiring a heavier textured wine such as an aged Semillon. If barbecued, the chicken becomes smoky, and goes well with a wine aged in wood, such as a light Chardonnay. When chicken has been cooked in cream, it becomes really rich, a heavier Chardonnay will pair well. When it's made into a darker dish, such as by adding soy sauce, it can take a light red such as a Pinot Noir. Place chicken into a red wine marinade, and it makes sense to pair it with red wine.

    Learn the different flavors within each wine style and seek to match these to the food ingredients. For example, fruity elements and wood overtones impact the wine flavor and are important considerations when partnering the wine with food. If you can taste peaches, coconut, tropical flavors, smokiness, herbs, etc., then take those flavors and find their food equivalents.

    Weight of the wine has an impact on pairing with food. Wines are light, medium or full-bodied, referring to the depth of flavor on the mid-palate. When trying to discern the weight of the wine, either ask the retailer, or check the depth of color. Apart from Pinot Noir, the darker the color, the heavier the weight.

    Use your sense of smell to help you pair food and wine. The two senses are one, and you can trust your nose unless it's blocked. Wine smells can be floral, perfumed, mineral, fruity (common fruit smells are peach, melon, and fig), butter, nuts, earthy, truffle or mushroom, meaty, or even like the barnyard. If the smell is unpleasant, avoid it. An aging wine can have overtones of toast or engine fuel.





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Sunday, October 27, 2013

Someday . . .


There's a fireman that's deep down inside of me
Trying hard to get out ever since I was three
When I grow up
When I grow up

I'll be saving little children from a tragedy
Put out fires to make them happy as a child can be
When I grow up
When I grow up

I''d never do the things I'm doing now
I'd be happy helping others
I'll know just how
When I grow up








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Saturday, October 26, 2013

Moderation . . .


mod·er·a·tion
ˌmädəˈrāSHən/
noun
noun: moderation
1.
the avoidance of excess or extremes, esp. in one's behavior or political opinions.
"he urged the police to show moderation"





Aristotle said, "Moderation in all things" and even wrote a book detailing multiple situations to which is can be applied. On the surface, moderation seems to be a wise and prudent approach to take with many things from diet to politics.  Still, Americans seem to find it a very difficult thing to practice.


Yet . . .

"A wise man is superior to any insults which can be put upon him, and the best reply to unseemly behavior is patience and moderation."
-Moliere

"Water, taken in moderation, cannot hurt anybody."
-Mark Twain

"Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess."
-Oscar Wilde

"Complete abstinence is easier than perfect moderation."
-Saint Augustine






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Friday, October 25, 2013

Love . . .

by William Wordsworth


All Thoughts, all Passions, all Delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal Frame,
All are but Ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the Mount I lay
Beside the Ruin'd Tower.

The Moonshine stealing o'er the scene
Had blended with the Lights of Eve;
And she was there, my Hope, my Joy,
My own dear Genevieve!

She lean'd against the Armed Man,
The Statue of the Armed Knight:
She stood and listen'd to my Harp
Amid the ling'ring Light.

Few Sorrows hath she of her own,
My Hope, my Joy, my Genevieve!
She loves me best, whene'er I sing
The Songs, that make her grieve.

I play'd a soft and doleful Air,
I sang an old and moving Story--
An old rude Song that fitted well
The Ruin wild and hoary.

She listen'd with a flitting Blush,
With downcast Eyes and modest Grace;
For well she knew, I could not choose
But gaze upon her Face.

I told her of the Knight, that wore
Upon his Shield a burning Brand;
And that for ten long Years he woo'd
_The Lady of the Land_.

I told her, how he pin'd: and, ah!
The low, the deep, the pleading tone,
With which I sang another's Love,
Interpreted my own.

She listen'd with a flitting Blush,
With downcast Eyes and modest Grace;
And she forgave me, that I gaz'd
Too fondly on her Face!

But when I told the cruel scorn
Which craz'd this bold and lovely Knight,
And that be cross'd the mountain woods
Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage Den,
And sometimes from the darksome Shade,
And sometimes starting up at once
In green and sunny Glade,

There came, and look'd him in the face,
An Angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew, it was a Fiend,
This miserable Knight!

And that, unknowing what he did,
He leapt amid a murd'rous Band,
And sav'd from Outrage worse than Death
The Lady of the Land;

And how she wept and clasp'd his knees
And how she tended him in vain--
And ever strove to expiate
The Scorn, that craz'd his Brain

And that she nurs'd him in a Cave;
And how his Madness went away
When on the yellow forest leaves
A dying Man he lay;

His dying words--but when I reach'd
That tenderest strain of all the Ditty,
My falt'ring Voice and pausing Harp
Disturb'd her Soul with Pity!

All Impulses of Soul and Sense
Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve,
The Music, and the doleful Tale,
The rich and balmy Eve;

And Hopes, and Fears that kindle Hope,
An undistinguishable Throng!
And gentle Wishes long subdued,
Subdued and cherish'd long!

She wept with pity and delight,
She blush'd with love and maiden shame;
And, like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.

Her Bosom heav'd--she stepp'd aside;
As conscious of my Look, she stepp'd--
Then suddenly with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.

She half inclosed me with her arms,
She press'd me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head look'd up,
And gaz'd upon my face.

'Twas partly Love, and partly Fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful Art
That I might rather feel than see
The Swelling of her Heart.

I calm'd her Tears; and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin Pride.
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride!







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Thursday, October 24, 2013

Third-Hand . . .


 . . . Intelligence . . .


Heard somebody say. . .
. . . They overheard you
Just the other day
A simple word
About the way we get along
If only I were sure
Of the semantics
Having doubts 'cause I'm
One hopeless romantic
Could it be
You're slipping away from me
What will I do
If what I'm thinking is true
And you want to be
Really free of me
I won't last very long
Very far from your heart
And this third-hand intelligence
Might be the way that it starts.

Heard somebody say
They thought they saw you
Walking in their way
You were not alone
They said he didn't look like
Thinking to myself
Must be mistaken
Try not to believe
but still badly shaken
Why would you
Deceive me in things you do
So many years
Sharing our laughter and tears
Lasted very long
Maybe I was wrong
Not to ask you
Why you feel
We've drifted apart
And this third-hand intelligence
Might be the way that it starts

Are my sources reliable
Wait and see
Wait and see
Is my psyche too pliable
It could be
It could be

If somebody said
The sky was falling
Soon we'll all be dead
Have to quit our stalling
Try to be prepared
Would you believe it's true
Or would you question
All the things you do
And change your direction
From spinning round
When it hits the ground
That's just not true
Any believers are few
When you've seen it all
It could never fall
Any more than
I think you could
Tear us apart
And this third-hand intelligence
Might be the way that it starts


Hear THIRD-HAND INTELLIGENCE
©1997 Raymond M. Jozwiak





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