Goin’ to Chicago

Sorry that I couldn’t find the Ernestine Anderson version of this, which is my favorite. (“Ain’t nothin’ in Chicago for a sweet little boy like you to do,” sez she.) Apart from his preamble, I do like this Joe Williams version as my second favorite.

As you read these words, I will either be en route to this fine town, or milling about in a hotel there with about a thousand other women bloggeristas. Will report when/if possible.

Though I imagine there will be no dearth of reportage on the event, in the blogosphere and the Twittersphere. For obvious reasons. If anything, I fear the power will dip or go out entirely in that block. Power to women indeed.

Addendum*

hurljail2

Musical accompaniment courtesy Mr. Louis Armstrong. Okay so the “so sweet, so cold, so fair” part is a bit of an exaggeration.  I mean, they’re clammy, yes, but not cold. Certainly not in the sense implied.  I do feel a bit like an infirmary worker, I will say that much.

Upside? I got these people in my life to care for, period.  Jasureyoubetcha, as they say in all-one-word in my erstwhile adoptive home of Minnesota.

*By the way: Freedom to Marry Week started yesterday, and lots of people are writing and talking about it in one way or another.  Mombian and Page One Q have something going on: The Only Agendais Love, and Freedom to Marry has Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter conversations going on. And Robin Reagler is hosting her Some/thing (Old, New, Borrowed, Blue) carnival again.  I’d have hoped to have posted a little something for each venue (the Agenda carnival and the Some/thing one).  The goal: find a fresh — and mutually uplifting? — take on the topic.  Unfortunately, St. James’ Infirmary calls.  Hope springs eternal that less will be springing internally, and soon.

Hallelujah.

Couldn’t have said it better myself: a series by Maira Kalman, “The Inauguration. At Last.”

She’s been given a berth the last Friday of the month at The New York Times, “And the Pursuit of Happines,” in which she’ll explore American democracy.  I might find myself tempted every now and then to send you over there.  If her eye for detail and the moment continue to do such a fine job of conveying what I might have liked to have conveyed, had I been there.  Wherever there is.  Was.

[By the way: Kalman refers, in the series, to having listened to Lorraine Hunt Lieberson’s singing Bach cantatas en route down to Washington.  Which makes me want to say: listen to this.  Nine minutes six seconds.  And also say: here, here’s the second part.  And the third.  But just a minute sixteen seconds into the first part, that will do.  Her voice singing: Ich habe genug, I have enough.  (Also: I have had enough? Depends I suppose on what you’re listening for.)  Some might have seen her sing this, directed (I think) by Peter Sellars, decked out in hospital garb, indicating terminal illness.  When you know that she died quite young — quite, quite in her prime — of cancer.  Well.]