When I started this blog, telling our family and friends about our move to France was mainly an excuse to get me into the habit of writing on a regular basis. I never really had a plan or goal and figured, like the rest of my life I'd just make it up as I went along. After all, who was going to read it anyway? Most of the world is too busy reading and promoting their own blogs. But if you're one of the hundreds worldwide who haven't started blogging, Google's Blogger comes with a handy "stats" function that shows you how many "page views" you've had and can suck you into believing you could be the next (If I knew of anyone, here's where I would insert the name of a somebody who found wealth and fame by airing grievances on the internet).
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Even at a jazz Mecca like Marciac, trombone players are seriously under represented at the CD tables. Even so, I found a Curtis Fuller album that wasn't in my collection (Blues-ette) and as I listened to it thought, "Damn, I've got to put Curtis on more often." I probably have more of his recordings than anyone except J.J., even Urbie Green, but I hadn't had them out in a while.
Curtis Fuller is another one of the people I've been trying to hear in person for years. He must have played in New York during the time I worked there but I can't remember ever seeing an ad for him. Back then, Steve Turré was about the only guy you could hear with any degree of regularity, at least as far as I knew. If you wanted to hear trombones, you had to catch them playing with somebody else, as usual.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
A couple of days after posting about beer, we made a trip to one of our favorite supermarchés and I found myself standing in the spirits aisles contemplating the many hip and sophisticated ways a guy in France could get plastered, or buerré. I suppose most of this stuff is available in the States but an early brush with Southern Comfort coupled with a 21st birthday celebration gone awry made me steer clear of anything stronger than wine ever since. While living in San Diego I discovered my inner Casanova through tequila but my skills went mostly unappreciated so I sacrificed margaritas for the economy of beer.