I finally got around to Googling Markéta Irglová, who played "The Girl" in Once. It turns out, she's 19. As in, years old. As in, she's not old enough to drink legally in the U.S., and she has two albums out. And they're really good albums.
This is in the same category of realizing that when Mozart was my age, he'd been dead almost a year[1].
[1] Actually, Mozart was just shy of 36, so if I were him—utterly ridiculous, if you know me—I'd have died on 14 July 2006.
I saw the movie Once almost a week ago, and I can't get it out of my head. Imagine a musical where the music makes sense in real life (i.e., when was the last time you saw a crowd spontaneously break into song? OK, how about a subway busker? Which one makes more sense?). And the music
is really, really good.
I have now sent the same 2GB compact flash card through the laundry twice. It still works. I'm impressed. That is all.
From a long-time blog reader, a court decision that...well, just read it: http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/years/2007/0601071beatles1.html.
I'm visiting my Ps, nowhere near Parker:
Also, some sad news. Reggie, the Aussie standing just behind my dad in the photo above, has lung cancer. He's over 12 years old, and he isn't in any pain right now, but it's only a matter of time. They're totally spoiling him for his last few months: last night, he got about a quarter of dad's steak, for example.
I nearly forgot: Today is the 40th anniversary of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Long-time readers of The Daily Parker know that I don't usually discuss my personal life. Sometimes, however, I have an experience that doesn't involve Parker (except for putting him in his crate on a rainy weekend day), that moves me to break that rule.
On Saturday, I and about 100 other alumni of Glenbrook North High School wished our choir director, Judy Moe, a happy retirement. She and David Walter (the music department chair while I was there) taught me more about music than anyone since. Their training made it possible for me to have experiences that few people ever have, like singing at Lincoln Center at the Mostly Mozart festivals in 1998 and 1999. And together they gave me an understanding of music and a place in the world that—no exaggeration—helped me survive high school.
Judy (I can call her that now, she insists) watched me grow up, patiently guiding me through what was, for everyone around me, a particularly annoying phase (Mom: remember Sophomore year? Yeah, I was afraid of that). She also had the foresight and practicality to give me a job as her assistant for my last two years of high school, even, somehow, convincing me to inventory the entire Glenbrook North music library. This latter project involved comandeering a computer (this was 1986, so the computer was an Apple //e) and giving me the key to the music library. If I recall, there were over 700 titles to inventory, so this kept me off the streets for about a month.
During the concert I stood next to a soprano who graduated only last year. She never knew Dave Walter, being only six years old when he retired in 1994. But this soprano had gone through four years of Judy Moe's teaching, had learned the same songs everyone at GBN has ever learned, and had all the hallmarks of a Glenbrook North-trained singer. She found herself better trained than many of the college seniors she sang with, which is a surprisingly common experience with Judy's students. As we finished the dress rehearsal she absently suggested we'd see each other at the next alumni choir (there have been five since I graduated), but I realized when she said it that for we who graduated in the 1980s, Judy's was the last one.
I didn't hear about David's retirement until much later. I'm glad I got to see Judy's. After 19 years, the two of them still mean more to me than they'll ever know.
Still no cicadas to report, but I did just see a firefly. I think this is the earliest I've ever seen one—usually they seem to come out around the solstice.
I remember 25th May 1977 well. My dad and I waited in a very, very long line in Torrance, Calif., for some movie he wanted to see, and said I would really like. He had to read the opening crawl to me—something about some rebellion somewhere. I had no idea what it meant. Then I saw the first spaceship—the first one, the little one, not the planet-sized one chasing it—and I was in love.
Yes, 30 years ago today, Star Wars hit the theaters. Wow.