Now what?

The attentive member of the VCA will have noticed the melding in of the Grinwout’s posts, which I think I threatened to do, or at least mentioned I was contemplating. Here’s the story.

I like doing CL, obviously, and have little problem filling it up with stuff during the season. The stuff that I fill it up with is, obviously, debate-oriented, although I have been known to go off on tangents, some more tangential than others. It’s one thing to write up a history of art as narrative (“Caveman,” of course, which I still love) and another thing to write up my personal experiences going to Disneyland. Still, it’s all of a piece, and once you start down the road of regular blogging, you write whatever is foremost in your mind at the time. During the summer, I wish I was at a Disney park, and there’s no debate going on, so there you are. No one ever complained, so I kept at it.

I’m quite satisfied with the readership numbers for CL, which are tracked for me by Google. Plus I know there’s untrackable subsidiary readership in RSS feeds and the like, so as far as I’m concerned, I’m reaching a number of people that makes it worth bothering in the first place. While I do write this because I like to write, I wouldn’t do it if there weren’t people who wanted to read it. Instead, I would do something useful like buy a high-end PC and play online games in my spare time. Or watch more TV. Or raise chickens.

I did at one point develop the habit of RSS reading, concentrating on debate-related materials, which I then, via automation inherent in Google’s Reader, posted over to what I called the Coachean Feed. I did this for a while, getting myself into the habit of following and organizing feeds, but without a lot of traction as far as readership. For a while I merged the Feed into the CL blog, and got a couple of complaints, and stopped.

Meanwhile, for the DJ, I wanted to create content to support the series I publish, and began blogging there, eventually evolving into an annotated link blog. I did this independently for months to prove that it could be done, then for a while did it on the DJ website. Unfortunately, the supporting materials on the website (marketing stuff) never materialized, and the DJ website people wanted something different, and there you are. (Actually, the DJ is getting its act together, and doing what I wanted them to do in the first place, so it may be panning out in the long run).

Because I was doing so much Feed/Blogging on entertainment subjects, I lost the time to do the Coachean Feed, plus Google’s Reader was modified so that the automatic part wasn’t working the same, so that fell by the wayside. Meanwhile, I so got into the habit of the entertainment feed/blog, that when the DJ cancelled it, a few weeks later I started it on my own. I figured I’d keep it separate from CL, and therefore baptized it Grinwout’s. I created a Twitter account which got direct feeds from the blog as they were written, and kept it as a separate entity. Eventually I created a Facebook page for it as well. The thing is, the Grinwout’s type of content has sort of become something I do, for whatever reason, but mostly because I like doing it. It gives me a chance to write about other things, and to explore videos and music and stuff that I like doing. It has become part of the Menickean mental makeup slash output.

The problem was that having it separate from my main line, which is CL, seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. It’s a secondary brand, so to speak, and doesn’t have the oomph to allow it to stand on its own. And why should it stand on its own? After all, it’s still all Menickean crap. And CL, for better or worse, is Menickean crap from top to bottom. More Menickean crap would seem to fit right in.

So, the plan is to merge Grinwout’s and CL. For the time being, G posts will be written by Grinwout’s, and CL posts will be written by me. I’m stopping the @Grinwouts and eliminating automatic posting to Twitter, but I will kick myself in the pants and use @jimmenick to support Grinwout’s publishing. And I’ll let the Facebook page I created for Grinwout’s languish; it’s not hurting anyone, after all. I realize that if you really want to get stuff out there, you need to connect every which way, but I’d rather use FB for my own personal stuff, at least for now. We’ll see.

If all of this annoys you no end, keep it to yourself, you spalpeen! Who needs you and your negative worldview? Otherwise, let’s see what happens. It’s the beginning of a great adventure, as Lou Reed would put it.

In which logic is touched upon, along with yellow rice and old rope

Sometimes I think I’m operating in a different dimension than everyone else at the DJ. Don’t ask.

Meanwhile, I’ll be taking a blogging break for a week, both here and at Grinwout’s, and will probably return with yet a new way of doing things after I meditate a bit on life, the universe and everything. Speaking of which, Martin Freeman narrates the audiobook of The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, and I really like Martin Freeman, and he was perfectly cast as Arthur Dent in the movie, but he’s no Stephen Fry. [Sigh!]

Much TVFTing occurred last night, although with a bunch of cyloning or whatever they call it when Skype eats what people are saying. We talked about CatNats and some other stuff, if you’re interested, clearing up the thing about people needing an Amex card to get into the judges’ lounge. It’s interesting how almost every tournament has a sticking point or two, and some people just hate the X tournament and refuse to go, for whatever reason. If I’m not mistaken, I don’t have any tournaments at the moment that I personally refuse to go to, not counting NatNats, which I can’t go to, so I never get so far as refusing to go to it. That is, I couldn’t go if I wanted to, the inverse of which is I could go if I didn’t want to, which isn’t true. The contrapositive—If I didn’t want to go, then I could go—is untestable, because I don’t know if I want to go or not, because since I couldn’t go if I wanted to, I don’t bother wanting to. If you get my drift.

We also talked (offline) about getting CP into the neighborhood for socializing. Last weekend a bunch of us suited up and chowed down at a Cuban restaurant, and a swell time was had by all. It’s nice to get together and not have to get back in time to put out round 6 or whatever. It was a nice day in Manhattan, and we strolled Soho and met up with O’C in WaSqPa where we were set on by one of the famous falcons, which pretty much stopped park traffic in its boots. Weird people strolling the park are a dime a dozen, but falcons? Then Kate joined us with very light-colored hair, and we sauntered over to the restaurant, where Kaz and Peter were already in progress, with JV close behind. We celebrated PC’s recent graduation (Yay!), we kept increasing the number of appetizers we were ordering, and at one point O’C consulted the council (?) about a potential solo trip to WDW (acceptable, provided there was no Foursquaring—who needs to know that he just had another Dole Whip?). After which, gelato. Ahhhhhh.

At which point, I feel that I should type YOLO, but having sworn an oath to kill the next person that types YOLO, I probably shouldn't.

Nero Wolfe

Like any serious reader, when I find an author I really really like, I read everything that author has written. This is sort of like a love affair between author and reader. The author gives you as much as you want; the casual date takes a kiss and moves on, while the serious lover takes it all, sometimes even repeating a book when once isn't enough. This is not casually liking an author, or even loving a particular book. This is absorbing everything until there is nothing left. For most readers, this doesn't happen very often, just as with lovers in real life it doesn't happen very often. Who has the energy? But every now and then...

I've read a lot of mysteries, and enjoy a lot of mystery authors, and have even read the full works of some of them like Hammett or Chandler. But none have been such feverish affairs as the one I have had with Rex Stout and Nero Wolfe. I remember my first Wolfe novel, The Doorbell Rang. It comes in the middle somewhere of Stout's total output (48 Wolfe books altogether), but that doesn't really matter, because the first thing you notice about the series is that you can pretty much start anywhere. Most mystery authors nowadays, if you don't read their books in the order in which they were written, you're lost: they're one giant epic in serial parts, rather than stand-alone installments. This may be fine for committed fans, but it's murder on newbies who may pick up the latest and be immediately lost. You're never lost with Nero Wolfe, though. Still, there are occasional plot developments from novel to novel, and it doesn't hurt when you get serious to read them in order. But to start, pick any one at random. Then go back and do the rest. In other words, a real easy buy-in.

The novels are narrated by Wolfe's amanuensis, Archie Goodwin, and as Annabelle Mortensen points out in The Genius of West 35th Street, he is the perfect foil to his boss. Archie is hardboiled, while Wolfe is drawing room. They are from completely different traditions in mystery writing, yet they blend perfectly, and as some would have it, uniquely. No one else ever pulled off this mix like Stout. What you learn early on in any of the stories is that Wolfe has very specific rules about how he spends his time and where. One of the real joys of the series is seeing if those rules will broken. They often are, but they still remain as rules. Stout pulls this off beautifully.

If you don't know the Nero Wolfe books, I would recommend that, first, you read one. As I said, any one. Then take a look at Mortensen's fine article, to give yourself a sense of where these books fit in the genre. Then read the rest of them. Just to keep in with the spirit of things, I'm immediately going to put Fer-de-Lance on my Kindle. I need to read this book again real soon. It's been a couple of years since my last Wolfe. I need to rejoin the pack.
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Hello. My name is John. I'll be your hitchhiker this evening.

The idea that you would be driving along and would see John Waters with his thumb out on the highway was, shall we say, a little bizarre, except with John Waters, calling something bizarre requires a lot of thought beforehand. But there he was, hitching away, and one of the cars that picked him up was carrying a bunch of indy rock musicians, and the rest is history. And also fodder, apparently, for an upcoming book.

That's the thing. Waters is a writer, and a good one. His Role Models is undownputtable, and rather undescribable aside from saying that it is, indeed, about some of his role models. It was the first book I bought for my iPad: a baptism of trash, you might say, provided that you are the sort of person who values trash.

Waters is also a talker, and in addition to recommending his book, I recommend his film John Waters: This Filthy World. It's just Waters talking, and he's a great raconteur as he talks about his filmmaking roots. And of course, he is a filmmaker, with varying results. You've probably seen Hairspray (not the musical); if not, do so now. Or Cry-Baby, with Johnny Depp. Neither is for adults only, if that's a concern. They're certainly his most accessible works.

You're on your own after that.

BigThink.com has a bunch of Waters videos (and a lot of other people as well). I picked the two below as representative. Watch them, and then ask yourself, if you saw Waters hitchhiking, would you pick him up? I would, in an instant.




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The greatest fashion show ever

In photographs, the Pantheon seems toweringly prepossessing. In fact, it is squeezed into a busy Roman street, or more to the point, a busy Roman street has sprung up around it, and this building that should be on a majestic hill is just plopped down in what is now the middle of the city. I point this out because it was on my way to visit the Pantheon that I first consciously realized that priests have to buy clothes too. And bishops and cardinals and nuns (oh my!). In a small but smartly appointed shop directly behind the Pantheon is a store where, presumably, the church elite does its shopping. There were miters and crosiers and chasubles all bejeweled and shiny in the window, fancier than anything else you might see in this fanciest of dressy cities. It was reading this article that brought it back to me, and then I remembered Fellini's Roma and the scene below, which simply is one of the most amazing pieces of film he ever shot, which is saying a lot. It's also the most amazing fashion show ever imagined, by any measure. Alexander McQueen had nothing on this.


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Today's science videos: Nao

If you were looking for a personal robot, we've got one for you. They're about $15000, but there is a discount if you purchase in bulk.

We were originally intrigued by this first video, where each dancing Nao (pronounced "now") is responding to a central computer. This article explains how; it's something called quorum sensing, which is how many bacteria coordinate. (You learn something every day.)



After watching this, via Mental Floss, I got curious about these little suckers, and went to the Nao website. This is their promotional video:



Apparently it does not come with rocket launchers to get revenge on the dolt who knocked it over without so much as a "Pardonnez-moi." I would suggest such weaponry as a future enhancement.

There are other videos out there on various versions of Nao and the different things it can do. After watching them, all you'll need to do to get one for yourself is to dig up that spare $15000.
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Italian Spiderman

In honor of The Avengers taking over the number 3 slot on the list of all-time money-earners, we present a film, in its entirety, that is not on that list. [Via Dangerous Minds]


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And then there's the Beach Boys

They're in the middle of their 50th anniversary tour. Unlike the Beatles, they didn't change music. Their role in the popular culture was to capture the California sun, surfer girls, and Thunderbirds in a musical simulacrum of adolescent angst that absolutely did that job, turning everyone who listened to it, gender notwithstanding, into a sixteen-year-old boy at the edge of beach almost having a girlfriend. In reality, the girls on the beach only seem to be within reach...

The music itself is a number of things, but most of all it's Brian Wilson. To call Wilson a genius is easy: he's the one who put all that stuff together, first in his head, then in the studio. But he didn't have an easy go of it. Brian Wilson may be a lot of things, but a quintessential beach boy isn't one of them. His mental sufferings have not made his life a particularly happy one, except, it seems, when he's doing the music. He hears voices, and doesn't want to. Sometimes it's been crippling, but now he's back on stage with the remaining Beach Boys and a big backup ensemble, and they have a new record coming out tomorrow that I have previewed and have no choice but to purchase immediately. Then again, I've bought every Brian solo album over all those years, the good and the bad, and some of them occasionally take off where only Brian can go.

The Beach Boys’ Crazy Summer is the best thing I've read on the reconstituted Beach Boys, and Brian, and the history of the group. At this very moment I'm listening to "Surf's Up" from Brian's solo reconstituted "Smile" album.

I've got to find a video!

poke poke poke

This one will do. Brian is looking awfully good on stage here. Not the Boys, but it does the job.



The Beach Boys are hitting their 70s. No, they're not boys anymore, by any stretch of the imagination. But music is still music, and we can only hope that there's more good music to come.
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Hating the Beatles

In 2012, the Beatles are a given. The Baby Boomers were their first fans, and kids today eventually discover them (not by virtue of having to dig particularly deep) and they become fans too. I've had arguments with teenagers over what album a Beatles or Stones song was on, which is a fruitless exercise on their part, as I've been listening to that album for nigh on 50 years, and they bought some compilation or a couple of downloads and read something on Wikipedia and think they're experts. No, you're not. I also had this exchange once with a high school student, when a Beatles song came up on my iPod mix over the car stereo. "I like the Beatles," he said. "What albums do you have?" I was taken aback by this. "All of them," I responded. Like, which one wouldn't I have? I mean, they broke up in 1969; by now I've been able to scrimp and save to get them all. Sometimes you forget what it's like to be a working stiff.

When the Beatles first arrived, they were not a given. Rock and roll had been around, of course, and was regarded by the establishment as a necessary evil. It was for kids, it made money, and if you wanted to, you could ignore it. Rock was an offshoot of 50s culture; The Wild One and Rebel Without a Cause predated the debut of Elvis on network television. Mainstream culture could sneer at rock if it wanted, but it wasn't the main threat: it was teenagers, period, that were an upsetting phenomenon. It was the other way around in the 60s, where the popular culture became an offshoot of rock, and that all began with the Beatles. Their breakthrough marked a new music, an invigoration of rock via that music, a new look and style, and worse, it came from another country. Popular music was threatened by rock in the 50s; in the 60s, rock became popular music. And that was that.

The Beatles weren't alone in making this happen, but they were at the forefront. Their popularity was ridiculous, and the idea of Beatlemania, and teenaged girls going hysterical at concerts, must have been a little scary to the popular performers of the time, who had no one of any age going even mildly hysterical. In their days, folks like Sinatra had their hysterical followers, but at least they shut up during the performances of what it was they were hysterical about. Not the Beatle maniacs. They just never shut up until the Beatles finally gave up performing live. Who could blame them?

As the Beatles led their cultural upheaval, there was reaction. And if you think I'm exaggerating the extent of their upheaval, measure it by the extent of the reaction. From the mainstream to the depths, from Dean Martin to Homer & Jethro, the threat was clear, and the return fire fairly immediate.



I have nothing against Homer & Jethro, but please, guys, can't we just coexist?

The A.V. Club has put together The Beatles Just Got To Go?: 18 anti-Beatles songs, a roundup of reactionist music, mostly from the time, but a few a little later. I disagree with their interpretation of the Barbarians, but then again, Moulty, the one-handed drummer, was another story altogether. The collection just shows that the Beatles really meant change for a lot of people who didn't want that particular change.
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Friedrich Nietzche's face spotted on a pancake

This never happens when I make breakfast...

Riding off into the weekend with Mr. Toad

An opening day attraction in both Disneyland and Walt Disney World, only the smaller California version still exists. But, thanks to the interwebs, where people have time on their hands, you can still ride it, not via somebody's shaky handheld VHS video, but via...some software or other.

As far as we know at Grinwout's, this is the only Disney attraction ever to send its guests to hell. Except, perhaps, for "it's a small world," but we refuse to have that discussion.


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Michael Sandel

There's plenty of other Sandel on video, for interested parties.

Gilbert & Sullivan

During a trivia night, I asked a group of teenagers to fill in the blank: "For I am the very model of a [blank]."

Blank indeed: blank stares all around.



Gilbert wrote the words, Sullivan wrote the music, and they were a big hit in their day. Patter songs, like that of the Major-General, were a feature in their operettas. So was patent silliness, like the encores in this trio. John Reed was a legendary G&S performer, and one imagines that his work with the D'Oyly Carte Opera Company is representative of how the shows were performed when they were originally produced.



I can't resist Todd Rundgren and Taj Mahal having their go at it, but John Reed was better.



We could go on. The movie of The Pirates of Penzance is a perfectly good starting point for G&S noobs, although fans of the Marx Brothers might prefer the 1920ish The Mikado with Eric Idle. It doesn't matter. Either way, don't think of these as dead old examples of an art form that is long dead. Today's musical theater is nothing more than G&S in modern dress: singing, dancing and joking around at a high level. And the music is wonderful, and the lyrics, for the most part, timeless.

"Ring the merry bells on board-ship, wend the air with warbling wild."
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Star Wars recast

What we've got here is the radio play of Star Wars, performed by voice actors doing pretty much every voice you can think of from George Takei to Stimpy, changing roles after every scene. It takes a minute or two to go through the introductions and get started, but be patient. You will be rewarded.


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Marilyn

We've reached the point where Marilyn Monroe doesn't exist anymore. Instead, the girl born Norma Jeane Mortensen on June 1, 1926, has morphed into whatever the beholder wishes her to be. Needless to say, this arises to a great extent from the way she looked. Keep in mind that she died at the age of 36, which means that throughout her entire career she was pretty much always young (to varying degrees) and always sexy (ditto). She was referred to as a sex symbol during her lifetime, but worked hard to become a good actress. The pressure to be Marilyn Monroe was rough on her, as it would be on anyone. We don't have to look far nowadays to see people who can't handle the pressures of fame and publicity, but she was one of the first to suffer those pressures in a very public fashion (her stardom began as the studios were losing control of their publicity machines, not to mention the fact that her marriages to the world's greatest baseball player and the world's greatest playwright were noteworthy in and of themselves). Apparently she died as a result of those pressures.

One wonders what she would have been like if she had not died. Would she have matured into a great actress? Would she have faded away as her sexy image was passed along to younger actresses?

I'm betting that young people today don't know much about MM's work. They certainly know her name and her fame, but have they seen any of her pictures? Some Like it Hot is still one of the funniest movies ever made. It should be on everyone's must-see list. Bus Stop is corny fifties drama, but it's good corny fifties drama and MM is perfect in it. Watch The Misfits if you want to judge where her acting was headed. And if you want to see her shine at her best, check out How to Marry a Millionaire or one of her other signature roles, Lorelei Lee, in this one, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes:



Whatever you do, do watch the movies. The Marilyn Monroe that the movies created was the one on the screen. See that one, and let it go at that.
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More Eurovision

Hairpin entertains (?) us with songs that didn't make it to the finals this year.

I can't imagine why. Especially the popo guys.

Five Songs That Should Have Made It to the Eurovision Song Contest Finals

And here's our original link, if you missed it.
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The depths of ventriloquism

Automatonophobes of the world, unite! You are not alone. Coulrophobia gets all the press these days, but let's face it: clowns aren't half as scary as ventriloquists' dummies. It's due to the old uncanny valley: the more something that isn't human approaches humanness, the weirder it gets. And what approaches humanness without actually getting there as well as a good old-fashioned dummy, especially one that's been through the mill of time and would be weird looking even if it weren't a dummy?

io9 starts the ball rolling with their Vintage ventriloquism portraits were incredibly unnerving, but then there's the link back to Flickr with more gems than the average person can bear: the one with the woman and the soldier will be keeping me up nights, I'll tell you that.

A little research into ventriloquism uncovers what you would expect, that it goes back to the ancient Greeks and had all sorts of ups and downs and connections with witches and whatnot up until the birth of popular culture, where it found its metier on the stage, and ventriloquists learned to drink water and throw their voices at the same time (except for Albert Brooks, whose dummy used to drink water while Brooks himself talked, but that's postmodernism for you). The greatest popularizer of modern ventriloquism was Edgar Bergen, who gained his popularity on the radio. Which is a poser. Think about it. A ventriloquist. On the radio. No wonder his lips moved so much when he finally made it to television.

Ventriloquism isn't seen much anymore, but automatonophobes can get their fix at places like Walt Disney World, where the automatons are animated and in many cases are even more uncanny. My vote for the one to avoid?



When the Mouse starts talking, I'm out of there.
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Queen Victoria's diaries

The youngest child of Victoria was, of course, Princess Henry of Battenberg. Which immediately raises the question, where exactly is Battenberg? That's the great thing about looking this stuff up. You learn all sorts of things that you didn't need to know. Battenberg, in addition to being a sponge cake, is located somewhere in Germany. Once upon a time on the continent semi-autonomous states were all the rage, and European royalty was rather, uh, common, so to speak. You couldn't swing a cat without hitting the odd duke, but that was then, and nowadays they're all on the Euro and things ain't what they used to be.

Princess Beatrice of the United Kingdom, the aforementioned princess of Battenberg, was designated by her mother to always be by her side as her unofficial secretary, a chore to which she resigned herself apparently quite gracefully. Her Majesty intended for Beatrice to remain single unto the grave, but Bea managed to find the rather dashing Prince Henry of Battenberg, and convinced her mother to allow the marriage. Unfortunately Hank died young; Beatrice on the other hand carried on admirably, the last child of Victoria and Albert to pass away, in 1944. She also acted as the literary executor for her late mother. Most notably, she transcribed Victoria's diaries which, thanks to QEII (the woman, not the boat), we can now read online.

Let me put it this way: once you start diving into this material, you will surprise yourself with how long you will stay there. I guess you can't be Queen of England for, well, ever and not leave behind a thing or two of interest. Nice sketches. Interesting writing. Check this site out; if you have any interest in history, you'll really enjoy it.
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Is there anyone who didn't see this coming?

Hiya Honey,

Jon Cruz, although not a millionaire, manages to live like one: Just look at his Foursquare check-ins. He is also not a politician, although he has supported many people who are politicians who would be better off working at Walmarts, and outside the little niche he has carved for himself and filled with many others, much in the same way he has filled his apartment with George Lucas memorabilia that even George Lucas cringes over, he is not famous at all; yet, he is one of the one of the most important men in New York City. Okay, maybe not New York City exactly. He is one of the one of the most important men in the Bronx, which is part of New York City, much in the same way that the Black Hole is part of Calcutta. He is the coach of the Bronx Science HS The Bronx High School of Science (get the damned name right, will you?) Debate Team.

Every day he gives up whatever time he isn’t lounging around at Japonica to help his students form their own opinions (or other people’s opinions, if they occur to him first), grow as citizens (except for the ones who are foreigners) and as people (except for the ones who aren’t people). He runs the largest debate team in the country, spending countless hours entering NFL points and explaining to bus drivers that Boston is west of the Hudson River, raising funds for it so that everybody at our diverse public school is able to compete across the nation so that he can spend even more hours entering NFL points. He memorizes everybody’s first name after he meets them and sometimes even before he meets them or, if possible, instead of meeting them, and will remember them for the rest of his life or at least until he has to register them for a local tournament, in which case he calls them Unnamed Novice Ninety-Two or whatever. Come to think of it, what he calls them is The Bronx High School of Science Unnamed Novice Ninety-Two or whatever. Perish the thought that you just call the place Bronx Science.

What makes him so memorable? I can’t remember.

Oh, yeah. Right. He is a fabulous, unapologetic, Jewish gay man—What??? Wait a minute!!! O'C is gay??? You learn something new every day. He a model for so many students who came out to him first for help. The staff of Japonica, the conductors of the D train both a.m. and p.m., the flight crew on his last flight on JetBlue and the entire Slovenian National Marching Polka Band have also come out to him. His style is inspired with equal parts of George Takei…and…uh…Walter Mondale, and Liberace (You know, sometimes just saying George Takei is enough, whatever the context.) He can tell you the best place for sushi in Soho even though he’s never been there because perish the thought that he ever eat anywhere but Japonica, pizza in Midtown (as if—he hasn’t been to Midtown since they closed the play “Starlight Express”), and gumbo in Georgia (in his view, any place that takes Emory keys as negotiable currency). But most of all, no person could ever do what he does—not even him—at least not with the same enthusiasm and care which he does it.

Sincerely,
The Bronx Science HS Debate Team The Bronx High School of Science (they can’t even get the damned name right in the signature: he’ll be on them for that, mark my words)

Tommy Emmanuel

Or, the best guitarist you've probably never heard of. He was born on May 31, 1955.




Emmanuel is Australian, but in one video I watched (and let me tell you, it was absolute torture to pick the videos for this post—life can be awfully nice sometimes) he claimed to now live in the US. I've only seen him live once, because he doesn't come around often, but in concert he is dynamite.



It wasn't until I was doing the research for this post that I discovered he has a brother, who also plays guitar! Talk about your sibling rivalries!



Not much video out there on Tommy playing with his hero. They have recorded together, though.



My favorite of his pieces tend to be the lightest. What a touch!



Happy birthday, Tommy. And please come back to the neighborhood. I need another concert.