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Name: Jennifer
Gender: Female
Hometown: Murrieta
Home country: USA
Current location: California
Member since: Sun Aug 16, 2009, 06:58 PM
Number of posts: 1,805

Journal Archives

This guy is so far off base

I don't even know where to start. Kraftwerk? SRV? I even emailed him.

Congratulations to the new herd of musicians just named as inductees into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Minus the context, all have proved themselves notable enough to be part of a trending topic for a few days per year, as well as serving as pawns in a game over definitions, taste and intentions. Successful enough at the job to land within the hallowed halls of a Cleveland institution that honors a music designed to question institutions, the acts' families should be proud. They did it.

But -- spoilsport alert -- as a whole, the whole thing is wrong. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Chic still didnít get in, but Green Day did. The former helped build a sound that still resonates on the charts and has influenced generations. The latter ripped off better bands that influenced generations, commodified pop punk and wrote a Broadway musical.

2. Kraftwerk was shunned again, but the Paul Butterfield Blues Band is in. Anyone under 50: Quick, name a Butterfield song. Didn't think so. Influential, perhaps, but hardly more important than Kraftwerk, Chic or, say, the Germs or Black Flag.

3. Ringo Starr gets in on a technicality. At his best, Ringo was a B-grade rock drummer. As a singer, he was no Keith Moon. *My note - does anyone remember Keith Moon singing?!?



My leukemia is getting worse. I sure wish I could talk to my mom who passed 30+ years ago.

My mom left far too soon. I have copies of this for all my family to read when my leukemia finally says it's time. I can still hear her voice. This piece has stayed with me since the day I first read it. Copies are in our "important papers" so my husband, daughter and grandkids can read it. I hope it moves them as well. And maybe some of you.

Goodbye to a mom who was quite right

Chris Erskine: March 31, 2012

The thing about my mother's eulogy is that I used note cards. After 55 years, you'd think you could remember a mother without such prompts. But this was no regular mother. Tell me, are there any regular mothers?

She could be hell in high heels, my mom ó a little French, a little fussy about what other people wore on airplanes these days. She once bought a Christmas tree, hauled it home, decorated it with a thousand lights and a million ornaments, then took the whole thing down and returned it to the tree lot.

"It's not quite right," she told the puzzled tree man.
Hey, Mom, I said: That tree isn't the only thing that's "not quite right."

We'd visit her every summer back on the outskirts of Chicago. It's not Anywhere USA, but close. Where farms once stood, now subdivisions. In what passes for progress, Wal-Marts have replaced the wetlands.

My mother died peacefully in her sleep the other night on the same shady street she was born on in 1924. Who does that anymore? She was of another time. In summer, she'd fill big pickle jars with flowers from her yard and surprise neighbors with them. Who does that either?

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