Uncle Bardie’s Weekly Music Pick: It’s a Man’s World

It’s Thursday again. You know what that means. Uncle Bardie’s Weekly Music Pick. Uncle Bardiie gives a double thumbs up to this week’s selection: James Brown and Luciano Pavarotti performing James Brown’s “It’s a Man’s World”.

It don’t get any better than this. Two great musicians from two different genre do a song. When I first heard this one, the shivers ran up from my toes through my spine and out the top of my head. This one goes deep. No matter how many times I listen to James Brown and Luciano they still blows the top of my head off. Now both of them are with the angels, blowing God’s head off too. I can hear the Big Guy telling anybody who will listen, “I made these guys.” It just don’t get any better than this. Enjoy.

Politics in America 8: When the Circus Comes to Town

It’s like Buggs and the Looney Tune Gang used to say, “On with the show, this is it.” The choo-choo came around the mountain, Old Bicuspid. Yes, it was that same famous mountain where General Beauregard T. Abouttopop lost the Battle of the Other Side of the Mountain to General Hoppingmad. Yes, the choo-choo came ‘round that mountain.

Mayor P F Sneeze steadied himself for what was to come. He had never ever been on a train. He was almost sure the ride would make him sea sick. But there the train was, standing in the station, all red and beautiful like. It was the Delegate Special.

B S Pudding kissed her Honey good luck and have a wonderful time. It was such a good kiss that P F couldn’t follow his usual protocol. He didn’t ignore his lady love. He kissed her back. It was such a kiss that B S just about swooned and fainted. She didn’t but she just about did.

As the whole town was hip-hip-hurrahing, P F stepped into the train car. He took his seat in his cabin. He found himself sitting in the lap of Luxury. It was not that the suite was great. The girl’s name was Luxury and P F was actually sitting on her lap.

“Get off me,” Luxury expressed herself as the train was building up enough choo-choo to boogey out of the station.

“I am sorry, Ma’am,” the Mayor said, standing up and taking his hat off to show his southernly manners. He took his seat across from the lady and kindly asked, “Are you a delegate?”

“I am,” Luxury responded.

“This is my first time delegating,” P F said with a smile. He smiled because he didn’t know what else to do.

“My third time,” the woman said. “There’s nothing to it. You just show up. Raise your hat when you’re told. Then go home with some swag. You’ll be getting the red carpet treatment. It’s like the Academy Awards for Politicians.”

“The Academy Awards?”

“Yes indeedy. The PEs will be handing out all sorts of awards. The Award for Best Delegate. Best Favorite Son. Best Candidate with an Ax to Grind. My ex-husband two-husbands-removed won that one two conventions ago. I got to say he was a smoothy, that one. Then there’s even Best Song. That will be the Presidential Candidate’s theme song like ‘Don’t Stop’ was Bill Clinton’s.”

P F had never been to an Academy Awards Ceremony. He had never even seen one on tv. He didn’t even own a tv. So he wasn’t sure what it were. It sounded like an occasion to take a snort. If it was an occasion to take a snort, it must be mighty fine. Just in case of an occasion like that, he had brought his own jug. No city licker for him. No city licker could compare with Dr. Pudding’s Own Home Brew. That he knew.

If all his fellow delegates were as nice as Miss Luxury, P F decided he was bound and determined to enjoy sit on their laps too. It would be a dereliction of duty not to.

In the meantime, he and Miss Luxury discussed deep political things. Like the weather. Like being an early riser and a late riser. Like the surrender of General Lee to General Grant. She was for it, he was agin it. Like the nature of a bowl of grits. Then they discussed the weather some more. They were having a fine old time. From time to time, a fellow delegate would drop by their cabin to see what was cooking.

“Did you know that Dinah is in the kitchen?” one feller asked.

“Did she rise up early in the morning?” Luxury asked and waited on baited breath.

“She most assuredly did. The captain wanted her to blow her horn.”

“She does play a mean trumpet,” Luxury said.

“Sad thing is they caught her in the kitchen with someone strumming on an old banjo. You know what they were playing on that banjo?”

“I do not,” Luxury said, then asked P F, “Do you know?”

P F shook his head. He did not know.

“Fie, fi, fiddly I o, that’s what,” the delegate in the straw hat said.

“You don’t say,” Luxury said.

“I do say,” Straw Hat said.

Then Straw Hat was gone. He was in hog heaven. The Do Naughty Convention was the only time the wife let him out of her sight. He was making the best of it.

Luxury said toodley doo and went on her way. You know the way the way Luxury always go. Sliding right through our hands. The good Lord giveth and the good Lord taketh away.

Alone and by hisself, the Mayor dropped to his knees and prayed a little pray, then ended up pleading and cajoling and begging real real hard. “Please, God, don’t let me screw up.” Of course, that has been every presidential candidate’s prayer since George Washington showed his teeth on television. They always screw up.

Before P F knew it, lickety split the train was pulling into Convention City Station. There were party colors everywhere. There were ticker tape parades. There were cheerleaders.

The Delegates stepped off the train and into a parade, all fine and dandy in their monkey suits and top hats for the male persuasion and white gowns and tiaras for the women folk. They walked into the Convention Center, the cheering crowds cheering, the exciting music musiking. It was going to be a wing ding daddy of a time.

There was just one little thing that kept the whole darn event from being the best darn political convention since God let the animals out in the Garden of Eden. The Do Naughties did not have a Presidential Candidate.

Next Wednesday there’ll be a hot time in the old town.

Uncle Bardie’s Movie of the Week: Pacino & De Niro

Once a week on Monday, Uncle Bardie shares a movie with his Readers he gives a big two thumbs up. It will simply be a short excerpt or a trailer. Uncle Bardie might even throw in a reflection on the movie. If so, it will make an appearance below the video. So pop some popcorn and give yourself a treat. This week’s movie is “Heat” (1995).

Pacino and De Niro. De Niro and Pacino. It’s hard to choose. Thanks to director Michael Mann we don’t have to. This one is one of the few crime movies that works both sides of the law.

With a top notch cast, this is a movie with no lead guys. Just guys doing their jobs. Pacino is the cop. De Niro is the criminal. It’s hard to know which to root for. I like ’em both in this movie. It’s wonderful seeing them doing their stuff together. The restaurant scene is worth the price of admission.

An armored car heist may very well be one of De Niro’s last job. His crew hits the car fast. Everything goes according to plan until Waingro, the new guy he’s taken on, does something stupid. He gets trigger happy during the robbery and kills a guard. Like Old Murphy told us, what will go wrong will go wrong.

As we’ve learned from movies like “Dial M for Murder”, there ain’t no such thing as the perfect crime. De Niro and his crew meet up at a restaurant. They boot Waingro out. They go to kill the dude but he eludes their bullets.

Thrown into the cops and robbers mix are the relationship issues. Pacino’s wife (Diane Venora) is having an affair. He moves out of the house. Val Kilmer. one of De Niro’s crew, is having marital problems too. His wife, Ashley Judd, is about to ditch  him. He’s a gambler.

De Niro is a loner, knowing a relationship will get him into trouble. But this time things are different. He meets someone (Amy Brenneman). This gives us the gist that maybe, just maybe, he’s ready to get out of the life and go straight.

Mann gives us both Pacino’s investigation and De Niro’s life after the robbery. The heist yielded bonds owned by a money launderer. The money launderer is not happy about being taken by De Niro. When he comes after De Niro, De Niro turns the tables on the money launderer. There’s also a new heist he’s planning. It will definitely be his last.

All this leads up to a shootout at the O K Coral kind of thing. Until the last minute, we’re not sure who will walk away from the gun battle, Pacino or De Niro.

One thing is for sure. Just writing about this movie makes me want to see it again. That’s proof of just how good this one is.

Tango Dancing

She wanted to be a tango dancer
He wanted to be a tango dancer
They met in the tango hall
And danced the tango all night long.
Night after night step by step they are dancing
The tango their bodies caressing under the soft soft light
Dancing the tango night after night.

He wanted to be a tango dancer
She wanted to be a tango dancer
They met in the tango hall
And danced the tango all night long.
Full moon or naught beat by beat feet go dancing
The tango their shoes emotion across the dark wood floor
Dancing the tango full moon or naught.

She wanted to be a tango dancer
He wanted to be a tango dancer
They met in the tango hall
And danced the tango all night long.
Tango after tango year by year are they dancing
The tango their arms embracing each other in the hall
Dancing the tango tango after tango.

He wanted to be a tango dancer
She wanted to be a tango dancer
They met in the tango hall
And danced the tango all night long.
Seasons coming seasons passing as they are dancing
The tango their faces aging like a fine wine
Dancing the tango seasons passing away.

She wanted to be a tango dancer
He wanted to be a tango dancer
They met in the tango hall
And danced the tango all night long.


Friday’s Creator Corner: Gordie Howe

Each Friday I feature a Creative Artist on Friday’s Creator Corner. Creativity is the art of making something out of nothing. I leave the post up for a week, then replace it with another. After taking it down, I link it to Friday’s Creator Corner Artists page.

Today’s Creator’s Corner artist is: Gordie Howe.