PeaceBang

Kate Bush Is Back!

kate bush
Originally uploaded by Peacebang.

Kate Bush has a new album coming out; her first in a decade. I used to love her — and still think that “This Woman’s Work” is one of the most haunting songs of that era. It was used to great effect in the surprisingly touching “She’s Having a Baby” starring Kevin Bacon and Elizabeth McGovern. (hey! where’s she been lately, anyway?)

Anyway, “The Kick Inside” is still a kick to listen to. I also still love “Never Forever.” (have to check on that title)

Kate is the original ethereal rock goddess — ain’t no Tori can compete, as far as I’m concerned.

The only thing about Kate is that she might want to consider a new director for her videos. David and I rented one lo those many years ago and were embarrassed to the point of hands over our mouths at Kate’s rather spastic dance moves. She was trying to be Fairie Queen and it was coming out more Pee Wee Herman.

Look for “Aerial” in stores near you!

He Won’t Be Bahck

I love the smell of napalm in the morning.

http://aolsvc.news.aol.com/news/article.adp?id=20051109051509990013&ncid=NWS00010000000001

(thanks to mikey for the good news)

Offensive Royal Scotland Bank Commercial

I’ve been wanting to write about this one for awhile, and I saw it again this morning on CNN.

Scenario: a beautiful, traditional church, handsome groom and lovely bride standing before a clergyman. Emotional mamas and papas in the front row.

The minister says, “Do you, Ambrose [Snottyname] Finch, take this woman to be your wife?”

So we know immediately that the woman isn’t worth being named.

Ambrose responds, “Well, that very much depends on what you mean by ‘take,’” and launches into a whole ridiculous exposition on the risks of the merger, etc. It’s funny. The mother of the bride weeps and the bride looks profoundly irritated.

As Ambrose is carrying on, one of the groomsmen steps up and quickly says, “I do.” There is a shot of the bride looking o-mouthed in an expression distinctly reminiscent of a blow-up doll. The priest, in a relieved rush, says, “I pronounce you man and wife!” And the man and his blow-up doll wife exchange a kiss.
The crowd cheers… and fade. Because of course a beautiful, blonde woman who’s all dressed up in white on her wedding day isn’t there to marry any specific person, she’s just pretty chattel to be handed over to any schmuck in a tux who agrees to “take” her as his wife. And of course she’ll just obediently and silently lean over to be kissed no matter who does the stepping up.

If I had directed that commercial, I would have AT LEAST had the bride and the groomsman exchange secret looks of lust and longing, and I would have at LEAST spared the one second it would have taken to have the bride NOD her assent to the minister the moment the groomsman said, “I do.” I’m talking two seconds’ worth of air time to make a commercial funny instead of disgustingly sexist. It could have been done.

Not that I’m bloody likely to do any banking with the bloody Royal Scotland Bank, but I have a message for them and their ad agency:

Sod off, you bunch of sexist rotters.

Bad 80’s Memories

Bad 80’s Memories
Originally uploaded by Peacebang.

Two things happened today that made me feel ancient.

First, I was on the elliptical cross-trainer at the health club listening to oldies radio when “Whip It” by Devo came on, and there I was sweating away and laughing, singing as loud as you please:

WHIP IT!
into shape
shape it up
Get straight
Go forward
Move ahead
Try to detect it
It’s not too late
to WHIP IT
Whip it good!

It was all hilarious nostalgia, but it did occur to me that I used to dance to that song wearing a peplum skirted dress and a snazzy little hat while men bought me drinks by the dozen. And Tom Manarino would drive me home and I would puke in the lilac bush and then stagger in through the garage.

That was a semi-bad enough 80’s memory. Now I see that Madonna has attended a movie premiere in 2005 wearing purple velvet KNICKERS and she’s wearing what looks suspiciously like an old Farrah flip hair-do, and dammit, lace up granny boots.

Madge, please don’t bring me back there. Please don’t bring me back to leg warmers and raspberry berets (”the kind you find at a second-hand store”) and metallic Peter Pan boots and toe socks. Please. Please don’t do this.

The best thing about the 80’s was that we hadn’t heard you massacre the “Evita” score yet. But everything else, you can keep. Especially the knickers. Good Lord, don’t bring back the knickers. The next thing you know it’ll be gauchos, and when that happens I’m going to have to throw myself off the clock tower.

Bohemian Brand Loyalty

I have become one of those people who buys three boxes of Calgon, six bottles of contact lens solution and four extra toothbrushes at a time, who stocks the pantry with ten cans of white beans, and who has brand loyalty to a certain type of paper towel. I have become the kind of person who calls Target to inquire after a brand of kitty litter that the cat prefers and which I have not been able to find during two visits to two local stores.

I have become the kind of person who mends the winter coat buttons in late October, long before the first frost, and who starts shopping for staff Christmas gifts the moment Halloween is over (and sometimes before).

I have become the kind of person who compulsively recycles, and who spends several days during the summer cleaning and reorganizing closets.

So when you want to know why I wear fishnets (demurely, flesh-colored ones under tailored trousers), it’s because I’m not quite ready to give up my fantasy of myself as being slightly bohemian. A middle-aged, middle-class, bohemian suburbanite who has brand loyalty to Calgon and Northern Cloud.

There But For the Grace Of God…

There’s a sermon in this. The poor soul.

http://www.universalistchurch.net/boyinthebands/archives/richard-a-lenz/

Be My Fodor’s

Dearest PeaceBangers who are acquainted with the beautiful country of Spain, I ask you to advise.

I am going to fly to Madrid in January and head immediately to Seville for a 3-day cooking class (local friends, start salivating now!). I will head back to Madrid for two days where my #1 goal is to see the Hieronymous Bosch paintings at the Prado.

Then I intend to fly to Barcelona for five nights, and to take a one-day cooking class there. Tapas! Tapas! Tapas!

My question is this: should I spend another day or two in Madrid? Or is Madrid as loud and busy as they say, and not nearly as charming and vacation-friendly as they say Barcelona is?

As much as I’d love to run around both these great cities (and I debated for a long time whether to skip Barcelona on this trip and go to Lisbon instead) — I am going to try not to run myself ragged.

If you have hotel recommendations in Madrid or Barcelona, I’m happy to get them, too (and especially recommendations for QUIET places).

Muchas gracias.

My Hero

My Hero
Originally uploaded by Peacebang.

When I was in the 4th grade, my Dad ran the Carter campaign in our county. We were always out passing out brochures and leafleting, and attending some Democratic Party thing or another. I remember it well, mostly because we lived in an overwhelmingly old-money Yankee Republican area, and my little friends thought I was doubly weird for my Carter-fever (they also thought I was suspect for being Jewish — even though we attended the Unitarian church).

One day on the bus, Jud Askins ripped the Carter Peanut necklace off of my neck and got into big trouble for it. His mother, Trieste, made him get it repaired and then drove him to my house to come to the door and give it back to me with an apology. (Jud, where are you?)

The night of the election, the house was filled with people and even though it was electric and exciting, Mom and Dad finally sent us off to bed. At some wee hour of the morning, my Dad came in to our bedroom (Sister of PeaceBang and Little PeaceBang shared a room back then) and told us that Carter had won the election. It was one of the few times I saw my Dad cry.

Some people think that Carter was the worst president we ever had, like this guy:

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0895260905/103-7878712-6352611?v=glance

I don’t know that he was a great president, but he is a truly great man.

Jimmy Carter has come out with a new book about the moral crisis in America, and how this current administration is violating all the basic principles that made our country great. I plan to buy it in hardback as soon as possible.

Jimmy Carter was supposed to fade into the noble obscurity that all past presidents are expected to fade into (especially one-termers). Look at what he’s done: written numerous, substantive books, advocated for peace and won a Nobel Peace Prize, built houses and served on the board of Habitat for Humanity, traveled the globe as an ambassador of international cooperation, and taught Sunday school.

I am so glad to be able to say to my 4th grade self, from the distance of almost 30 years, “Someday you’ll be very proud that you were associated with helping this man ascend to a position of world leadership.”

"You’re Doing a Good Job, Brownie!"

You’ve all heard by now, I presume, about some of the bone-headed e-mails being sent by erstwhile FEMA chief Michael Brown in the days following Katrina?

The very essence of maturity, I’d say. I especially like his wry observations about his “fashion god” wardrobe. Shut up and get to work, Brownie. And don’t tell us you didn’t know the levee was breached. Now we know that you knew.

PeaceBang seems to recall a post she wrote in the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Katrina wherein she speculated that Bush had a special “sleeves advisor” to roll his sleeves just to the point around the elbow that communicates “I shore am workin’ hard for the American people.”

PeaceBang feels vindicated today at the revelation that there are, in fact, Sleeve Advisors in the administration, as evidenced by this bit of intelligence from Bloomberg.com:

“On Sept. 4, as criticism mounted of the federal effort, [Michael] Brown received an e-mail from Sharon Worthy, whom the Melancon report identified as the former director’s press secretary, telling him: ‘You just need to look more hard-working…ROLL UP THE SLEEVES!’ “

CNN expanded on the content of this e-mail this morning, providing a further quote from Worthy which said, in effect, “even the president rolls HIS sleeves.”

Gack.

She Pushes Good Plow

exercising
Originally uploaded by Peacebang.

What’s scary is that I find that I actually love exercising. I hate getting there and I hate all the changing and unchanging and showering nonsense but I am starting to really look forward to my Hamster Time, where I get to turn the brain mostly off and scramble around on the human equivalent of the big metal wheel.

I also secretly love plomping around on those big bouncy balls. I’m very serious on it, doing my crunches and whatnot, but in my head I’m going “BOUNCY BOUNCY BOUNCY!”

You should see me doing the weights. I always wear my hair up in a big shmatta and I look very Eastern European peasant-chic, grunting away. I can hear my great-grandfather say in his thick Slovak accent, “She pushes good plow.”

(I don’t think he ever actually said that, but it makes me laugh)

My great-grandma Anna Billo was a big, hefty lady with upper arms the size of my thighs who lived past 100 on a steady diet of pierogies and Tasty-Cakes (or maybe she just kept them in the house for us). I don’t have the genes to be a slimmy gal but I can be, in the immortal words of Stephen Billo, “strong like ox.”

(By the way, I would NEVER wear a leotard with yellow tights. I would never wear a leotard, period. People, it’s 2005. We have cute boot cut yoga pants now! It’s called progress!)