The Race Is On

Wow! Long time without something new on this little blog outpost. I thought maybe a few posts a month this year would be the reality, but that was just the dream talking smoke in my ears.

Why no blog post?

For the past year I tried my hand as a freight agent. Logging (instead of blogging) lots of computer time checking on various logistics boards from freight companies trying to find good paying lanes that truck drivers would book with me. This gig entailed lots of phone time and quote generations on top of the heavy computer hours spent each day just finding and posting hauls. And when one I posted finally got booked that precious cargo meant I became the dispatch person making sure the driver was where he/she was supposed to be from the moment the load was booked to the minute the haul was delivered and the trailer emptied.  Lots of 4AM alarm noise to get going for East Coast traffic when you live on the Left Out Coast.

Freight agent meant  contract worker, a 1099 IRS form unit of America's working class. No vacation, no benefits and no affiliation with any company, although I could only book hauls for one freight carrier's "independent" business owner-operator drivers.  On May Day I said enough to 70 hour weeks earning well under the federal minimum wage. Logistics is big business in America, but like nearly all big business in this country most of those doing the work from booking, warehousing and hauling don't make much dough and have little or no benefits. The 1099 form I received from the business entity I worked through placed "fishing services" as the category for my work. Oh well.

So late spring sees me in a variety of ball caps and loose fitting clothes gardening the grounds. Well, gardening might be a generous term. Mowing edging, trimming, raking and watering to keep up with spring-spurring grasses, hedges, leaf sprouts and weeds means I'm a glorified weed whacker doing all I can to stave off the inevitable reclamation of the family domicile by nature. I won't claim the title of gardener. Forget planting and harvesting some fruit or something on this 3rd of an acre plot. Who has time for that shit when you also have the pool duties to keep the old cement-pond appropriately cleansed and swim worthy with pitted plaster and warm water the perfect algae growth compound? Although all this activity keeps a body in shape, the heat these past couple of weeks has sapped my motor of any kick by early afternoon.  And it is still spring here in the Southern San Joaquin, before the real broiler temperatures arrive later this month.

Sipping on a cool one after working up the sweat pores I ponder the tough work done by men and women out in the California fields shaking trees while gathering nuts and fruit, digging in the ground with vegetables and doing all the various tasks with irrigation and maintenance. The Byrds version of Woody Guthrie's Deportee plays in the background. Here's a wonderful version by Arlo Guthrie and Emmy Lou Harris, but the Byrds take is the true classic for me from the Ballad of Easy Rider album the group released in 1969.




I have to give the field hands and the small working farmer huge props for strength, courage  and willpower. Field work is very hard work, by any measure, and unlike the category that it usually falls under in the various government and private think-tank repositories of statistics (unskilled labor) a tremendous amount of skill is necessary to do this work, grow and get the food to market and survive in some of the hottest climate conditions on this planet.

I won't bore you with a bunch of stats but California agriculture generated $37.5 billion for 2010 crop and livestock revenues (most recent statistical year) once again leading the nation for agricultural output by a huge margin. Iowa was a distant second and Texas was numero tres with a little more than half the revenue California totaled. But, all this agriculture grandeur is small solace to the hundreds of thousands who work  here in California in the lowest paying and physically demanding industries in America. California also puts to work more than two and a half times the amount of field hands than does Iowa and Texas combined, and 90% come originally from Mexico.

Kris Kristofferson comes to Bakersfield tonight to play a concert to help the UFW. Cheers, old bright dude, for still caring and doing something good for people who deserve it.  

What too many people fail to realize is that when a nation continues to deny one class of workers rights, privileges and benefits it doesn't take too long for other less stigmatized/scapegoated workers to lose theirs. So we see workers in all sorts of occupations from freight (in my recent case) to major food service locations and food processing plants working desperate hours for terrible wages and no benefits with no protections against the big business ownership class. 

So the Prez comes out and says no more deportations for the youngsters whose parents brought them north to try and earn a dollar the really hard way. This announcement is pure politics trying to seal up votes from a Latino community the Tea Baggers want totally gone, and the liberals seem incapable of protecting.  But, as poorly as liberals and Democrats have performed they stand as beacons of light in comparison to what the Republican Party has done to all minority groups in this nation over this past decade. But, all this tension and rancor  over the poor Mexican immigrant might just be a lot of hot air today over a problem that no longer exists, if truly it ever did.

The recent immigration statistics from the government have come out for 2011 and Asians now account for a larger percentage of USA inbound opportunists than do Latinos by a 36% to 31% margin. The Pew Research Center just recently posted a fascinating report on this social shift. What surprised me most was that Asians are far more satisfied with things here in this country than the all other ethnic groups, and the cumulative citizenry as a whole. It also surprised me to see how generally satisfied all people are in this country with their lives. When all you watch, hear and read in the media is how angry everyone is, you have to ask one basic question. If 75% of all Americans are happy with their lives why so much hostility in the media and politics?

Back here in beautiful California, the state that feeds the world, the news for everyone that the Latino immigration numbers have fallen off a cliff this decade are not comforting to many of our farmers and food processors. The trade associations for big agriculture interests in California are busy meeting with the politicians they have heavily invested with over the years like Rep. Kevin McCarthy and Rep. Dan Lundgren. Too bad for the  big agriculture folks that these two members of the House of Representatives are out there working to make it impossible for Latinos to migrate to this country by supporting profiling laws that have surfaced in Arizona and in some southern states. When an industry continues to seek out only the most desperate of people, who will work for a pittance of what their labor is worth, more stories like this one from the Sacramento Bee are bound to follow.

Asians will not be the new immigrant group to replace the Latino in the fields and dairies. Asians now earn more than any other ethnic group in America by a hefty margin. Asians are the most educated ethnic group in America. This is a group that works hard, smart and not for chump change. 

Where will the labor come, from and at what price going forward? It could be as big a problem as water in these parts, because unlike the rest of the country's agricultural fields which are dominated by very few crops that machinery can harvest fairly efficiently, California has a labor intensive array of a multitude of diverse crops to pick from.

All I know is that I'm generally satisfied with my beverage, and my surroundings and hope to blog a bit more going forward now that my 1099 contract workdays are through. Thanks for stopping by.

March Madness Reserved For Those in Central and Eastern Time Zones Only

Today finds the last gasps of winter, wheezing away under dying seasonal spasms of wind and clouds but packing no punch, upon the nation. Here in California it was no winter at all, just sunshine and blue skies (well hazy blue skies). It is a couple of days after college basketball fans found out the fate of their teams and into what NCAA tournament brackets they fell, or were left alone on the doorstep without a plate or ticket into the big party.

No surprise after a season of insults hurled at virtually all Western college basketball squads to see so few invited. The Pac-12 Conference owns the most NCAA championships for this tournament, and really has UCLA and John Wooden to thank for the honors. But, this year UCLA faltered, just like last year, and after a 3 year run of making it it to the Final Four we now see that the whole conference stinks according to all the experts.

The Washington Huskies, who won the regular season title this year with a 14-4 conference record did not even get invited to the NCAA basketball tournament. No writer in all the national media pages I have been reading these past two days was the least bit surprised. Most called the Pac-12 "terrible year" or " mediocre" or "legendarily bad" this season. Really?

Most of this "legendarily bad" mediocrity for the Pac-12 conference shows up when you look at the wins and losses versus ranked teams in other parts of the country. Washington lost to Marquette on a last second 3-point shot in Madison Square Garden, and then a few days later at the same New York showcase lost to Duke by 6 points. Marquette University is located in Milwaukee, WI a little under 900 miles from New York City, and Duke is located in Durham, NC approximately 480 miles from the Big Apple. The Seattle school traveled 2,900 miles to play in New York City to two of the top teams in the nation and lost by 8 points in two games.

The Arizona Wildcats traveled to Gainesville, FL and lost to the Florida Gators in overtime to the nation's 12th ranked team in the polls. Arizona beat New Mexico State handily when they played at New Mexico State. New Mexico State is in the NCAA tournament as a 13 seed and Arizona is just another "legendarily bad" Pac-12 team who couldn't get a sniff this year. The Wildcats did beat St. Johns in New York by a wide margin, and all St. Johns had to do was walk to Madison Square Garden for the game. It's 2,500 miles from Tucson, AZ to New York City.  

Stanford lost by 6 to Syracuse in New York after leading most of the way and were ahead by 6 points with with a little more than 4 minutes to play in the game. Syracuse coach Jim Boeheim said, "They outplayed us the whole game." Stanford had beaten Oklahoma State by 15 a couple of nights earlier in NYC. Distance from SFO to NYC is just under 3,000 miles.The Cardinal also beat North Carolina State in Palo Alto and Colorado State  by 12 at home. CSU is in the tourney as an 11 seed as is Noth Carolina State. Stanford is just another "legendarily bad" Pac-12 basketball squad.

Oregon had its season's hopes rubbed out with an opening away loss to Vanderbilt in Nashville and a 14 point defeat to BYU in Salt Lake City a month later. Anyone following college ball knows Vanderbilt just beat the top ranked team in the nation, Kentucky, this last weekend.  The loss that hurt the most, though, was the Virgina Cavaliers who traveled to Eugene and beat the Ducks who were playing at home. Finishing at 13-5 in their conference could not overcome those three losses.

As the Pac-12 regular season runner-up, the University of California, Berkeley landed a spot in the tourney as one of the at-large worst teams in the field. This means the Golden Bears must play a game against South Florida to qualify for the second round (really the first but who is quibbling) of games. The Cal-South Florida contest will be held in Nashville, which means the California team must travel 2,400 miles to meet the South Florida squad coming 700 miles from Tampa. The Bears lost to the three Top 25 teams they played this year (Missouri, UNLV and San Diego State).  All were away games.

Colorado got in to the NCAA field of 68 by winning the Pac-12 tournament, not by its record. It had 7 conference losses in the regular season and no major out-of-conference victories that mattered to the national pollsters at all. The Buffaloes get to play another Western Region team, UNLV, right off the bat, to make sure at least one western team will both lose and advance. Both teams do catch one break in that where they start play is not that far from their home campuses, 475 miles for Colorado to travel from Boulder, CO to Albuquerque, NM and 575 for UNLV to travel from Las Vegas, NV. Colorado thought for sure they were in last year, and the coach threw a big party on selection night only to see the University snubbed by the selection committee.  They already knew Colorado was headed to the Pac-12 and punished them right away.

In the spirit of trying to erase as soon as possible the western squads in this year's tournament who are not part of the "legendarily bad" conference, the masters of the NCAA selection committee and bracketologists handed out the Long Beach State 49ers-New Mexico Lobos opening match-up. Now although there is an opening NCAA round played in Albuquerque, NM, the folks at the NCAA sent both the New Mexico schools to Portland, OR for their games. That is 1,400 miles and a time zone away. The University of North Carolina and Duke University get to play in Greensboro, NC for their opening rounds.  Greensboro is about 50 miles from both Chapel Hill and Durham.

Then there is St. Mary's traveling to Omaha to face Purdue. California Bay Area team travels over 1,660 miles to face the Boilermakers who travel 550 miles to play. One squad has a two timezone change and the other has none. The school that travels least was a middle of the road Big-10 squad with 12 losses. St. Mary's went 27-5 in a conference that included Gonzaga and BYU who also got invites to the NCAA basketball tournament.

Gonzaga from Spokane, WA, which finished right behind St. Mary's in the West Coast Conference, gets to travel to Pittsburgh, PA hoist ball against West Virginia, a middle of the road team from the Big East that went 9-9 for their conference record. WVU, from Morgantown, WV, finished their regular season at 19-13 and travel less than 80 miles to essentially host the better seeded team Gonzaga, which must travel nearly 2,300 miles for the privilege to play the game. By the way, Gonzaga blasted Notre Dame by 20 points earlier this year, and Notre Dame finished third in the Big East. Some reward for the West Coast Conference runner up. When Gonzaga beats WVU they get to play Ohio State who had to travel all of 180 miles for their opening round games.

San Diego State, which was ranked in the top 25 most of the season came in second the Mountain West Conference behind the University of New Mexico Lobos and one game above UNLV. The Aztecs beat Cal by a point in San Diego early in the season and are 26-7. This team gets to travel to Columbus, OH to face a North Carolina State squad that lost to Stanford, and has a 21-12 record thus far. The Wolfpack got seeded number 11 and the Aztecs are a 6 seed. So why does the better team get forced to travel 2,300 miles to play while the lower seed only travels 480 miles?

I was surprised Nevada University from Reno, NV did not get invited, but the New Mexico State team they beat on and who finished second in the WAC got in. Maybe Reno is just too close to California and got punished by default.

It reminds me of that recent poll that was out about a month ago on how the nation viewed all the states. http://www.publicpolicypolling.com/main/2012/02/state-favorability-poll.html

No love for California these days and the NCAA seems to relish putting those on the west coast in their proper place.  In a desperate attempt to appease all the California haters, and have the Pac-12 Conference try to regain a measure of respectability, the conference big wigs announced that Las Vegas, NV will host the Pac-12 Conference basketball tournament for the next 3 years.

Just about says it all. No ball here.

Thanks for stopping by.

 

  

Saturday Afternoon Looking Back

Quiet this afternoon. The sun sets early, and all three cats bask in the last few warm rays old sol spins off. My shaggy dog takes a sip of beer I offer, and we all smell the fireplace next door. The grass casts that Bermuda brown tone now all across the back yard. The geraniums, roses and euryops all bloom this December and give a dash of color through the hazy shade of late fall against the fence lines.

Just returned from my uncle's memorial service. Caught up with some long lost relatives and generally meandered down Memory Lane, listening and sharing experiences of the man and of his close family members and friends.

Times and places, bittersweet.

The many stories of heavy bourbon filling the air of the alternating households at the large raucous gatherings for family holiday events and birthdays bounced off the rooms and patios at the two separate spots where our extended group of mourners gathered for my uncle's send off. Mourners might not be the best word in this case, certainly a sadness over his death, but a realization that my uncle lived ninety-three years of life to the absolute hilt reminded those assembled to never forget to live life, have fun and share some joy on the way.  And so the group reverted to what the old timers in the group (I'm now included on that list) have always done best- talk, drink, laugh, argue and share with those around you, and if the rest of the neighborhood hears many of the profound off-the-cuff imbibed comments, well, so much the better for the neighbors.

I went to the formal memorial at the old Congregational Church with my sister, but she had to leave right after on yet another cross country haul back to Pennsylvania with a load of batteries in her 53' trailer with her faithful dog, Shiloh, riding shotgun. Strange to see your little sister so far removed from college honors and a life in government service and farming now filling out the last years of work behind the wheel of a big rig. She never felt comfortable in the local in-law gatherings of years past, and being present for just the formal affair without the awkward reminders of not quite fitting into the various family table settings worked out perfectly for her schedule and temperament.  

I was curious to see my late cousin's daughter and son, and maybe share a story or two about their dad, who they knew a lot less about than their grandfather who they both had come to say their final goodbyes to. Juliana radiated his hair color, and his determination. Dylan wore his mouth , chin and eyes almost exactly.

I spun a true tale to Dylan of a long ago moment in a mountain setting where their grandfather has climbed up the tree where our tree house had just been erected about twenty feet above the ground in a lodge pole pine not far from the cabin our families shared. The tree house had been a male family project with my dad, my uncle, my cousin and I all taking parts in the project. The adults doing all the heavy lifting amid refreshments of beer, sodas and hot dogs. My cousin and I were perched near the trunk of the tree and scooted closer to allow Uncle Tom onto the flooring to admire the work and view. He had clambered up  with a bourbon in hand. He made two steps and went straight through a couple of weak board planks straight down, and into the soft dirt and pine needles which cushioned his fall a bit. My father who was to follow next exclaimed wonderingly, "Tom, you didn't spill a drop!" To which my uncle, shaken but not stirred, replied, "A marine never loses his provisions."

It was one of those remarkable moments which will always be frozen in my mind. My Uncle Tom was a blessed man who had born the worst at Iwo Jima and Guadal Canal during World War II, and later at the 38th Parallel in Korea without a physical scratch. The burden of what he saw and experienced in the war he took to the grave alone. He never shared  those memories with anyone. If he told his wife, my lovely Aunt Bobbie, she took all Tom's war secrets with her many years ago. My uncle and dad were very close, and had each others' backs for decades. Not a word to my father, who had served in the Army Air Corps during the war years, on the battles subject ever. Only those who were there during those horrible war moments alone would know what happened, and could fully understand the terrible wrathful meanings of warfare.  He remarked in the local newspaper in 2007 in an article on the Kern County Veterans Memorial, "No one hates war as much as those who were called to fight in one!"

A last teaching moment.

And so the loud and boisterous holiday or just family gatherings of the extended local tree line was always a full glass of bourbon or gin amid the chatter. I came to grips with the adults need to unwind during the 50s and 60s years ago in my hippie days when I realized how tough life had been, and what great sacrifices most of this generation had born. As kids briefly in the roaring twenties with Prohibition , only to meet the Great Depression and widespread deprivation until the largest scale war in recorded history comes along. After that, any sane person could use a drink or two.

And so, goodbye to the last of my local bloodline ties of the Greatest Generation. Thank you for getting us this far, and for trying to bestow something a bit better than what most could hope for before your arrival on this rock in space. It seems unnerving to me that the lessons you tried to teach fell on so many deaf ears, and we find ourselves coming full circle after 90 years time into the same dark economic world from which you sprang.

My dog looks hopefully for another small taste of hops and barley, but the bottle is empty. We head inside and close the door.

Until the next time. Thanks for stopping by.

Blues and Gold

College football's regular season ends this weekend with the Army-Navy football game. I remember a time when this game had more than the end-of-the-season meaning to it. That was a time when the Academies had players who left national imprints, and garnered  the Heisman Trophy 3 out of 6 six years between 1958 and 1963. The first Army-Navy football game was played in 1890. No games were played during World War I, but not one game was missed during World War II.  Navy leads the series 55-49 with seven tie games, and has won the last nine games.

I don't follow college football the way I used to, but do still follow my Alma Mater, the University of California Golden Bears. Each year usually brings a heavy dose of blues with a few rays of gold from the team for its followers, but hope for a Rose Bowl appearance springs eternal, much like Cub fans everywhere and their annual dreams of having their baseball team finally appear in a World Series once again. Partners in the Blues searching for Gold.

Losing toughens you up. Losing hones your skills. Language and cultural pursuits become the tools to mask disappointment/anger/despair, or to go on the attack utilizing the oblique disguised masks of art to confuse and disarm the adversary.

For me, the Blues articulates this social war phenomenon, and remains America's greatest cultural gift with prospects good for its permanent place as the nation's most lasting cultural legacy.

Souza enthusiasts might disagree, since certainly marches of pomp surrounding military exercises surrounds our landscape. Think of all those fight songs every Saturday when the squads hit the gridiron and play out their war games with ground attacks and aerial assaults combating all out blitzes to huge throngs.

Others can argue that marketing and advertising is America's greatest cultural achievement, combining all aspects of culture from film, art, print and sound to create demands for goods and services no one needs but everyone must have.

Maybe the Constitution, or the Declaration of Independence, which both thrust the country onto the map of nations could be the nation's finest and most lasting contributions for the ages.

All have merit, as do other purely Americana rituals you care to argue for. But, for me, it's the Blues.

I won't speak for most people of my generation, but I have always considered myself lucky being alive at the right place and time. I grew up on new sounds that came out of a post-war age where all things possible seemed probable. All the mistakes of the past where deprivation and abuse of too many people, which always led to such large and brutal losses of life would be addressed by a world much wiser than all those generations which preceded mine.

The masters of the blues, who mostly toiled in menial jobs the first half of the century, and who through luck, chance or hope performed and recorded their songs of observation about a world where the shuffle off-beat met ringing strings and back-calls, masked their resentment of the world's indifference to their despair through their art form. The entire experience could have been lost, or buried in the country where this art form was born, had an unintentional audience not been discovered. By circumstance young people who had been deprived, abused and forgotten throughout a war ravaged Europe heard in the blues through GIs in occupied lands the kindred sounds of voices who knew and understood what loss was all about.

The young people of that post World War II era throughout Europe, but especially in Great Britain, sought out these rhythms and the records at the close of hostilities. These young men and women who knew brutality and absurdity first hand listened intently to all these formerly lost or discarded blues makers from an American era that Americans were only too glad to see gone and forgotten trying to erase the memories of the first half of the 20th Century. From 1930 until the early 1950s most Americans had learned to live without just about everything, and the memories of a brief wild ride in the 1920s always gave way to the down and out memories of circumstances immigrant and home grown citizens alike faced the first two decades of the 20th Century.  Hardship was what most Americans faced daily, and blues was a constant companion.With the war victory, and the opportunity for Americans to rebuild the world , the blues was the last thing the people in the US wanted to hear, or be reminded of.

It would not be until the mid 1960s when British bands like John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers, the Rolling Stones, the Yardbirds, Them, the Animals, Fleetwood Mac, Savoy Brown, Jethro Tull and others introduced electric blues to a willing American youth audience. A few inspired American groups like the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, the Blues Project and the Steve Miller Blues Band, who all had worked in the clubs where the forgotten black greats performed to mostly black audiences, made names for themselves and helped build a blues based recording business boom for young white middle class males.  

And so seminal black originator artists who had begun to build the craft in the pre-war years, finally found an audience in America, as the nation's splintered and newly found affluent kids turned their eyes on the founders of the form through British and a few young American interpreters.

I was in that generation that fell in love with the both original makers of blues from Muddy Waters, Willie Dixon, John Lee Hooker, Jimmy Reed, Albert King, Freddie King, B.B. King, Little Walter, Elmore James, Otis Spann, Hubert Sumlin, Robert Johnson, Howlin' Wolf, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Otis Rush, Buddy Guy, James Cotton and so on and so on. I gladly purchased albums from these and all the British and American purveyors of eccentric, eclectic, acoustic and electric blues. Folk blues icons from the U.K. like John Renbourn and Bert Jansch also made it into the library. Getting as close to the source was important. To my way of thinking if you don't know the source maybe you should stay clear of tasting the altered brand beverages.

Awhile back I posted a review of a fascinating DVD, Desperate Man Blues, about a guy driven to find source music. Click this link if you're interested. Another riveting documentary DVD, Genghis Blues, tells the tale of Paul Pena's quest to discover and learn Tuvan Throat singing from the descendants of Genghis Khan. Paul Pena led a strange, wonderful and yet sad life. He authored one of Steve Miller's biggest hits, Jet Airliner, and played with Bonnie Raitt, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker and other luminaries during his too brief time on the earth.

Just a few days ago, I spotted a Facebook post from my good friend, Mike Farrace. For those who do not know Mike, he was the Editor in Chief of Pulse Magazine for many years at Tower Records. Pulse was the in-house published magazine that explored most of the music, and the artists who made the music, which Tower Records in turn sold. However, Pulse was only part of Mike's domain at Tower. He also was in charge of Tower's Internet presence, and oversaw the launch of the Tower Records website, which was the first national retailer online. I can safely say very few people possess the brains and knowledge of the biz, and all its complexities, that is found inside Mr. Mike Farrace.

Although Tower has been dead for more than five years now, most of us alumni still find ourselves sucking air and blowing it back out slightly reconfigured. Mike has become an independent entrepreneur of many things that made popular music and its roots so vital to all those rock and blues lovers who scoured all the stores over the past near 50 years. One of his latest projects combines the other-worldly art of R. Crumb with some of Blues forgotten masters.

Most people reading this blog post know something about R. Crumb, and his very popular underground comic characters that came about when the world came face to face with hippies,  flower power, drug abuse, San Francisco and Viet Nam in the 1960s. R. Crumb has lived a long life. He is a musical talent as well as an artistic one. He loves old timey blues and continues to create art. He lovingly created portraits of some Blues heroes, which Mike has licensed and will gladly sell to you. These are cards of long lost blues greats from one of America's forgotten periods. Heroes of the Blues could make a great unique gift for any young person you know. Click the link to check it out.

I would also mention there is an excellent documentary on DVD, The Confessions of Robert Crumb. This documentary, now more than ten years old, offers great insight into and great humor from the mind of Robert Crumb, a true American original. The link in the paragraph takes you to documentaryheaven.com for a stream of Crumb consciousness if you like.

So get on with the Blues this holiday season, and put a positive spin on. Thanks for stopping by. Until next time.

Christmas and a Small Gift Idea of Film and Music

Christmas season. I put the wreath on the door yesterday. No lights to trim the house. Kids grew up a long time ago. This weekend comes the fiber optic small Christmas tree, complete with the rotating color patterns shining through the ends of the green needles. Can't put up a real tree with lights and ornaments because the cats chew into the lights and ornaments. It's a small sacrifice we endure to make sure one of the kitty's doesn't melt down like the cat and William Hickey's toupee do in National Lampoon's Christmas Story.

We still exchange gifts with the family, and with a few very close friends. It ain't about the money anymore. It's the thought, and the connection which count these days.

The family grew up, and got older surrounded by music and movies. Being in the business of selling the stuff rubs some of that tinsel dust off. Lots of plastic discs and tapes over the years.

With that backdrop, I thought you might be interested in a couple of suggestions I offer as gift items this year for those who are special to you and might enjoy something a little different in the way of recorded listening, and or viewing. These are either films available on the DVD platform of  your choosing or albums available on CD, or downloads if that's how you entertainment-boogie these days.

My first pick of this month to put into your friend's gift basket might surprise you, or might not depending on how well you know me. Roger Ebert calls it the perfect film. I call it the most sublime and important picture capturing the American experience ever made. The film's score haunts the listener like a ghost with a folk quality of sadness and reflection. The film's director, Robert Altman, made a number of outstanding films but in my mind McCabe & Mrs. Miller remains the most vital and his best.

I would gift this film to any friend, or acquaintance, who wants a better understanding of how the American story unfolded, got folded back in again, and remains virtually the same story today. Maybe someone you know through social networking who lives outside of the US and wants a clearer truthful picture of the peculiar American mindset could be the recipient of your generosity.

In my business days many people often wondered, and would ask me why anyone would bother to own or possess a movie. Books and music they seemed comfortable with as purchase items, but films seemed to these folks too ephemeral for any ownership value. McCabe & Mrs. Miller deserves a choice spot on any discerning shelf.

As a companion item to the film I would encourage you to pick up the Leonard Cohen album, Songs of Leonard Cohen. Here is a humorous and perceptive take on why this album became an all-time favorite choice for one writer.  The original album, which came out in 1967, was a stand alone record of songs, which Robert Altman, or someone on the film's set, felt would be ideal four years later as the the predominant soundtrack backdrop. Few albums stand out apart from the time when they were recorded. This remains one of those albums, and that it works with such power in the film makes the album all the more unique and wondrous.

Thanks for stopping by. Next post I'll find a few different flavors as offerings.