Here’s my first attempt at putting a video file in my blog. This is a clip from a local (well, local somewhere) community access cable show – sort of a talent show. I have several other clips, but this is my favorite. I feel for the fellow; the pianist is not an accompanist, she’s a field commander – it’s her way or the highway, and unfortunately, our baritone ended up as road kill.
If you laugh, you’re going to hell.
…that some of the people who have bugged me in the past for not updating my blog, and who now have their own rarely-updated blog, have pretty much stopped bugging me about mine?
I’m just saying…
There’s just a breath of breeze, enough to cause the colored strings of the whirligig to gently sway as it hangs from the ceiling over the balcony. The sky is clear and darkening, just in time for fireworks shows all over the Southland to start at 9. Already the neighborhood kids are shooting off their long-secreted bottle rockets, streaks of sparks sizzling through the evening air with a sigh and a pop as they just clear the treetops.
The pool is as glass; the whisper of breeze isn’t enough to disturb the surface as it reflects the lights in the courtyard. No one stirs – either gone to see the sky shows or camped out in front of the TV, the sound loud enough to make its presence known, but not loud enough to understand. I gingerly step into the shallow end, the water warmed by several days of bright sunshine, but still a shock to my skin. Up to my ankles, knees, hips, then the quick plunge under the surface to complete my patriotic baptism. I roll over on my back, fill my lungs with air then hold it as I float. Even without my glasses I can see the pinspots of starlight overhead. Even with my ears filled with water I can hear the muffled yips of the rat-like dog from across the street and the subdued bangs of all but the smallest firecrackers.
Summer in L.A. – pretty much like summer anywhere else – except for the obligatory palm trees on the periphery.
