Buffalo Gal

The one good thing about being the last one in the office at night is the ability to listen to your own music, unfiltered by consideration for the sound level or the tastes of others.
I have a several dozen CD copies (having learned the hard way that originals stay in the house, copies go in the car and office) in my desk drawer to cover the multiple mood challenges of various projects.
If you have to write a gut-ripper, I strongly recommend Warren Zevon's "The Wind." I've got an my own blues mix to pick up the pace and lighten things up. Bonnie Raitt almost guarentees sassy. Heart-pumping advocacy would be early Springsteen or John Eddie. Complex, but don't make it seem like it, is Lyle Lovett. Harry Chapin almost owns bleeding heart, but John Gorka can help. Smooth and easy demands John Pizzarelli.
Last night was a planning project for a financial company -- cool, careful, somewhat sophisticated, but not fancy - sort of like the night French Anne and I went to the Oak Room at the Algonquin in little black (OK, hers was little) dresses to see Curtis Stigers. Yes, that was the right mood, I plowed through the stack until I pulled up a couple of his CDs.
The gentle pouring of a good memory was a sweet as the best glass of wine. I was in the zone.
Curtis and I finished the final section with which I was struggling midway through the second CD. In the spirit of self-reward I decided to do a quick search on where he was touring to plot my next trip.
Opening for Wynton Marsalis at Lincoln Center and then on to the UK for several months did not give me viable options for the "not-smoky-anymore" dark club feel I wanted, but Google gave me another link to an interview with Stigers. If I couldn't plot a weekend away, at least I could give myself a few minutes respite before I wrapped things up and headed home.
The interviewer, Shaun Dale, described the standard jazz mien as "living a life of casual dissipation."
In grade school that would have sent me immediately to the well-thumbed, blue, Webster, spelling bee prize, dictionary -- now that I'm older and so much better read, it sent me to dictionary.com.
1) The act of dissipating or the condition of having been dissipated.
2) Wasteful expenditure or consumption.
3) Dissolute indulgence in sensual pleasure; intemperance.
4) An amusement; a diversion.
I have to admit, number three has a certain appeal.
But good Polish girl I am, I'd probably end up working too hard at that too.
Read the interview at:
http://www.cosmik.com/aa-november03/curtis_stigers.html

Copyright 2006 Judi Griggs

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) Share on Facebook		2006-01-27 10:19 AM Living a life of casual dissipation The one good thing about being the last one in the office at night is the ability to listen to your own music, unfiltered by consideration for the sound level or the tastes of others. I have a several dozen CD copies (having learned the hard way that originals stay in the house, copies go in the car and office) in my desk drawer to cover the multiple mood challenges of various projects. If you have to write a gut-ripper, I strongly recommend Warren Zevon's "The Wind." I've got an my own blues mix to pick up the pace and lighten things up. Bonnie Raitt almost guarentees sassy. Heart-pumping advocacy would be early Springsteen or John Eddie. Complex, but don't make it seem like it, is Lyle Lovett. Harry Chapin almost owns bleeding heart, but John Gorka can help. Smooth and easy demands John Pizzarelli. Last night was a planning project for a financial company -- cool, careful, somewhat sophisticated, but not fancy - sort of like the night French Anne and I went to the Oak Room at the Algonquin in little black (OK, hers was little) dresses to see Curtis Stigers. Yes, that was the right mood, I plowed through the stack until I pulled up a couple of his CDs. The gentle pouring of a good memory was a sweet as the best glass of wine. I was in the zone. Curtis and I finished the final section with which I was struggling midway through the second CD. In the spirit of self-reward I decided to do a quick search on where he was touring to plot my next trip. Opening for Wynton Marsalis at Lincoln Center and then on to the UK for several months did not give me viable options for the "not-smoky-anymore" dark club feel I wanted, but Google gave me another link to an interview with Stigers. If I couldn't plot a weekend away, at least I could give myself a few minutes respite before I wrapped things up and headed home. The interviewer, Shaun Dale, described the standard jazz mien as "living a life of casual dissipation." In grade school that would have sent me immediately to the well-thumbed, blue, Webster, spelling bee prize, dictionary -- now that I'm older and so much better read, it sent me to dictionary.com. 1) The act of dissipating or the condition of having been dissipated. 2) Wasteful expenditure or consumption. 3) Dissolute indulgence in sensual pleasure; intemperance. 4) An amusement; a diversion. I have to admit, number three has a certain appeal. But good Polish girl I am, I'd probably end up working too hard at that too. Read the interview at: http://www.cosmik.com/aa-november03/curtis_stigers.html Copyright 2006 Judi Griggs Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top