You are what you .... Eat? Wear? Drive?

He who walks through life as a chameleon sometimes goes to great lengths to present both an appearance and a persona to fit the occasion. Here is a photograph of Fram, taken while on the road (slightly off it at that precise moment) during a recent excursion. Judging solely from his appearance, it probably is safe to assume he was recognized by few and adored by many while on this trip, and that this "boy racer's" style of driving was somewhat more "accelerated" in an Audi than it would have been in a Chevrolet Suburban.
The chameleon returns .... well, sort of ....
It was not too long ago that I was writing an email and I made this comment: "I am melancholy, but happy, if that makes sense. A paradox. It comes whenever I listen to the music of Boston, which I am doing." Another day, I said I needed to play some heavy-duty rock and roll to prepare myself to be "warlike," so as to be in the proper frame of mind for cheering on the New York Yankees in the World Series. These are not the first times I have said such words in respect to the emotional effects of music, and it hardly is an original thought. After all, once upon a time someone noted, "Music soothes the savage ...."

More recently, again while writing an email after having sold my Chevrolet Suburban, I made this comment: "I should have sold the Ford Mustang and the Audi, and kept the Suburban, I think. The Suburban was more me, and I do not drive crazy in it like I often do in the Mustang and the Audi. Style and mannerisms in dress, in vehicles, in music -- in many things -- affect one's attitudes and behavior more than commonly realized, I believe. I drive like a teenage nut case in my Audi, and like a mature, well-mannered adult in my Suburban."

Image is one of the magic words here. Attitudes and behavior patterns are other key terms in the sense they are influenced by the image we desire, and vise versa. Some examples:

I have a well-worn, black, leather jacket. Some might describe it as a biker's jacket, and it shows the wear on its front that only miles riding against the wind can make upon leather. At times when I wear my hair "a bit longer than the norm," I am more inclined to wear this jacket while out and about than I otherwise am when my hair is cut rather short. Visualize the image, if you would: Biker jacket, jeans, cowboy boots, hair over my shoulders and probably sunglasses. Then imagine my attitude and my behavior, even my speech and my gestures. A chameleon passes among you.

In other moods, I will wear a Marine Corps T-shirt or battle jacket when I stroll the shopping markets. The Marine Corps elements affect my attitude and my behavior differently than does my biker jacket or, going the opposite direction, than does wearing a pin-striped, navy blue suit. Similarly, I might not only appear to be, but actually take on, the persona of entirely different people when I wear cowboy boots in contrast to when I am wearing running shoes. We all do, do we not? Or not? As I wander through the sea of blogs, I wonder how accurate a portrait many internet authors present of themselves.

The interesting part about this, of course, is not only how a piece of clothing will alter attitude and behavior, but how the image presented will influence the reaction of people encountered.

Lightning strikes! After all these months, I am drifting back into thinking and writing about the chameleon mode again -- the reporter as a chameleon. Do you remember him? I dress and act and talk like the image I wish to portray, like the person I wish you to think I am, to accomplish the results I wish to achieve. One day, the reporter wears a leather jacket, jeans and boots to interview a drug dealer; the next day, the reporter dresses in a three-piece suit to interview a bank president. In its most elemental form, the idea is to look, act and talk like the person being interviewed in order to win his confidence and trust.

So, then, there is one consistent element in my life, it seems: The chameleon, or, to take it even one step further, the masked chameleon. By all means, lift the mask and reveal tomorrow. Where have I heard that before?

In this instance, though, my thoughts today originate from questioning how the chameleon persona might affect the individual who is one -- his attitudes and his behaviors -- rather than how it influences the people he encounters and interacts with along the path he travels. Absolutely "fascinating," to revive an oft-used word from the chameleon's past. It might be worth writing a post about someday .... somewhere .... over the rainbow ....

The few who live forever

Somewhere in time

I have fallen from beyond the sky,
And risen from the bottom of the sea;
Where else can I go, what else can I be?

I have given life, I have taken life,
And kept my life when all others have died;
What else is left to do, what else can be tried?

I have known brilliance, I have enjoyed beauty,
And scattered all the Muse with my sullen glance;
Who else might I find, who else is worth the chance?

I have flown upon visions, both in day and night,
And studied long to understand this endless chase;
When will it come to pass, when will I glimpse her face?

--vwsd

Music & the theory of time standing still

Yes, I remember "Jay" & the Americans

While step-pa-pa was listening to Richard Tucker out-Italian the Italian tenors, cara mia ma-ma had her own brand of sort of Italian music that she enjoyed. This is to say, she loved Jay and the Americans, and this band had one song with an Italian name. It was "Cara Mia" = "my beloved."

I probably enjoyed the music this group produced as much as my mother did, and maybe even enjoyed it more than I did the sound of Tucker. The roots of this band actually go back to the late 1950s, but its popularity came in the 1960s when David North agreed to adopt the name "Jay" and became the new lead singer.

The version posted here today is from a television show recorded in 1965. Be prepared to smile, if not outright laugh. Maybe television programming has not gotten more idiotic over the years; maybe it always has been sort of goofy, and we have been doomed since the very beginning. Whatever .... try to ignore the few brief seconds the "go-go girls" appear on screen, and just listen to the song. North had quite a voice, did he not?

The band is Jay and the Americans
The singer is Jay North
The song is "Cara Mia"



No, I did not & will not forget Queen & Freddie

I wonder sometimes, maybe others do, too, why I have not mentioned Queen and Freddie Mercury in these recent posts when I write about great bands and great singers. Many rock and roll enthusiasts would name Queen as the greatest band of all during the second half of the 20th Century and, I am certain, Freddie would secure countless votes as the best front man, if not actually the best singer, of his times. In my case, I think Queen and Freddie might belong in a category of their own, over and above all the other bands and all the other singers, especially those of the 1970s and the 1980s.

So, this time around, included below is Queen and Freddie doing "Crazy Little Thing Called Love," a song he composed, according to legend, in about ten minutes. This performance is from Queen's appearance at Wembley Stadium in London in 1986. Judge for yourself if they might not have been the greatest among the great.

The band is Queen
The singer is Freddie Mercury
The song is "Crazy Little Thing Called Love"

Young ladies & cars sometimes are special

Slim, sleek, somewhat non-descript; it's all in her personality.

Ice Ice Baby ....

To say I have been neglectful of more than a few things the past three months would be an understatement. It has been a bad winter for me in several respects. Today, I decided to take out my 1991 Mustang, which has been resting idle in the garage, untouched since early January. You guessed it. Dead battery.

I bought this Mustang new. In another two years, with 20 years under her belt, I understand she will be considered a "classic car." The odometer reads 55,251. Know of many 18-year-old automobiles with only 55,000 miles? She is a GT with a 5.0 engine and a five-speed transmission = one hot car. I blew the speedometer on the day I bought her, and never fixed it. Give me one reason why I should.

She is not a vehicle in which a person wants to drive on a journey much longer than 50 miles. She runs close to the ground; the suspension is stiff and tight. This car is meant for running fast and taking sharp curves at high speeds, also meaning she is not designed for driver or passenger comfort. No lean, no sway, no drag, no bounce. She wants to challenge the wind whenever she is on the road, and the driver's butt and back pay the price for the thrill. Your body feels every ripple in the road that her body feels.

Before this one, I had a 1982 (you guessed it again) Mustang GT with a 5.0 engine. She had the words, “Ice Ice Baby,” painted on each side of her. If you cannot figure out why or where those words came from, do some research. I am not your daddy. (At least, I do not think so.)

It was not wise in dollars and cents for me to sell my old baby when I did, but I am not a late night talk show host who hoards vehicles. (Although, I did have five cars at one point -- dumb.) A stunningly beautiful young girl bought my former baby (at a discount price; wonder how she managed that?) so she could have a Mustang which matched her boyfriend's Mustang identically. Absolutely unbelievable. That girl is one in a million or a billion or a trillion. Really, have you ever heard of that?

This young girl would have been willing to pay a premium price for my baby. No way. This young girl was too special to pay a premium price. And, if you think I was "snookered" by a pretty face, I tell you this: I saw both cars, side-by-side, at a car show about a year later. My old baby never looked so fine when I ran her. She is well loved and she knows it and she shows it. I knew this would be true from my first meeting with the young girl who bought her; a young girl cannot hide her love for a young boy or for a particular automobile. Real, real love, I tell you true.

My current baby gets to rest another day with a battery charger to keep her company. I have a lot of words and gifts to give her to make amends for my neglect this winter. But, she is a real lady, and I am sure she knows I still love her. We all have bad times, and she understands that, and maybe even is grateful for being allowed to hibernate throughout this cold, snowy winter.

Saturday is tomorrow. We will talk it over then, and she and I can run a couple of roads. We will turn up the music and outrun the wind. We will shake more of the winter dust and cobwebs from ourselves. We will fall in love all over again.

Music Note: Listening to Queen ....
Specifically, "A Night at the Opera" ....
Some lines from "I’m in Love With My Car:"

I'm in love with my car
Gotta feel for my automobile
Get a grip on my boy racer rollbar
Such a thrill when your radials squeal

Told my girl I'll have to forget her
Rather buy me a new carburetor
So she made tracks sayin'
This is the end now
Cars don't talk back
They're just four wheeled friends now

When I'm holdin your wheel
All I hear is your gear
When I'm cruisin' in overdrive
Don't have to listen to no run of the mill talk jive

I'm in love with my car
Gotta feel for my automobile
I'm in love with my car
String back gloves in my automolove

For every prince, a movie star awaits

Grace Kelly, Princess Grace of Monaco, certainly had her choices.

Do girls still dream of being a princess?

Not too many days ago, I was sort of talking to someone about "handles" or "nicknames" for use in blogs or in forums or in chat rooms. I asked her which "moniker" she would choose to use. She said, Grace Kelly. That started the wheels cranking, so I did a bit of research on Princess Grace.

The first thing you will notice, and I am certain you will agree with even a quick glance at the cluster of photographs, is that Grace was a very attractive young lady. Assuming there is no need for a left to right or clockwise explanation, Grace is shown with William Holden. She won the Academy Award for Best Actress for her performance in "The Country Girl," which also starred Holden and Bing Crosby. She is shown with Jimmy Stewart as they appeared together in Alfred Hitchcock's "Rear Window." Cary Grant was her partner in another Hitchcock production, "To Catch a Thief." These gentlemen and other movie stars of their generation were among the men in Grace's life.

So, who is the guy dressed up like Napoleon she is shown standing next to? Looks all right, I guess, but maybe a little silly since they are not appearing in a movie together but, rather, in a wedding. Of all the men in her life, Grace picked an actual prince to marry, Prince Rainier III of Monaco.

It would not be inaccurate to describe Monaco as a tiny country -- sort of an old-fashioned city-state. The same family has ruled it since the 13th Century. It is a place the rich and the even richer like to hang out. Next time you cruise the northern edge of the Mediterranean Sea in your yacht, you might decide to anchor in Monte Carlo and test your luck as a high stake's gambler.

It is entertaining to speculate more than 50 years after the fact why she chose the man she did. Nice looking man, with his own castle and money to burn. That probably answers the question right there. Security and a family as a real-life princess vs. life as a glamorous movie actress. What a choice. She only appeared in 11 movies, and had a couple of opportunities later in life to do others, but those did not work out. She died in an automobile accident in 1982 at the age of 52.

Even more curious I am than to know why Grace chose being a real-life princess over a motion picture diva is to know why a young lady of today would choose Grace's name to be her "handle" or "nickname" or "moniker" for use in a blog or in a forum or in a chat room. Still hoping to be a real-life princess, maybe? I assume that it continues to be the dream of every little girl and, perhaps, a thought that lingers forever in the minds even of a few big girls.

Music Note: Listening to Queen ....
Specifically, "Queen Rocks" ....
Some lines from "I Want It All:"

I'm a man with a one track mind
So much to do in one life time (people do you hear me)
Not a man for compromise and where's and why's and living lies
So I'm living it all (yes I'm living it all)
And I'm giving it all (and I'm giving it all)

I want it all I want it all I want it all and I want it now
I want it all (yeah yeah yeah) I want it all I want it all and I want it now

I want it
Now
I want it I want it

A queen! A queen! My kingdom for a queen!

Queen Sibylla is very lovely, indeed. But, can she paddle a canoe?

As one search ends, another begins ....

I am sorry to announce that I have ended my search for Ms. Perfect.

I have been informed, by a reliable, trustworthy, non-partisan, unbiased source, that Ms. Perfect has been won over by Mr. Perfect. (That scoundrel!) She no longer is available.

There is, I also have been told, a distinct possibility that there might be a Ms. Best-For-Me just waiting for my arrival, somewhere. With this thought in mind, I further announce that my search for her will be launched immediately upon the completion of this commentary.

Might I even find an actual queen? How many of them are on the loose these days? The last one I remember seeing was in a movie about Jerusalem with Crusaders and Moslems and big siege machines. "The Kingdom of Heaven." That was it. Queen Sibylla ran off to France with some guy at the end of the movie but, who knows? Maybe they got divorced, or maybe he went off on another Crusade, or maybe she's on vacation by herself in Greece.

It probably would cost a lot of money to keep a real queen happy. I'm sure she'd always be wanting more jewels and expensive clothing. Could be worth it, though. Just look at her in that outfit. Really nice. Exotic. Beautiful. Stunning. All right, cool off, boy.

Expensive? I suppose but, on the other hand, if she came with her own retinue I wouldn't have to worry about cutting the grass or shoveling the snow or feeding the camels. Her servants could attend to those chores.

Whoa, now. Not camels. If I remember right, she liked riding horses. She could ride far better than I can. I guess that would be OK. I’m pretty sure I can paddle a canoe in a straight line better than she could do it. If she'd be willing to practice her canoe work, I'd be willing to start riding again. Opposites might attract, but they don't last. I managed to figure that out.

I remember something else. Queen Sibylla liked dogs, too. All the better. There are some possibilities here. Something to think about.

Computers, cameras & suggestions?

Only one suggestion each so far regarding computers and cameras and Greece. Either no one is reading here or no one has any suggestions. Oh, well, such is life.

I did contact a friend, who is a programmer for Intel, regarding suggestions about middle-of-the-road computers (price, that is, not politics) and two friends, one who is a photography hobbyist and another who is a professional photographer, about possibilities for cameras. Never-the-less, I would value advice from anyone who has experience, good or bad, with a particular product. Any ideas?

A guy has to earn his banana cream pie ....

I don't know what it's doing in your neck of the woods (country talk for "your corner of the world"), but it's snowing here, with a cold wind pushing it. Winter returns. There are three to four inches down. I think it is done, but the wind might pile it up.

That means there are a driveway and a bit of sidewalk to shovel. Yes, shovel. At the risk of offending someone, snow blowers are for old folks. So are riding lawn mowers. I've always looked at shoveling snow and cutting the grass as forms of exercise. (Well, maybe not when I was a teenager.) It's no fun, but it's good for you (and it's good for me), and it reduces feelings of guilt about sitting down with an entire banana cream pie now and then.

We are what we eat, so I guess I'm sweet.

Music Note: Listening to Foreigner ....
Specifically, "Classic Hits Live" ....
Featuring, "I Want to Know What Love Is" ....
(Me, too)

The price of romance might be high ....

But first, cold water prepares one for California

I did a lot of swimming while I was in California. The water of the Pacific Ocean was pretty cold, but I was prepared for it. Anyone who thinks the Pacific Ocean is cold ought to try a Minnesota, spring-fed, gravel pit. Now, that is really, really cold water, and I grew up in it. And, even before California, I'd dumped a canoe a couple of times in Lake Superior. Try holding a rope between your teeth and swimming ashore in "The Lake," towing a canoe filled with water and an idiot hanging onto it, dodging mini-icebergs along the way. (There he goes, sidetracking again.) "The Lake" has cold water, but I think the old gravel pit has both it and the Pacific Ocean beat. By the way, most old gravel pits are great places for moonlight parking, too.

Some of my California swimming was close to shore. Some of it was 90 miles off shore, give or take. Either way, if I would have known at the time great white sharks liked to prowl the California coastline, I probably would have stayed in Minnesota. Well, not really. Who spends any time thinking about sharks, anyway? I saw live sharks and dead sharks, cute sharks and ugly sharks, smiling sharks and sinister sharks, and I didn't give any of them a second thought. They really weren't very frightening. The ones I saw, that is. It's sort of like, "beware the ides of March."

Pretty obvious, isn't it? I've got California, especially San Francisco, on my mind. Or, is it princesses, divas and contessas I have on my mind? Or, is it something else altogether? With those questions hovering above us like ethereal spirits, it is time to wind down the exercise.

The Ideal Couple: Episode III

Moving to San Francisco and wearing flowers in my hair? I don't know about that. Maybe I'll just head down there long enough to find a princess or a diva or a contessa, and use my powers of charm to convince her we should settle down on neutral ground. Not in San Francisco. Not in Minnesota. Concentrating once more on great romances in the wonderful world of motion pictures, but this time not just movies confined to San Francisco, one possibility would be for us to find a peaceful, middle-class town and to live our lives as normal, ordinary, the-kind-of-couple-you'd-want-next-door people. People like Marge and Norm Gunderson.

Remember "Fargo?" You betcha. Great place to live, and it's a hotbed of entertainment up there in Fargo, Nort Daakotaa. I saw Don Dokken actually live on stage up there last summer. What's San Francisco got that Fargo doesn’t? And, isn't it preferable to be "up there" instead of "down there?" I'd even be willing to change my name to Gunderson if I found the right princess or diva or contessa, or reasonable facsimile thereof. Maybe she would want to become a sheriff. You have to confess, there is something compelling about a woman wearing a badge. Just check out Marge.

I'd even make breakfast for my contessa. Ya, you betcha.

I suppose I must admit that it would be possible some very few young ladies would soon grow disenchanted living in the midst of potato and sugar beet fields, and yearn for a more glamorous, adventurous existence cruising the highways and byways of Europe in the footsteps of Jason and Marie in "The Bourne Identity." Yes, I suppose members of the fair sex might prefer that to the simple life of touring the badlands, hunting antelope and visiting the grounds of General George A. Custer's last duty station. I suppose Europe would be ok. Sometimes, to win a princess or a diva or a contessa, a man must compromise. All right, we'll do it your way, but you have to drive.

It costs how much in euros? Well, I suppose, if you say so.

With apologies to Geoffrey, here ends the new Pardoner’s Tale -- except -- maybe -- for an epilogue tomorrow to complete a circle.

Music Note: Listening to (and, again, sort of watching) Queen ....
Specifically, "Live at Wembly '86" ....
(Wish I would have seen them perform live .... little late now)