I played tenor sax in the Michigan State marching band. I was actually the first female tenor sax squad leader in the history of the band. (Note: I really sucked at playing the sax, however. Truly). I desperately wanted to play at a bowl game. My first year, 1977, we would have gone to the Rose Bowl, but the football team was on probation for illegal recruiting. After that, the team was predictably horrible. I stayed in college an extra year just for a shot at a bowl game. No bowl game. Big regret, even though it wasn’t my fault.
Chez Andrés, a restaurant that was on E. Glebe in Alexandria for many years, often played Edith Piaf as background music. Gene, you may have enjoyed eating there. Kidneys and sweetbreads were on the menu. Not my thing. I liked the lamb chops and my wife was partial to the sole with lemon-butter sauce.
When I lived with a family in Toulouse while studying there, the only thing that they served that I didn’t care for was cervelle de veau. It wasn’t so much the taste. It took on the flavor of the sauce. It was the texture. The kids in the family weren’t real fans either, doing the pushing it around on their plates thing. I, of course, had to gobble it up to keep up my appearance as the untypical American.
I fondly remember Chez Andre from the late 1970s when my first wife and I used to live about a block down the street. Because I was a starving graduate student and she was low on the GS scale, we could afford to eat there only for special occasions. It was a good place. I especially liked its combination of good food and lack of pretense.
Indeed. Even the mention of calf's brains (its name in French being only a momentary distraction) is likely to put the average American right off their feed. Offal (of which brains are only one organ or undistinguished body part) is, of course, a staple in many parts of the world, including the Duchy of Weingarten, no doubt. The trick for a novice brain eater especially in France (apart from averting your gaze if served poached and sautéed whole) is to fortify yourself with a very good wine. Truth be told, my experience left me wanting each time (twice) for a nice bowl of spicy tripe soup. For all the fear and loathing customarily attached to the dish by the uninitiated, I found it surprisingly bland with a consistency similar to pâté or liverwurst. Which may be its only saving grace for the wary and second only to the frisson of anticipation for the more adventuresome.
Elvis Costello was in Chicago on his first US tour (with the Attractions) on Friday, December, 2, 1977. He opened at the Riviera Theater for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers that night. Could have planned to slip out to your cafe/club afterward for a little "me" time.
I was going to say that. I was all over in when it was just a book store; and when the Kindle came out !!!! My husband and the broker thought it a waste of our retirement money and I let them shut me down. (Also they sold CitiBank when it tanked and I wanted to double up.)
I bought shares in Amazon when I got my first Kindle, prior (I think) to the advent of the music business. How many? Two. Two is my standard number of shares in my play money portfolio. I made thousands of dollars, but it could have been more.
The Piaf song has an interesting politico-military sidebar. She dedicated it to the French Foreign Legion which was fighting in Algeria at the time the recording was first released in 1961. There was an attempted in-country coup d'état led by a handful of generals ("Putsch des généraux") to prevent DeGaulle from ending 130 years of French colonial rule as was being secretly negotiated. The attempt failed and the regiment involved was disbanded, with the officers arrested and tried --- although many of those surviving were reintegrated into the army some 20 years later. The NCOs, however, were reassigned to other units and left their barracks singing the song. It subsequently became part of the Legion's heritage and is still occasionally chanted to the Legion's unique 88-steps-per-minute marching cadence when units are on parade.
I regret not finding a way to take that summer abroad in Jordan in college. I regret discouraging my Mom from moving us to Abu Dhabi when I was in high school. I regret that stupid and unfunny thing I said while passing people on the sidewalk on St. Louis. I regret that racist thing I said while out at dinner with friends and colleagues. I regret several things I said to another colleague, and the things I said both times I talked with Bill Nye. I regret turning down that invitation to write a book chapter just because I was sure I wouldn't have the time to do a good job of it. I regret turning down that job offer in New Jersey. I regret rejecting that opportunity in Ohio because I didn't think I was good enough.
Beautiful job, Valerie! And GENE!!!! That's a heckuva regret!
On Labor Day, 2001, one of my best friends came to visit me in New York, where I was living at the time. We did all the usual, touristy things, culminating in walking over the Brooklyn Bridge and back around sunset. He looked at me and said, "Where to next?" and I looked to our left and said, "Windows on the World?" It would've been great to have a drink at sunset looking out over Manhattan at the end of a gorgeous day. He looked at me and said, "Nah, it'll always be there." So we didn't.
I had a similar experience. My husband had never been to the top of the WTC (I had), but we decided to put it off until our next day trip, figuring it would always be there.
When I was in college, at the scholarship dorm aka leftover army barracks, one of the girls was in hot pursuit of a guy who would only go out with her if she could find a date for one of his remarkably undateable buddies. I smoked part of the only cigarette I ever smoked to avoid the attentions of one of them. Thereafter I wouldn't go out if HE was the other guy. She came up with a not-HIM, Bowery Boys type who was fun for about 20 minutes past escape. Survived. A week or so later, at some sort of mixer, I met an extremely nice youth, interesting to talk to, respectful, science major, on a sports team, with something of a Nooyawk accent. Hoped to hear from him again. If you haven't guessed, when I did get a call from him, I mistook him for the BB and went to town insulting him for daring to call me etc etc etc. I did not find out my error till I encountered BB on campus and he came up to me full of plans for our next date. I repeated a few of my plans for never seeing him again, and he laughed. I then learned that he had not called me. I was so embarrassed that I never did contact the innocent object of my tirade to apologize, and this still (many decades later) haunts my reveries from time to time. It did teach me to ration my wrath and never vent over the phone again.
Thank you for sending Valerie Holt's wonderful rendition of Edith Piaf's je ne regrette rien. I am a long-time admirer of Piaf and I found myself singing along with her. I recall that Piaf was involved with Marcel Cerdan a champion boxer who was killed in an airplane crash.
I played tenor sax in the Michigan State marching band. I was actually the first female tenor sax squad leader in the history of the band. (Note: I really sucked at playing the sax, however. Truly). I desperately wanted to play at a bowl game. My first year, 1977, we would have gone to the Rose Bowl, but the football team was on probation for illegal recruiting. After that, the team was predictably horrible. I stayed in college an extra year just for a shot at a bowl game. No bowl game. Big regret, even though it wasn’t my fault.
Chez Andrés, a restaurant that was on E. Glebe in Alexandria for many years, often played Edith Piaf as background music. Gene, you may have enjoyed eating there. Kidneys and sweetbreads were on the menu. Not my thing. I liked the lamb chops and my wife was partial to the sole with lemon-butter sauce.
When I lived with a family in Toulouse while studying there, the only thing that they served that I didn’t care for was cervelle de veau. It wasn’t so much the taste. It took on the flavor of the sauce. It was the texture. The kids in the family weren’t real fans either, doing the pushing it around on their plates thing. I, of course, had to gobble it up to keep up my appearance as the untypical American.
I fondly remember Chez Andre from the late 1970s when my first wife and I used to live about a block down the street. Because I was a starving graduate student and she was low on the GS scale, we could afford to eat there only for special occasions. It was a good place. I especially liked its combination of good food and lack of pretense.
Indeed. Even the mention of calf's brains (its name in French being only a momentary distraction) is likely to put the average American right off their feed. Offal (of which brains are only one organ or undistinguished body part) is, of course, a staple in many parts of the world, including the Duchy of Weingarten, no doubt. The trick for a novice brain eater especially in France (apart from averting your gaze if served poached and sautéed whole) is to fortify yourself with a very good wine. Truth be told, my experience left me wanting each time (twice) for a nice bowl of spicy tripe soup. For all the fear and loathing customarily attached to the dish by the uninitiated, I found it surprisingly bland with a consistency similar to pâté or liverwurst. Which may be its only saving grace for the wary and second only to the frisson of anticipation for the more adventuresome.
Valerie is fantastic! “You want I should wear an outfit?”
I love it.
A girl at 14 is "barely an adult." A boy at 14 is "barely a child."
I could have see the Beatles at RFK but went to see a girl I liked. I’ve seen all of the
Beatles play, but not John.
"Barely an adult" Valerie Holt was 14 on the "Vie en Rose" video. She's now 30.
She gave a great performance on only 90 minutes notice. Hell, it was a great performance if she had been given 90 days notice.
Elvis Costello was in Chicago on his first US tour (with the Attractions) on Friday, December, 2, 1977. He opened at the Riviera Theater for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers that night. Could have planned to slip out to your cafe/club afterward for a little "me" time.
Trust me, he did.
Shoot. Meant music.
When Amazon branched out from books to movies (CDs?) I said, you know what? We should buy stock in that company. We didn't.
I was going to say that. I was all over in when it was just a book store; and when the Kindle came out !!!! My husband and the broker thought it a waste of our retirement money and I let them shut me down. (Also they sold CitiBank when it tanked and I wanted to double up.)
I bought shares in Amazon when I got my first Kindle, prior (I think) to the advent of the music business. How many? Two. Two is my standard number of shares in my play money portfolio. I made thousands of dollars, but it could have been more.
The Piaf song has an interesting politico-military sidebar. She dedicated it to the French Foreign Legion which was fighting in Algeria at the time the recording was first released in 1961. There was an attempted in-country coup d'état led by a handful of generals ("Putsch des généraux") to prevent DeGaulle from ending 130 years of French colonial rule as was being secretly negotiated. The attempt failed and the regiment involved was disbanded, with the officers arrested and tried --- although many of those surviving were reintegrated into the army some 20 years later. The NCOs, however, were reassigned to other units and left their barracks singing the song. It subsequently became part of the Legion's heritage and is still occasionally chanted to the Legion's unique 88-steps-per-minute marching cadence when units are on parade.
I regret not finding a way to take that summer abroad in Jordan in college. I regret discouraging my Mom from moving us to Abu Dhabi when I was in high school. I regret that stupid and unfunny thing I said while passing people on the sidewalk on St. Louis. I regret that racist thing I said while out at dinner with friends and colleagues. I regret several things I said to another colleague, and the things I said both times I talked with Bill Nye. I regret turning down that invitation to write a book chapter just because I was sure I wouldn't have the time to do a good job of it. I regret turning down that job offer in New Jersey. I regret rejecting that opportunity in Ohio because I didn't think I was good enough.
Regrets? I've had a fuck-load.
You and me both, Tim. The number of regrets, that is.
La Vie en Rose is perhaps the most iconically French song there is, even more than La Marseillaise.
Je Ne Regrette Rien, especially not sharing this clip:
https://youtu.be/up1fTkYW3sw
Beautiful job, Valerie! And GENE!!!! That's a heckuva regret!
On Labor Day, 2001, one of my best friends came to visit me in New York, where I was living at the time. We did all the usual, touristy things, culminating in walking over the Brooklyn Bridge and back around sunset. He looked at me and said, "Where to next?" and I looked to our left and said, "Windows on the World?" It would've been great to have a drink at sunset looking out over Manhattan at the end of a gorgeous day. He looked at me and said, "Nah, it'll always be there." So we didn't.
And a week later…
I had a similar experience. My husband had never been to the top of the WTC (I had), but we decided to put it off until our next day trip, figuring it would always be there.
When I was in college, at the scholarship dorm aka leftover army barracks, one of the girls was in hot pursuit of a guy who would only go out with her if she could find a date for one of his remarkably undateable buddies. I smoked part of the only cigarette I ever smoked to avoid the attentions of one of them. Thereafter I wouldn't go out if HE was the other guy. She came up with a not-HIM, Bowery Boys type who was fun for about 20 minutes past escape. Survived. A week or so later, at some sort of mixer, I met an extremely nice youth, interesting to talk to, respectful, science major, on a sports team, with something of a Nooyawk accent. Hoped to hear from him again. If you haven't guessed, when I did get a call from him, I mistook him for the BB and went to town insulting him for daring to call me etc etc etc. I did not find out my error till I encountered BB on campus and he came up to me full of plans for our next date. I repeated a few of my plans for never seeing him again, and he laughed. I then learned that he had not called me. I was so embarrassed that I never did contact the innocent object of my tirade to apologize, and this still (many decades later) haunts my reveries from time to time. It did teach me to ration my wrath and never vent over the phone again.
Thank you for sending Valerie Holt's wonderful rendition of Edith Piaf's je ne regrette rien. I am a long-time admirer of Piaf and I found myself singing along with her. I recall that Piaf was involved with Marcel Cerdan a champion boxer who was killed in an airplane crash.