WHY I LIKE DOLLY PARTON: FIVE REASONS

1. Because Dolly Parton is absolutely adorable. It is my contention that she is even prettier without the heavy makeup, wigs, and glammed-out clothes. I know why she got those huge(r) implants and other surgeries, but I wish she didn't feel like she had to do that. She's a natural beauty, and her kind spirit shines right through all the artifice she applies.

2. Because she came from absolutely nothing and from nowhere, but never turned her back on her roots. She was one of 12 children. The kids and parents lived in a one-room friggin' hovel in backwoods Tennessee. Materially, the family was utterly bereft. But by all accounts, it was a loving and supportive home and Dolly was encouraged early on to develop her musical talents. She became a multi-instrumentalist and has written over 3000 songs. She brought her theme park Dollywood back to her home state, which provides many jobs, and funds the Dollywood Foundation, which provides each child in Sevier County, TN., Branson, MO., and Myrtle Beach, SC. with a free book every month until age five.


3. Dolly writes a song or some other creative idea every single day. Obviously, you can see why I like that.


4. Because she has a good sense of humor, and has always kept her private life private. This tells me she is smart.


5. And for the beautiful, heartbreaking "Coat of Many Colors." This simple story from Dolly's early life has great meaning to those who spent any part of their childhood poor or bullied, but had someone at home who loved them with all their heart.

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WE'RE GONNA PARTY LIKE IT'S "1999 A.D."

The kids, Mr13 in particular, like to ask me what I think life will be like in the future. I usually give them a very unsatisfying answer, which is that some things will always be the same, some things will be so different that you can't even imagine it, and that for sure our life now will look weird and quaint 50 years from now.

I came across this oddity today: a film co-produced by Philco and Ford Motor Company called "1999 A.D." Made in 1967, it shows the wondrous changes that 30 years into the future will bring to the average family, specifically how computers will revolutionize the home. Of course, it looks hilarious to us now, but it's actually kinda right. What's always wrong about these future-prediction things is fashion and decor, and 1999 looks pretty darn 1967-mod here. The nuclear family in the film is headed by former DJ/game show host Wink Martindale, and I think his wife and son might be robots. It's all a bit creepy and grim, to me anyway. The pace of the film is pre-MTV slow, but hang in there to see personal computers, microwave ovens, Big Brother education, and a Puerto Rican singer with an...unusual voice.

1999 A.D. part one



1999 A.D. part two



1999 A.D. part three

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LIFE MAGAZINE, ELIZABETH TAYLOR, MIDOL, RED-HOT YOUNG NEGROES, AND ME

Of course by now the world knows that actress and AIDS activist Elizabeth Taylor died this week at age 79 of congestive heart failure. She was certainly iconic, a Hollywood legend known for her violet eyes, multiple marriages, and loyalty to her friends. Now, I hope what I say next is not taken as disrespectful, for I report this to you as a curious fact rather than a shared judgment: my mother -- my very kind, pretty, upbeat mother -- just HATED Elizabeth Taylor, and my mother rarely expressed any dislike for anyone. But, man, she had it in for Taylor! When I was around MissEight's age, I asked her why, and she want on a foaming rant featuring words like "shrieking, tinny voice," "promiscuous," "vapid," "homewrecker," and my first known hearing of the word "slatternly." I suppose I get where she was coming from. I think even the Vatican weighed in negatively on the alleged sexual travails of Ms. Taylor, so you can see where a regular floor-scrubbin' Midwestern housewife might view her poorly as well.

It just so happens that I have in my possession an item that I recall vividly from my childhood that did not help to improve my borrowed and only available impression of Ms. Taylor; in fact, I found this rather frightening.

This is the June 10, 1966 issue of my beloved LIFE Magazine, which I read faithfully cover to cover every time a new issue arrived in our mailbox, and this is Elizabeth Taylor acting in the film "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" Now here we have a problem: at age 4, I could read fluently, but could not always get the nuances or full meaning of what I read, which makes perfect sense because I was FOUR. So I just thought that WAS Elizabeth Taylor -- this burnt-out, teary, scary looking woman. Eek. I figured my mom, who was always right because she was my MOM, must be extra-right here. Later on I figured out stuff on my own. I wouldn't say I was a tremendous fan of Elizabeth Taylor's -- I ended up pretty neutral about her. But damn, she sure was some beautiful woman, and one cannot forget that she was one of the very first celebs stand up against the discrimination against victims of AIDS, and she personally raised millions of dollars to fight the worldwide devastation caused by the disease. Because of her a cure will arrive faster, and she will have helped save countless lives. That's a big deal.

After I snapped the photo of the LIFE cover, I actually looked at it. Oh. My. God. The headline above her:

Oh, dear. No, kiddies, this was not some underground KKK literature; this was LIFE Magazine, esteemed for its peerless journalism and spectacular photographs. A headline like this seems unthinkably racist, inflammatory, and grossly funny now, yes? But this was 1966, and the civil rights movement was still extremely volatile and the gains already made not well-accepted in many parts of the country...or maybe most parts. "Negroes" was a courtesy change from "coloreds," which was a courtesy change from the other N-word. But in 1966 I am four, and now am not only afraid of Virginia Elizabeth Taylor-Woolf, but of red-hot negroes that live 40 miles away in Milwaukee who are planning to cap my little whitey farm ass. Marianne, you dumby.

When I keep reading, I can further wonder and worry about when I will inevitably sink into a crushing depression when I turn into a woman, and where I can get Midol to fix me.

I can learn that college is for men who look like Not Hippies, not Midol-infused young women.

I can be legitimately depressed at the thought of growing up and having to wear stockings with a swimsuit. I can be confused about where the rest of the carousel is, too.

I can be four and still know that this dumbass woman shooting the Super 8 movie is going to fall off the back of that twee motorbike the second the guy guns it.

And, at four, "gay" just means "happy" to me, but these costumes bother me almost as much as Taylor on the cover. I can't recall for sure, but I think at this point I would be going outside to play for awhile to clear my mind. LIFE is funny, no?

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THE BUS

In the days before I got my driver’s license, I had to rely upon begging car rides or using public transportation. The latter came with both pros and cons, of course. There was nothing to like about standing in the bitter, biting Chicago winter wind waiting for a bus that was already late, just to find it jam-packed with other very cold and miserable people. But on a good day, when there were plenty of seats and I was not pressed for time, the bus offered me a moment to relax and reflect, and to observe.

One spring morning I was out and about much earlier than I normally would be, leaving plenty of time to get to a doctor’s appointment in Rogers Park. I walked over to the El, got off at Belmont, and walked a few more blocks to catch a bus the rest of the way. At the stop, there was a shelter with a single bench. A boy, no more than six years old I thought, was sitting by himself, a huge black backpack pushing down on his small shoulders. I sat at the opposite end of the bench to wait. I saw him glance at me and then look away. I wondered how he could even walk with such a huge backpack. He had on what was obviously a school uniform, with crisp khaki pants, a white button-down shirt, and a forest-green cable sweater. I suppose, I thought, that he did this every day. I wondered if I would ever be able to let a little child navigate Chicago on his own, or should. He glanced over at me again, and I offered him a small smile, and spoke.

“Are you on your way to school this morning?” I asked, brightly.

His eyes grew wide. “I can’t talk to you,” he replied as he stared at me, his little jaw going tight. He looked down to the ground.

“Oh. OK. I understand,” I said reassuringly, offering another smile, this time with some sadness at the corners. I imagined his mother telling him to never talk to anyone, sit up next to the bus driver, cross at the light, have your bus pass ready. He was trying to do the right thing.

We sat there for a few more minutes in silence. He kicked at a cigarette butt on the ground, swung his legs, shifted his shoulders. We both craned our necks every so often to see if the bus was coming, and finally, it did, lumbering and rocking a bit side-to-side as it made its way to our stop.

When the bus stopped and the doors creaked open, the boy and I stood up at the same time. Without looking at me – perhaps without thinking – he took my hand, and held onto it gently until he walked up the bus steps, and my heart broke into a million, aching pieces.

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LUCKY 13

How confused the Seattle area is by unexpected sunshine was in evidence today, as I drove to pick up the kids from school and passed not one, not two, but three separate car accidents on my way. It was sunny all day long, and one can understand how the distraction of seeing the cherry trees blooming, hot bods playing volleyball at the beach, or simply turning your face upwards to feel the warmth could cause you to run into another vehicle. Kind of like Persephone blissfully running out of Hades' underworld and smashing into Demeter's front door or something. I should do local weather like that.

It was a lovely sunny day thirteen years ago in Denver, of that I am quite sure. I am, because that day I delivered my middle child. I also remember the hideous potholes in the city streets on the way to the hospital and howling with misery with each dip and bump, already well into labor in the car. He was actually due on my birthday two weeks from then, but at my 38-week checkup that morning, my bemused midwife informed me that I was going to give birth pretty damn soon and that I should hightail it over to the event. She was correct. He was lovely and perfect and I swore I would never, ever do it again. MissEight proves I am a giant liar.

Mr13, as he now will be referred to here for the next 365 days, is still lovely and perfect, easygoing and happy. It's very nice to have one mellow child. We went out to sushi tonight, per his request.

Then back home for presents and cake.

He was downright giddy with his haul: a Nintendo 3DS (pre-ordered), two Wii games, two books, a t-shirt, some new earbuds, an iTunes gift card, some niiiice moolah, and his first cell phone, which was my iPhone 3GS. Mama got her birthday present two weeks early -- again -- but this time it was an iPhone 4, and not a newborn. Heh.

"This is the best year of my life!" he exclaimed, and he's a sincere kind of guy so I believe him. With all the grimness of current events, it was nice to see sunshine, both in and out of the house.

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GUEST PHOTOGRAPHER: MISS EIGHT 2

Once again, I'm gonna hand it over to my daughter, who has of late been avidly taking photos with one of our small cameras. I am enjoying her 8-eyed-view of the world, and herself.

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LADIES & GENTLEMEN, I PRESENT TO YOU...THE DEAFHEADS COVERING THE WHO, THE BEATLES, & THE STONES

I'll just leave this here for you and back away now.

The Deafheads, "La La La Lies"




The Deafheads, "Rain"



The Deafheads, "Ziggy Stardust"

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STRANGE COVER VERSIONS OF THE ROLLING STONES' "SATISFACTION"

I love them all. Bless you people on the YouTubes.

Guernica

These youngsters are still learning to tune and play in time. This charms me beyond measure.



Mick Jagger said he didn't want to be playing "Satisfaction" when he was old. Well, HA HA, sir, HA HA! Here's Zefiry, rockin' Polish retirees. Is the tall guitarist a woman? No? Ohh.



The Boonkong City Band seems to combine ear-splitting volume + the Shaggs + the Velvet Underground + Zefiry to make for a deeply garage punk version. Although the nice washer and dryer in the background sort of spoils the grunge.



These French bottle-blowing buskers, I feel, do not improve upon the original.



Is there such a thing as minimalist death metal? There is now, thanks to Vpiska.



If you were saying, "Marianne, where's the Ukrainian folk cover of 'Satisfaction,' HUH..." well, it's your lucky day. I love how the singer pronounces the word "satisfwagtion" and how "there's Boy Scouts on the radio."



Here's a dude channelling Surfer Brian Jones sitting on his couch and just noodling away on his guitar pointlessly, even adding an off-time Black Sabbath lick in there.  It also sounds like it was recorded underwater, which also goes with the Brian Jones thing. The coffee mug on the couch disturbs me as much as why this was ever made.



And finally, while she is not playing "Satisfaction," she is dancing to it...Ladies and Gentlemen may I present to you: The Most Disturbing Woman On YouTube! If you enjoyed her freeform interpretation of that, feel free to look at the ONE THOUSAND PLUS others she has, because they are all exactly like that. Shudder.

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IS THE ANSWER TO POISONOUS POLITICAL PARTISANSHIP THE RISE OF THE GREAT INDEPENDENTS?

This was the question that crossed my mind this evening. Hear me out, because at the very least I'm prettier than Ross Perot and more fun at parties than Ralph Nader. Probably.

We Americans are in some kind of pickle, we are, and I bet you agree, no matter your political affiliation. If you ever pay any attention to polls or elections or that sort of thing, you may have noticed something: we are a starkly divided nation, nearly split in two, with the missions and key beliefs of the Republican and Democrat parties so far apart one wonders how we were all raised in the same nation. Half the country completely disagrees with the other half, and neither side will give an inch. Hence we have this endless, endless tug-of-war that serves no one. If one party gets a few wins, the other party will quickly negate them as soon as possible. This is a very costly process, in so many ways. The politicians keep duking it out while trying to build their careers and not piss off big backers, and in the meantime we have economic, educational, and environmental issues that are already so extremely serious they very well may extinguish any reasonable future any of us wish to have. That ain't Chicken Little talk, either, although I so wish it were. A skewed wealth distribution far past what a leading nation can build upon to remain strong and growing, an overburdened educational system that is expected to take on more and more with less and less every year, and global pollution and climate changes, if they remain as projected, will make the former two issues complete non-issues because life as we know it will rather quickly collapse. And in the light of it all, the politicians still grab either side of the rope and pull away, supposedly representing we the people.

It's got to change. But how?

Something that has always deeply bothered me about politics is that many people who could possibly make a real difference -- bright, compassionate, smart, responsible, innovative --  are not politicians, and would never go into the field because of all the game-playing and sound byte-ing and power-grabbing slimery that goes on. Not to mention the need to be unbelievably rich, or cozy up to the unbelievably rich to get your face and sound bytes jammed in the public's faces. Is this what we want? Is this all our political system and our experiment in democracy can ever be?

What if enough people decided that they didn't want to be represented by politicians any more? What if the Independent candidate could become a viable alternative to reshape the system and jolt it out of intractable political civil war? What if enough amazing and hard-working people decided that they wanted to serve our country, build meaningful alliances, and treat $5000 backers exactly the same as $50 backers or zero dollar backers? What if a charismatic and dedicated person could show voters that "Independent" doesn't mean "centrist-that-really-leans-to-one-side-most-of-the-time" or "wasted-vote-crackpot?" What if you had good people with great ideas coming from absolutely all walks of life, not just Ivy-League law schools? What if the individual voice could be heard again above the cronyism and foreign corporations and cynics? What if the very best people could be recruited to work on our problems so we could find solutions, before we just can't climb out of the hole?

The thing is, it's totally up to us. America teaches us that if we want something badly enough, and work hard enough and smart enough, we can achieve anything. That might be a little lofty, but there's truth to it as well. If we can understand everything that has happened and what is at stake, and how polarized politics will surely wrap that tug-of-war rope tightly around all of our collective necks someday, perhaps the time will come for the Great Independents to come in and do the real work our nation, and the world, needs done, and leave the games to the Fools On The Hill.

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MINI-PHOTO ESSAY: SKATE KING

Ah, the roller rink. What a simple entertainment concept: a rectangular floor, a disco ball, a DJ blaring pop music, and shoes with wheels on them. I suspect 100 years from now the roller rink shall be little changed from how it is now. If by some incredible miracle I am alive in 100 years, I promise you solemnly that I will mark the occasion by traveling in my silver hover-wheelchair to my local roller rink, where I shall then say, "YUP. SAME," and then go back to the Hellhole Retirement Home For Liberal Punks.

Anyway, MissEight and a few of her schoolmates enjoyed a little outing today at Skate King. I took photos.

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I MADE YOU SOME GREETING CARDS

Hallmark, you are so missing the boat on some of these.

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