summertime songs

 

Dear Fridays,

Don't worry, you can still dance!  The Summer is ending, but Fridays continue.  Here are some songs about summer for your dancing pleasure.

A Summer Song

Summertime Sadness

That Summer Feeling

Hot Fun in the Summertime

Summer Wine

Summer Babe

Cruel Summer

Summer Rain

Summer Wind

Summer Madness

All Summer Long

Summertime and the Living is Easy

Yes, I noticed it too; the summer is a very melancholy song subject.  I think it's because it's over so fast, and we only ever want what we do not have.  But, let me know what you think; send a message by paper airplane, and I will reply promptly.

Special Fun Edition

 

Image taken by Valentina Pogudina

Dear Dodo Reader,

The summer fun continues this week!  It's true, a lot of the fun suggestions involve making something, but you already know to take a hike, or a swim, or a paddle without me telling you to visit the beach or go on a picnic.  I have chosen these funs for their unusualness.  Also, y'all know that if your kind of fun is to clean grout, you should be on a different channel.

For fun this week, why not:

Make a special effect.

Make a fortune (teller).

Play a card game.  (just push the Create a Game or New Private Game buttons)

Keep your hoop up.

A Summer's Summer dance tune!

Okay, 'til Tuesday's fun list next week!

(un petite encore- close listeners will enjoy the difference in vocal style in these two versions!)

Clarity: As easy as falling off a log.

Dear Seeking,

Today I begin my letter to you with a few lines of introduction, or maybe it's a list.  Or maybe it is subject headings.  Or maybe it's the condensed version of the paragraphs that follow.


Give a little bit of your time to me.  Give a little bit.  

I don't mind you coming here, and wasting all my time.


The last place I lived was called Clarity Acres.  It got me to thinking, recently, about whether I had been clear with you here.  These pages suggest a lot of ideas and projects, and places to go to, but I think what I am really hoping you will want to do is jump on in with me.  The water is fine! 

Let's go over it, then, in detail.  This thing is a blog, which is short for Web Log.  What is a log?  Well, if you watch Star Trek, you'll find that the Captain's Log is a nice place for some exposition in the narrative.  A log can be a journal, but the best logs aren't merely lists of what you did and when you did it.

The blog can be a kind of a bulletin board, where you might find a scrap of paper selling a used bike that you are interested in, or a notice of an upcoming Barn dance you'd like to attend, or an idea you'd like to mull on further.

I was dismissive of blogs for many years, because they seemed very dull to me to read (no, the irony is not lost on me!).  And, I also felt very awkward at the confessional position many of them take.  But, like so many things, what is fun to do is not as much fun to watch.  So, you know what I am saying, right?  I am saying that you must be the blog you wish to read.  You must beautify the world of the virtual, collective mind by making your contribution to it.

Well, go on then.

Making lemonade out of coal.

Dear Glad You Asked and Been Meaning to Say,

I am not even remotely over it.  I sometimes don't think about it, but it comes out of nowhere and hits me like a ton of bricks, which I have noticed have little words and phrases stamped into them.  Things like 'well, now what?' and 'futility,' and 'wellerschmertz.'  If I ignore these bricks, more come along, which only proves their wretched little points.  Beware the bricks.

I am going to get a sofa that people can stay in my studio on- overnight.  It's not an easy decision.  Many things will have to be removed, re-located, given away, in order for the space to accommodate a making down of a pallet on the floor.  An artist pines for years to have a dedicated space- a space without a washer and dryer in it, or mice, or a dresser full of clothes, or shovels and hoes.  A place that is only for making.  I set mine up for that, and for reading, but only for reading the 'right' kind of books- theory, and picture books, dictionaries in various languages.  I made shrines to the things I cared for in it- photos of people, birds and animals;  rocks, leaves, dirt, shells, seeds, sticks, and the red powder they use in India.

Still, what use are secret shrines anyway?  Who would be the initiates that might see such sacred spaces?  There is a very nice* bakery in Los Alamos, and the bathroom has a little Joan Didion shrine in it.  And isn't that the right kind of place for a shrine?  A place that people visit?  I think putting people to bed in my shrine-filled studio could be a step in the right direction; although I remain far from certain about the right direction; sharing a space surely cannot be worsening things, can it?












*  Par exemple, they make terrific canelés AND fabulous pretzels.  Imagine mastering both of those, and consider how wonderful the croissants and bread must also be.





PS 
Make a few more pallets....  One, two, three, four, & five.

Little Miss Sunshine's gonna steal herself some shadow.

Dear Princesses,

I was driving away from Los Angeles when I heard Carrie Fisher had died.  I always feel a bushel of maternal protectiveness for Hollywood damsels who become emblematic of what society thinks about women; living martyrs, consumed by our voracious appetite for symbol.  I did not love her right away, though, because I am suspicious of popular things, and I never want to read the best sellers, dance to the number one records, or see the big films until the hoopla has left the building. 

And so, I grew to love Carrie Fisher slowly: I saw her in Star Wars six years after it was released (see above).  I loved that she was a wise acre, I loved that she was a writer, and I loved that she married a musician for only a matter of months.  I loved that she crawled out of her own hell, over and over, because everyone does, or doesn't.  I loved that her fame was a hairshirt for her.  I imagined meeting her and telling her it was okay; she was all right with me, no matter what, with or without Star Wars and metal bikinis and addiction.  Yes, she was all right with me, just for trying to be herself in the first place.

Here are two songs to contemplate:  Carry on my wayward daughter, and she moves on.

Holiday Set

Book, Jasper Johns, 1957

 

Green Target, Jasper Johns, 1955.

 

 

 



Dear Red and Green,

A short set of Xmas songs for you today on Radio Dodo:  one, two, three, and four.  All my best wishes!

Roadside Monument.

Dear Traveling,

Isn't this an unlikely monument?  It could easily be a candidate for the eyesore of the month;  I much prefer the usually stand-alone California Historical Marker plaque of bronze.  Still, I really loved visiting this little pilgrimage site, and I came upon it quite unexpectedly while searching for a rocket.

Here are two songs from the Beach Boys, because one is never enough:  Pet Sounds.  Heroes and Villains.

See you at the next roadside marker!

plink, plank, plunk

Dear Darling Clementines,

 

Enjoy this fine film on how your music box works:

 

 

 

 

 

Now, if you are craving a little more spare, plunky, tinky music, try this.  Oh, and this is good, too!

Oh, yes, and Hannah Peel can plink as well as crank.

 

 

 

 

 

PS

The eponymous and onomatopoeic pizzicato link, right here.