My niece Jaybird flew out from Denver last weekend for gymnastics camp. She stayed with my aunt in Pennsylvania before I picked her up and drove her to camp on Sunday. She looked scared when I dropped her off, but I guess that makes sense when you consider she’s 2,000 miles from both home and her mom. Truth is, I don’t know how to interpret the moods of a young girl, and now that Jay's such a bundle of hormones, I'm more clueless than ever.
But I’m pretty sure my niece has greatness in her. Certainly a maturity and single-mindedness beyond her 10 years. She possesses that kind of tunnel-vision you hear about in prodigies like Lauryn Hill or Tiger Woods. She’s got maybe (3) interests in her entire life. I sure hope those competitive, east-coast bitches don’t dash her dreams at this snotty camp.
Jay’s favorite thing is gymnastics. We’ve watched hours of clips on YouTube: Chelsie Memmel, Alicia Sacramone, Yang Yilin, Chung Fei, He Kexin, Nastia Liuken; and of course the legend of the beam--Shawn Johnson. In fact, I think its fair to say that Shawn Johnson is to my niece Jaybird what Jeff Beck is to Lodo Grdzak. You’re either her or you’re everybody else.
I used to know nothing about gymnastics, but now ‘cause of Jaybird I’m pretty on top of it. I know what a “kip” is and a pike; what a straddle is and how many points are deducted when you step out the lines on floor exercise. Its a good sport. Competitive. The girls are pretty and graceful; and its exciting to watch them fling themselves all over the place with abandon.
Jay and I only see each other a couple times of year, but as any good Republican will tell you, the quickest way to bond is to create an enemy. So the first thing I did when we sat down was play a clip of China’s He Kexin.
Why are you watching that? Jay asked with a smile as she plopped down on my lap. “You know Nastia got ripped off.”
“I know, but I like to compare her to Nastia. Nastia’s so much stronger and confident,..with this girl you’re never really sure she’s gonna make her next skill. I think that’s why she won gold.”
“Well she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t even deserve silver! Yang Yilin should have won silver.”
At this point Jay slid my laptop closer and pulled-up Yang Yilin’s routine. We watched the clip.
“Yeah, okay,” I said when it was over. “I see what you mean.”
“It should have been Nastia, gold; Yang Yilin, silver; and He Kexin, bronze,” Jay responded with indignation, as she counted-off each medal on a finger. “But they gave it to He Kexin.”
“...That’s ‘cause He Kexin’s such a cutie,” I answered.
“A gold medal’s not supposed to be about how cute she is Uncle Lodo.”
“I know,..but it is a little bit. C’mon, lets watch Nastia.”
Jay played the Nastia Liukin getting ripped-off clip, which we’ve both seen a million times.
“Who do you like better Uncle Lodo--He Kexin or Nastia?”
“Oh I think Nastia’s definitely the best,”’ I answered as we watched Nastia hold a handstand on the uneven bars. “She’s my total favorite.”
Jay nodded her head as she considered my opinion.
“...Well who do you like better,” she eventually asked, “Nastia or Shawn Johnson?”
“You know I like Nastia,” I answered with a laugh.
“ ...‘Cause she’s pretty?” Jay asked flatly, turning her head toward me to look me in the eye.
“Yeah, definitely. She’s the prettiest. And the most graceful. She definitely should have won the gold medal on uneven bars--and maybe even on beam too. She did an awesome beam routine.”
For the first time in a long time, Jay dismissed my gymnastics opinion, “Her routine wasn’t as good as Shawn’s,” Jay answered with disdain as she scrolled thru the You Tube icons for Shawn Johnson’s Olympic beam routine, “Nobody does beam like Shawn.”
We watched Shawn Johnson’s routine. I could see Jay’s lips move from my profile position as she recited the skills in order: Full-twist, back-somersault, pike jump, round-off, full-twisting dismount. When Shawn Johnson performs a skill on beam she just...nails it. Like a machine. She’s all power and strength and little-pistol confidence.
“You can’t do beam any better than that,” Jay said with finality at the end of the clip.
“Okay, but let’s just watch Nastia.”
So we watched Nastia Liukin on beam, and while I could see that maybe she wasn’t as strong as Shawn Johnson, she had so much more...
“Look at the way she did that jump with her head thrown back,” I said, “beautiful the way she did that.”
“That’s a sheepkick,” Jay answered as she divided her attention between me and the monitor.
“I like that,” I said. “so much like a girl the way she did that. Her whole routine...it may not be as good as Shawn’s, but I like it better.”
Jay eyebrows furrowed as she considered my comment.
“Shawn’s routine had a higher start value Uncle Lodo, so there’s now way Nastia won--even if she'd been perfect.”
“I know, I know.”
“But I can see you still think Nastia’s better.”
“I just like Nastia better. She’s prettier. More graceful.”
“Well I guess that’s what matters,” Jay answered as she suddenly hopped off my lap and ran upstairs, leaving me alone at the kitchen table.
Kids. Girls! What the hell did I say?
I thought about it. Backtracked our conversation in my mind in an attempt to ascertain where I’d blown it. Probably just nervous about gymnastics camp. What could be worse for a girl’s confidence than a cabin full of stuck-up, east coast girls? Plus you put down her favorite--Shawn Johnson. What’re you stupid?
I got up from the table.
“Jay!” I yelled from the bottom of the stairs, up toward her bedroom.
No answer.
“Jay?!”
I could hear her bedroom door open.
“..What?” she asked softly, though I still couldn’t see her face.
“Shawn Johnson’s pretty too.”
“What?”
“Shawn Johnson--she’s pretty too. Honest, I think she’s really pretty.”
I stood, waiting for an answer,..but all I heard was her door slam shut.
My friend Ava and I have been going back and forth in regards to the level of taste (if any) shown by the Jackson Family in their tribute to Michael. My own opinion is that when you consider the shabby treatment great artists like Jimi Hendrix received after their death, you can't blame The Jacksons and Motown Records for wanting to protect Michael's image and legacy. He was an important cultural icon that spanned over (3) decades, even if he'd faded to obscurity these last (10) years.
The highest authority in the land has proclaimed Jimi Hendrix the greatest of all time. I think the man's death (and life) deserved more than 1 minute 47 seconds of coverage. And I don't appreciate the tone shown by the asshole newscaster in the clip above. Go fuck yourself whoever you are. The world's long forgotten your name.
39 years (and about 1 week) ago: Jimi Hendrix at Atlanta Pop Festival
If you couldn’t tell from my lack of recent posts, I’ve been away in Colorado for the last week. A week which finds Michael Jackson (at least, as of this writing) still unburied.
It takes over 4 hours to fly from New York to Denver so I’ll usually take a Xanax or an Ambien before my flight. What a pleasure to pass out in New York and wake up what seems 5 minutes later in Colorado. Only way to fly.
My doctor is usually pretty good about prescribing me a couple Ambien, but he'll never give me more than 2 pills. That's why I’ve also got a girl I can go to for things like Xanax or the occasional Oxycontin.
So the night before my flight to Denver I called my connection and made arrangements for a few pills.
I rode to her apartment which, despite my girl’s young age is adorned with Classic Rock promotional posters. I got right down to business.
“Give me a couple Ambien, a half-dozen Xanax, annnd..do you have any Oxycontin?”
Normally my girl's just as anxious as me to get in and out; so the long, evaluating pause I received as our eyes locked was unexpected.
“Listen Lodo, I’m sure you heard about Michael Jackson.”
“What?--something happened to Michael? They sure are keeping it quiet.”
She smiled.
“Yeah, something happened. Anyway, I was actually a fan of Michael's, so I’ve been doing some thinking.”
Of course I never like to hear a woman say that; and in this case, my concern proved justified.
“Thinking?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’m not gonna sell pills anymore.”
“No?” I asked, admittedly surprised.
“No,” she answered, her eyes still locked on mine. “You’re not angry are you?”
"..I guess not.”
“Really? ...’Cause tell you the truth, you look mad.”
“No, I’m not mad. ...But why didn’t you just tell me over the phone? I wouldn’t have had to ride out here.”
“’Cause I've got something else. Come in here.”
At which point she led me to her bedroom, where I hoped she was going to produce some mushrooms out her closet. But instead she sat down on the edge of the bed, lifted her shirt, and proceeded to perform oral sex on me. Needless to say, I was surprised.
“What was that about?” I asked when we’d finished.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she answered absently as she wiped her lips and brushed a loose strand of hair off her forehead. "I like doing that."
“I see.”
Which proved enough small talk for both of us. She smoothed-down her white T-shirt and led me back out the apartment. I was about to open the door, but before leaving I figured I’d try to get what I'd really come for one more time.
“So you don’t have anything lying around you can sell me?”
“I told you Lodo, I don’t wanna sell you anything anymore.”
“Actually, what you told me is that you’re not selling anymore. Not just me.”
She looked at me incredulously.
“Lodo...fucking investigator.”
“Wellll,..which is it?” I asked, “Are you done selling or is it just me?”
“Listen Lodo, you’ve bought a lot of Xanax. I’m not selling to you any more.”
“My God_____, I'm not a kid. Just sell me 2 Ambien."
“Lodo, what just happened back there?” she asked, gesturing toward the bedroom.
“I’m not entirely sure,” I answered honestly.
“Well, why do you think I did that?”
“’Cause you like doing that. That's what you said.”
“Yeah, okay,” she said with a laugh, ”but why you?”
“I don’t know, why does a woman do anything?”
We stared at each other a moment before she opened the door and gestured for me to leave. I exited as she’d instructed, but as she closed the door a thought mind-flashed in my head, which caused me to abruptly turn ‘round.
“Wait a minute,” I said, placing a foot in the doorjamb, “are you trying to say that you like me?”
“..Have fun in Denver Lodo,” she said as she closed the door; but before it sealed shut I could hear he laugh from the opposite side, “some investigator.”
EDITOR'S NOTE: The pictures seen within this post are used solely to enhance the narrative. The girl in the white T-shirt pictured above did not perform oral sex on me or sell me prescription drugs.
Also, Happy Birthday to my girl Spiffy out in Denver. (Her birthday was July 4th).
I know I was going to put the 80’s to rest last weekend, but there was enough synergy to this video (see below), current events, and themes in my blog that I felt compelled to post it. My final dedication to the 80’s. That dogshit, Republican decade. The crack decade. The AIDS decade. The decade where sex killed you. And the decade where MTV and business killed musicianship.
Fuck the 80’s.
Jeff Beck's sole record of the 1980's (Flash) was also his worst, but I always liked this tune.
There's a fine line between self-contemplation and just waxing nostalgic. So I'll apologize now if Michael's death has caused me to cross the line. But hey--for better or worse, the 80's were my generation.
Detroit's own Madonna: Express Yourself
Police: Can't Stand Losing You
Phil Collins: Missed Again
Eddie Murphy w/ Stevie Wonder:
Eddie Murphy as Jesse Jackson:
King Crimson: Elephant Talk
Sting w/ Omar Hakim and Branford Marsalis: I Burn for You
"I'm an ordinary guy,..burning down the house!" Lodo Grdzak's (3) Favorite Records of the 1980's (no particular order):
1) Prince:Sign O' The Times 2) Public Enemy: It Takes A Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back 3) King Crimson: Discipline
Everyone’s gonna talk about Michael the rest of the week, so I may as well get my say.
Man, I grew up with Michael Jackson! He was only (8) years older than me and he was always just...there. When I was a kid he had a cartoon show with The Jackson 5 that I used to watch with my sister on Saturday mornings. (This was back in the day when they used to interrupt the cartoons with those I’m Just A Bill/Schoolhouse Rocks vignettes). And when I was in middle school, Michael made Off The Wall, which was a huge record. That was when it started to became apparent that rock n roll was going to give way to R & B as the young people’s music.
Before Michael, young white people listened to rock n roll: Led Zeppelin; Rolling Stones; Allman Brothers; The Who. Secular white people actually had a musical culture that unified them. But then came MTV and a bunch of hair bands and rock 'n' roll was done. Young people switched to R & B, and then of course hip-hop. It was a generational change for sure that has perhaps culminated in Barack Obama’s election.
Of course young people today take the internet and their cellphones as a given--let alone basic cable TV. But my generation didn’t get MTV introduced to them until we got to high school. It was a big deal. Madonna. AC/DC. The Police. Van Halen. And of course Michael Jackson. I wasn’t even a big Michael Jackson fan, but Detroit radio must have played Billie Jean 10 billion times back in 1983. And the first time I got high and saw Thriller I was like, “I’m always gonna get high and watch this video.”
Sadly, without Quincy Jones Michael was revealed to be more Farrah Fawcett-Majors in terms of talent than Prince. More of a phenomenon than actual artist. A rather squeaky singer who admittedly couldn’t do much more than dance his ass off. In fact, if there’s any lasting cultural contribution that he made besides Thriller it was perhaps as Americas first, full-time reality star. Famous simply for being a famous eccentric as opposed to actually creating art. So for better or worse, he certainly was ahead of his time in that department.
But hey, nothing’s cheaper than taking pot-shots at dead people. Michael's run his race and I have to assume he tried his best; and while he may not have turned out to be a Prince talent-wise, I always liked when he told me to:
Keep your head up high, and scream out to the world, know that you are someone, and let the truth unfurl, no one can hurt you now, because I know its true, that I believe in me, so you believe in you, help me sing it!
