...and under a beautiful, full, Cancer moon (and right on this girl's heart):
Dear little moon in the deep heavens,
your light sees far away,
Around the wide world you wander,
you look into homes of people.
Dear little moon, stand still for a while,
tell me, where is my beloved?
Say to him, silvery dear little moon,
that my arms embrace him,
Let him, at least for a little while,
think of me in dreams.
Though he is far away, shine your light on him
and tell him who waits for him here!
If the human soul dreams, let this dream awaken him!
Dear little moon, do not disappear!
Antonín Dvořák - Měsíčku na nebi hlubokém (Song to the Moon)
Monday, December 21, 2009
I had forgotten all about this song, and little Gayla Peevey, who sang it like she was a young Ethel Merman, until last night when the amazing Eliza Rickman sang it as the opener to the Solstice Concert I helped put together. I've been singing it all morning, and I want one too.
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
My Pulitzer prize winning friend, so downtrodden by the collapse of real journalism, has started a zine for life in Los Angeles. Yours truly is the "legs" in the mastead photo, much to her surprise (I signed no release; should I sue?), and is reminded of how badly she needs to get her ass back to the gym. By the way, those fishnets were for Halloween, as was the dark wig. Apparently, the world likes me better as a brunette. Oh, wait, this was supposed to be about Howie, not me. Read his bloggity whatever I'm supposed to call it. It really is amusing, but I would say that, as it largely examines my 'hood.