As I write this, I find myself reflexively attempting to justify my decision to publish Covenant Springстолове here against the inevitable perception that any book published on the Internet probably couldn’t get conventionally published, and for good reason.

That reason being, it probably stinks.

There. I said it.

Now, allow me my justification.

]]> http://www.theninthhouse.net/tnh/?feed=rss2&p=173 http://www.theninthhouse.net/tnh/?p=162 http://www.theninthhouse.net/tnh/?p=162#comments Sat, 20 Dec 2008 03:01:24 +0000 TNH http://www.theninthhouse.net/tnh/?p=162 …I’m feeling a little down.

Majel Barrett Roddenberry

edfa

February 23, 1932-December 18, 2008

If you lived in Toronto in the 70s, 80s and 90s and owned a radio or TV, you know who John Majhor is.  If you lived within broadcast signal range, you know.  I won’t attempt to describe here who John is and why his career makes him Hall of Fame-worthy.  If you Google his name, you’ll figure it out pretty quickly.  You can even see some terrific video of him back in the day here.

The only downside to John’s induction is that its posthumous.  He died on January 23rd, 2007 at age 53 of an extremely butt-kicking kind of cancer.  John was very frank about writing about it on his MySpace page, which is still up and running even though he isn’t, something I’m confident he would have found very funny.  This is, after all, the guy who posted his bone scan on the same MySpace page and titled one of his blogs “Dead Man Talking To Himself.”

I got to know John in Charleston, SC in late 2004, when he hired me to work part-time for a classic hits rock station he was programming then.  I won’t attempt to describe here our friendship, other than to say we got busy fast.  And it was more than two middle-aged old-school rock radio disc jockeys plowing common ground and calling one another on their bullshit, though that was certainly a big part of it.  I don’t feel like talking too much about it here, other than to say he was my good friend, and I miss him.

And now, thanks to the efforts of many and one woman in particular (yay, Andy), John Majhor’s in the Hall of Fame.  I think he would have liked that.  What broadcaster wouldn’t?  Its the kind of honor that both serves as the perfect coda to a remarkable life and career, and pisses off all the right people — namely, those who didn’t like you all that much when you were still alive.  And there are a good number of those, too.  That, I think, John would have found hilarious.

On Sunday, May 27th, 2007, John’s family and many of his friends and radio buddies gathered at Second City in Toronto to remember him.  I delivered his eulogy.  2,771 words.  I was going to post it here, but as I’ve been writing this, I’ve changed my mind.  Not because I don’t want you to read it, but because it was written for that occasion only, and it just doesn’t feel right to haul it out of the attic trunk and tack it to the wall.

The morning after John died, I wrote a comments post for his MySpace page.  Its in many ways a shorter version of his eulogy.  Its still there, if you care to read it.  If you do, keep in mind I have not yet been haunted by him, at least not as far as I know.  But if, as is sometimes said, the dead return to us in dreams, then John has paid me a visit at least once since his passing.  A wonderful dream, in which we were both at opposite ends of a broadcast console, on the air together — which we never were in life — laughing until our sides ached as we riffed on how frustrating it was, for one very specific reason, for a dog not to have an opposable thumb.

Don’t ask me why.  But if that’s not good enough to get you into the Hall of Fame, tell me what is?

Congratulations, John.  We still miss you.  Bastard.

TNH

UPDATE: 11/8/2008

Now that’s John’s safely ensconced in the HOF, we can post the tribute video that was created for the induction.  Enjoy:

John Majhor Hall of Fame Tribute

“Now go dress up like Yeoman Rand. I’ll meet you in cargo bay 12…”

…and the wild back garden blooms.

The first lettuce of the season yields to a gentle tug…

And the little lizards frak, in the front and in the back.

(Despite it all, Mr. Toad retains his dignity.)

Listen. Read Covenant Spring in serial form or download it here.

As always, Let me know what you think.

Chris

My wife is not a chef. My wife’s a cook. She began making puff pasty when she was in grade school, taught by the women in her family. She spent the next several decades cooking for friends, for the commune, for her first husband, for her two boys, then for me. Cooked practically every day because that’s who she is, and everything she cooks is just nailed to the damn plate.

My wife always dreamed of being a food professional, of one day maybe even opening her own place. We’d been married nine years when she informed me she’d quit her job that morning, called a local caterer before lunch, interviewed that afternoon and would start the next day.

In a profession dominated largely by borderline (or way over the border) alcoholic, false macho men, my wife was a 4’11” take-no-shit mother figure to some, sister to another, mouthy bitch to a few. It didn’t help that she clearly knew more about cooking than most of her insecure clog-wearing cohorts. She cooked her ass off, moving quickly from gig to better gig like a kid playing hopscotch. She learned the positions, learned enough Spanish to make friends with the dishwasher, learned where the bodies were buried during back-door smokes with the sauté chef. She learned who to sweet-talk, who to face down and who to slap down, sometimes with knife in hand. She learned how to swear in French from Pascal, who cursed the lazy Bosnian waiters and clueless owners (“Sheet! Theez sheet eez fooking sheet!”) but thought enough of her to make her de facto first commis two weeks after her hire.

She came home exhausted every night in stained whites, feet swollen and aching, smelling that damp tomato-ey garbage disposal pro kitchen smell, bitching about the busted Robot Coupe and the German knife-sharpener who stole her 10” and the coke-dealing bartender and the line cook who keeps copping her mise and how deep they nearly got in the weeds when that party of ten walked in and ordered every fucking thing on the menu a half-hour before closing. She was having an absolute ball.

Then something happened that I won’t go into here, and she had to give it all up. Overnight. That was ten years ago. She got back into it, part-time, a couple years later, but the dream of doing it full-time, by her pronouncement, is done.

Which brings us to Anthony Bourdain (told ya). On his show, No Reservations, he travels around the world, eats the local cuisine, and grouses a lot. It’s very entertaining television.

I was checking out the No Reservations website earlier today and I read the following:

“Who knew Anthony Bourdain could rap? We didn’t. But recently, while in London Tony met up with the English band Morcheeba and had his chance at the mic. Listen now.”

To Mr. Bourdain’s credit, he doesn’t rap. I get the sense he’d rather plunge steak knives into his eyes than perform any activity that might even be mistaken for rapping. What he does is read a passage from one of his books about a line cook named Lisa. I think it’s either from Kitchen Confidential or The Nasty Bits. Someone correct me if I’m wrong. And I will take the website’s word that the music beneath it was composed and performed by Morcheeba – it sounds close enough to me and I’ve no reason to believe otherwise. As a guy who digs both Mr. Bourdain and Morcheeba, this is pretty much a perfect storm of cool for me.

My wife’s name isn’t Lisa. She’s a tough chick but she’s not abusive or an alcoholic and to my knowledge she has never called anyone “pin dick.” But she’s got stripes on her arms too and I know she’s proud of them.

TNH

(Addendum: I have since learned — having finally seen the episode of No Reservations during which Mr. Bourdain recorded the piece — that “Lisa” isn’t a passage from any of his books, but is in fact a composition specific to its purpose.  I would like to note, however, that my wife is real, as are her experiences.  Thank you.)

]]> http://www.theninthhouse.net/tnh/?feed=rss2&p=96 http://www.theninthhouse.net/tnh/?p=95 http://www.theninthhouse.net/tnh/?p=95#comments Fri, 01 Feb 2008 01:06:42 +0000 TNH http://www.theninthhouse.net/tnh/?p=95 Listened to it for the first time last night. All Dusty Springfield covers, with one original.

Just A Little Lovin’ is excellent, and excellence should always be supported and encouraged. And if it moves you to buy more of Ms. Lynne’s music, even better. Buy it.

TNH

The official site is here.

(Boy, it had better not suck.)

TNH