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edit, thought better

Oh osso, it was yellow, sort of a boat neckline, but with a fold to give it interest, I think a cotton/linen blend. Short sleeves. Perfect fit.

What can I say?, I was in my twenties--the dress and I were meant for each other.

Good morning listeners. With all the Spanish songs we've heard I thought one more which I'm particularly fond of might be welcome. This of course is not based in Mexico but Cuba. Let's ask Pete Seeger do the honors.


GUANTANAMERA
Original music by Jose Fernandez Diaz
Music adaptation by Pete Seeger & Julian Orbon
Lyric adaptation by Julian Orbon, based on a poem by Jose Marti

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crecen las palmas
Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crecen las palmas
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma

Chorus:
Guantanamera
Guajira Guantanamera
Guantanamera
Guajira Guantanamera

Mi verso es de un verde claro
Y de un carmin encendido
Mi verso es de un verde claro
Y de un carmin encendido
Mi verso es un ciervo herido
Que busca en el monte amparo

Chorus

I am a truthful man from this land of palm trees
Before dying I want to share these poems of my soul
My verses are light green
But they are also flaming red

(the next verse says,)
I cultivate a rose in June and in January
For the sincere friend who gives me his hand
And for the cruel one who would tear out this
heart with which I live
I do not cultivate thistles nor nettles
I cultivate a white rose

Cultivo la rosa blanca
En junio como en enero
Qultivo la rosa blanca
En junio como en enero
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franca

Chorus

Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazon con que vivo
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazon con que vivo
Cardo ni ortiga cultivo
Cultivo la rosa blanca

Chorus

Con los pobres de la tierra
Quiero yo mi suerte echar
Con los pobres de la tierra
Quiero yo mi suerte echar
El arroyo de la sierra
Me complace mas que el mar

Chorus

Good Morning All:

Some April 13 Birthdays:

1777 Henry Clay, statesman, Speaker of the House, and presidential nominee (Hanover County, VA; died 1852)
1916 Beverly Cleary, children's author (McMinnville, OR)
1918 Helen Forrest, big band singer (Atlantic City, NJ; died 1999)
1919 Ann Miller, actress/dancer (Houston, TX), died 2004
1923 Maria Callas opera singer (Carmen) , died 1977
1926 Jane Withers, actress (Atlanta, GA)
1932 Tiny Tim [Herbert Butros Khaury] New York NY, singer (Tip Toe Thru' the Tulips With Me) , died 1996
1933 Montserrat Caballe, opera singer (Barcelona, Spain)
1940 Herbie Hancock, musician (Chicago, IL)
1946 Ed O'Neill, actor (Youngstown, OH)
1947 Tom Clancy, author (Baltimore, MD)
David Letterman, TV personality/comedian (Indianapolis, IN)
1949 Scott F. Turow, author (Chicago, IL)
1950 David Cassidy, singer/actor (New York, NY)
1956 Andy Garcia, actor (Havana, Cuba)
1957 Vince Gill, country singer (Norman, OK)
1979 Claire Danes, actress (New York, NY)

Ann Miller

Maria Callas Vince Gill

Good morning, WA2K listeners and contributors.

Nice to see everyone here--bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Diane and Osso have exchanged brief notes of interest on designer stuff, and Bob has once again greeted us with a Spanish touch. Isn't it wonderful to wake up to music and discussion of haute coutier?<smile>

Dys and edgar closed us down last night with sleepy music that was ever so calming.

Diane, the impulsive gestures that one often makes can be a "repent at leisure" type thing, but I am still glad that I have a spontaneous heart.

Lost and found:

We are still searching for our lovely shewolf, and have found Booman who left so long ago.

Raggedy, I never see Maria Callas that I don't think of the Kennedy clan...and listeners, for those of you who haven't seen Anne Miller, she is Miss legs of the dancing routine.

Wow! Herbie Hancock. What a fantastic flutist (pronounced flautist).

Back later, listeners, as I need to have a cup of plain old coffee!

Good morning aggie. Nice day here hope it's the same there. Well listeners we've got the April 13th birthdays a little early so we'll celebrate anyway. Let's ask Vince gill to step forward and tell us what cowgirls do.

Have you ever been down to Texas?
Down around San Antone?
They love to go all night and treat you right,
And party till the cows come home.

I love it when the let their hair down,
And dance real close to you.
You know I'm a sucker, baby, for what the cowgirls do.
(What the cowgirls do.)
What the cowgirls do.
(What the cowgirls do.)

They ain't no different up in Oklahoma,
They ain't afraid to stay up 'til dawn.
They love to cut a run and chug a lug,
Long necks 'til their money's all gone.

I love it when the let their hair down,
And dance real close to you.
You know I'm a sucker, baby, for what the cowgirls do.
(What the cowgirls do.)
What the cowgirls do.
(What the cowgirls do.)

Ah, shoot that thing.



Well, there's cowgirls all across the country,
From Baton Rouge to Bangor Maine.
It ain't hard to see they'll be the death of me,
They're gonna drive my little heart insane.

Well, I love it when the let their hair down,
And dance real close to you.
You know I'm a sucker, baby, for what the cowgirls do.
(What the cowgirls do.)

I love it when the let their hair down,
And dance real close to you.
You know I'm a sucker, baby, for what the cowgirls do.
(What the cowgirls do.)
What the cowgirls do.
(What the cowgirls do.)
What the cowgirls do.
(What the cowgirls do.)
What the cowgirls do.
(What the cowgirls do.)
What those cowgirls do.
(What the cowgirls do.)
Mmmmmm.
(What the cowgirls do.)
(What the cowgirls do.)
(What the cowgirls do.)
What the cowgirls do.
(What the cowgirls do.)
mmmmm
(What the cowgirls do.)

San Antonio Rose

Deep within my heart lies a melody,
A song of old San Antone.
Where in dreams I live with a memory,
Beneath the stars, all alone.

Well it was there I found, beside the Alamo,
Enchantments strange as the blue up above.
For that moonlit pass, that only he would know,
Still hears my broken song of love.

Moon in all your splendor, known only to my heart,
Call back my rose, rose of San Antone.
Lips so sweet and tender, like petals falling apart,
Speak once again of my love, my own.

Broken song, empty words I know,
Still live in my heart all alone.
For that moonlit pass by the Alamo,
And rose, my rose of San Antone.

Broken song, empty words I know,
Still live in my heart all alone.
For that moonlit pass by the Alamo.
And rose, my rose of San Antone.


And rose, my rose of San Antone.
And rose, my rose of San Antone.

Well, listeners. Texas songs from Bob and George are still welcome here on WA2K, cause our friend, edgar, hails from those parts.

Speaking of Texas, last night's news from ABC featured George Bush running with his Ipod and we got to hear a bit of what he (who must be obeyed) listens to.

Artist: The Knack Lyrics
Song: My Sharona Lyrics

Ooh my little pretty one, pretty one.
When you gonna give me some time, Sharona?
Ooh you make my motor run, my motor run.
Gun it comin' off the line Sharona
Never gonna stop, give it up.
Such a dirty mind. Always get it up for the touch
of the younger kind. My my my i yi woo. M M M My Sharona...

Come a little closer huh, ah will ya huh.
Close enough to look in my eyes, Sharona.
Keeping it a mystery gets to me
Running down the length of my thighs, Sharona
Never gonna stop, give it up. Such a dirty mind.
Always get it up for the touch
of the younger kind. My my my i yi woo. M M M My Sharona...

When you gonna give it to me, give it to me.
It is just a matter of time Sharona
Is it just destiny, destiny?
Or is it just a game in my mind, Sharona?
Never gonna stop, give it up.
Such a dirty mind. Always get it up for the touch
of the younger kind. My my my i yi woo. M M M My Sharona...

Diane
Diane, Aleg Cassini apparently did more than design clothes for women and men. He update Santa Claus' look, too:

http://www.highbeam.com/library/doc0.asp?docid=1P1:70192671&dtype=1~1~0~0&dinst=0~&author=HO&title=Santa%27s%20outfit%20gets%20a%20make%20over%20by%20designer%20Oleg%20Cassini%20who%20gives%20him%20a%20sleeker%20frock%20with%20a%20full-length%20coat%20and%20cap%20trimmed%20in%20green%20and%20stars.%20The%20big%20thing%20missing%20is%20the%20fur%20which%20has%20long-since&date=11/27/1998&refid=ency_botpm

No Good Texas Rounder - Kenny Rogers


Excuse me, ma´m
I´d like your daughter´s hand for the evening
There´s a new band in town
I´d like to take her down to see ´em
The fiddler player used to be my neighbor
And he never slept a day in his life
He plays the "Strawberry Roan"
When he gets going he can play all night
And her mama said:

He´s a no good Texas cowboy, child
He´ll love you up and he´ll drive you wild
Then he´ll leave you
He´s a no good Texas rounder, girl
Got a one-track mind
And he ain´t on true love and that´s for sure
She said I´ve met his kind before
I´ve met your kind before.

Excuse me, ma´m
I´d like your daughter´s hand for the evening
My intentions are good, a man of honor
Please, ignore any rumors that have blackened my name
I´m just an innocent boy
How could I be to blame?
We´ll be late for the show
And I took her hand and said let´s go
And her mama said:

He´s a no good ....

Excuse me, ma´m
I´d like your daughter´s hand for the evening
I think you know the band
I´d like to take her down to see ´em
I´d been led to understand the fiddler was your man
That´s why he never slept a day in his life
He plays the "Strawberry Roan"
Just to get you going then you play all night.

And the daughter said:
He was a no good Texas ......

Well, listeners, while edgar plays Kenny Rodgers in the background, here's a little voice-over report:

It seems that one of our staff(me) made a mistake in identifying Herbie Hancock as a jazz flute player. Hancock was a jazzman all right, and one of his funkiest songs was Watermelon Man; however, it was Herbie Mann who played the cool flute in Bags Groove.


Thought for Today: ``Rules are not necessarily sacred, principles are.'' - President Franklin Delano Roosevelt (1882-1945).



04/11/05 20:00

Speaking of Kenny Rogers:

I didn't listen, and I couldn't see,
And all I have left now,
Are words she gave to me

Sing me a song sweet music man,
'Cause I won't be there to hold your hand
Like I used to,
I'm through with you
You touched my soul with your beautiful song
You even had me singing along right with you
You said "I needed you"
But then you changed the words and that harmony
And you sang that song you'd written for me
To someone new

But nobody sings a love song quite like you do,
And nobody else can make me sing along,
And nobody else can make me feel
That things are right when they're wrong,
Nobody sings a love song quite like you.

Sing me a song sweet music man,
Your making a living doing one night stands
That do for you what you need them to
Your still a hell of a singer but a broken man
And you surround yourself with people who demand
So little of you

But nobody sings a love song quite like you do,
And nobody else can make me sing along,
And nobody else can make me feel,
That things are right when they're wrong with a song,
Nobody sings a love song quite like you.

So sing me a song sad music man,
I believe in you.

(I love the way he sings that song)

Ah, Raggedy. I love the way he sings any songs, my friend. For some reason, I equate him with Roy Clark.

Listeners, if we live long enough, we learn to love and respect any and all musicians. We may not like them(I don't care for Merle Haggard) but performance and listening are what the ear hears, but the eye doesn't necessarily see, right?

Now for the news international:

Man Releases German Kids Held Hostage

Published: 4/12/05







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ENNEPETAL, Germany (AP) - A man armed with two knives pulled four girls off a public bus in northwest Germany on Tuesday and held them hostage in a cellar for six hours before setting them free, authorities said.

The man pulled the four girls off a public bus and forced them into a nearby home, where he held them hostage in a standoff with police. There was no immediate word on the girls' conditions, police spokesman Joerg Blaszyk said.

It was not clear whether the man had been arrested.

Police sharpshooters and other officers quickly surrounded the home shortly after the man barricaded himself inside, and other officers established contact with the man by telephone, Blaszyk said.

The mother of one of the children who escaped from the bus said the man told them he wanted to bring his family to Germany from Iran.

The man took the four girls captive after commandeering the bus, which was filled with schoolchildren on their way home in the town of Ennepetal, said Ulrich Rungwerth of the North Rhine-Westphalia state Interior Ministry.

Renate Schulte said her 16-year-old son, Marvin, who escaped after the man forced the bus driver to stop, told her that the man read a statement in the bus saying his children were in Iran and he wanted to be allowed to bring them to Germany.

The man then herded some of the children into the back of the bus and tied nine or 10 of them together by their belt buckles with a cord.

The man told the children on the bus to stay calm and said he wanted to talk to the German government, Marvin Schulte said.

"He didn't seem aggressive," the boy said. "He said we should stay quiet and he didn't want to harm us."

The man, described by witnesses as in his 40s, forced the bus driver to stop and hustled the group of captives off the bus, but apparently let several of them go.

He forced the others toward a house where a woman was returning home and forced her to give him the front-door key, Marvin Schulte said.

The man pushed the woman aside, shoved the children into the house and locked the door. Neighbors said the man lived in the area.

The hostage-taking rattled the small-town calm in an area of single-family homes in Ennepetal, between the cities of Duesseldorf and Dortmund.

Back later, folks, with more music and items of interest.

Disturbing story.

I've got a feeling that man is going back to Iran.

Yes, McTag. I'm certain that he will.

Why children? I ask myself, listeners; because they are sacred, that inner voice answers.

Robert Louis Stevenson:

God gave to me a child in part,
Yet wholly gave the father's heart:
Child of my soul, O whither now,
Unborn, unmothered, goest thou?

And here it is 5:00 o'clock and another work day ends (for some). Why don't we ask Robert Morse and Sammy Smith (no relation) as J. Pierpont Finch learns from the mail room supervisor Mr. twimble How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.

The Company Way



Twimble: When I joined this firm
As a brash young man,
Well, I said to myself,
"Now, brash young man,
Don't get any ideas."
Well, I stuck to that,
And I haven't had one in years.
Finch: You play it safe.
Twimble: I play it the company way;
Wherever the company puts me
There I stay.
Finch: But what is your point of view?
Twimble: I have no point of view.
Finch: Supposing the company thinks . . .
Twimble: I think so too.
Finch: Now, what would you say . . .?
Twimble: I wouldn't say.
Finch: Your face is a company face.
Twimble: It smiles at executives
Then goes back in place.
Finch: The company furniture?
Twimble: Oh, it suits me fine.
Finch: The company letterhead?
Twimble: A valentine.
Finch: Anything you're against?
Twimble: Unemployment.
Finch: When they want brilliant thinking
From employees
Twimble: That is no concern of mine.
Finch: Suppose a man of genius
Makes suggestions?
Twimble: Watch that genius get suggested to resign.
Finch: So you play it the company way?
Twimble: All company policy is by me OK.
Finch: You'll never rise up to the top.
Twimble: But there's one thing clear:
Whoever the company fires,
I will still be here.
Finch: Oh, you certainly found a home!
Twimble: It's cozy.
Finch: Your brain is a company brain.
Twimble: The company washed it,
Now I can't complain.
Finch: Hey, the company magazine!
Twimble: Oh, what style, what punch!
Finch: The company restaurant!
Twimble: Ev'ry day same lunch:
Their haddock sandwich; it's delicious!
Finch: I must try it.
Twimble: (Early in the week.)
Finch: Do you have any hobbies?
Twimble: I've a hobby; I play gin with Mr. Bratt.
Finch: Mr. Bratt! And do you play it nicely?
Twimble: Play it nicely . . . still, he blitzes me
In every game, like that!
Finch: Why?
Twimble: 'Cause I play it the company way.
Executive policy is by me OK.
Finch: Oh, how can you get anywhere?
Twimble: Junior, have no fear;
Whoever the company fires,
I will still be here.
Finch: You will still be here.
Both: Year after year after fiscal,
Never take a risk-al year!
Frump: Oh, me too, me too, Mr. Twimble!
I know exactly what you mean.
From now on . . .
I'll play it the company way,
Wherever the company puts me
There'll I'll stay.
Whatever the company tells him
That he'll do.
Whatever my uncle may think,
I think so too.

He's beaming with company pride.
I've conquered that overambitious rat inside.
Old Bud is no longer the Frump he used to be.
I pledge to the company sweet conformity.

I will someday earn my medal:
Twenty-five year employee.
I'll see to it that the medal
Is the only thing they'll ever pin on me.

The Frump way is the company way.
Executive policy is by him OK.
I'll never be president,
But there's one thing clear,
As long as my uncle can stand me,
I will still be here.

We know the company may like or lump any man,
And if they choose to the company may dump any man;
But they will never dump Frump, the company man.
Frump will play it the company,
Frump will play it the company,
Frump will play it the company way!

Well, Bob. We have all learned at one time or another to wear that company face, have we not?

And that, dear listeners, is what is really known as survival of the fittest.

Eat your gulag out, Darwin.

What? No poems. Oh, Miss, there's something amiss with the poems. Nothing but songs lately. God, Do I have to do everything myself. Wait a minute. I've got to put another hat on to do poems. There we go. Think we'll haul Shelley off the shelf. The old Shelley game.

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)
Ozymandias

1I met a traveller from an antique land,
2Who said -- "two vast and trunkless legs of stone
3Stand in the desert ... near them, on the sand,
4Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
5And wrinkled lips, and sneer of cold command,
6Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
7Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
8The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
9And on the pedestal these words appear:
10My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,
11Look on my Works ye Mighty, and despair!
12Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
13Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
14The lone and level sands stretch far away." --

Notes

1] Shelley evidently wrote this sonnet at Marlow in friendly competition with Horace Smith, whose own sonnet of the same name was published Feb. 1, 1818, also in The Examiner, no. 527, p. 73:

In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desart knows: --
"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,
"The King of Kings; this mighty City shows
"The wonders of my hand." -- The City's gone, --
Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose
The site of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder, -- and some Hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He meets some fragments huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.

Ozymandius, Bob? of course I know that poem.

My, my, listeners, Bob doesn't realize that when I ask one student to explicate that poem he stalled on the word "trunkless" saying it meant without trunks.

Ok, dueling Tennyson's:

Alfred Tennyson
(1809 - 1892)

Written April 10, 1864


Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not tho' the soldiers knew
Someone had blundered:
Theirs was not to make reply,
Theirs was not to reason why,
Theirs was but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to the right of them,
Cannon to the left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell,
Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Sab'ring the gunners there,
Charging and army, while
All the world wondered:
Plunging in the battery smoke,
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre-stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not--
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to the right of them,
Cannon to the left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that fought so well,
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of the six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
Oh, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble Six Hundred!

Alas, all. My sister informs me that the skeleton in our family tree was the man who gave that cold command.