‘Is that it, then? Is it over, do you think?’

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
The artist who created “The Triplets of Belleville” is at it again.

Finally — some good news for a change.

Sylvain Chomet, the French animator behind “The Triplets of Belleville,” is back at the ol’ drawing board after 15 years.

“A Magnificent Life,” in U.S. theaters Friday, is an animated biopic concerning Marcel Pagnol, a French playwright, filmmaker and author whose works celebrated the Provence working class, according to The New York Times (gift link).

The film, says Mother Times, showcases Chomet’s fondness for narratives set in the mid-20th century and protagonists who are artists or performers.

Which is all very fine, of course. And we should all dash out to see it at once, if not sooner. But the good good news is that the maestro is hard at work on a spinoff of “Belleville,” based on a story he wrote more than two decades ago, in which the triplets visit their 100-year-old father, who does not know that they spurned traditional employment to become cabaret singers. Says Chomet:

“It has the same feeling as my previous ‘Triplets’ film. It’s completely mad, and it’s quite a baroque movie with brand-new, very cartoony characters.”

Meanwhile, Chomet’s fans will probably not be surprised by his views regarding today’s soulless, cookie-cutter animation. Asked if there were any recent animated films he’s enjoyed, he mentioned Pixar’s “WALL-E” — which was released in 2008.

R.I.P., Augie Meyers

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments
Augie Meyers rocking the Vox with Doug Sahm and a revived Sir Douglas Quintet in 1975.

Augie Meyers, whose work on the unheralded Vox Continental organ gave the Sir Douglas Quintet its signature sound, and drew the admiration of Bob Dylan, The Beatles, Willie Nelson, Tom Waits, and Your Humble Narrator, has bid us all adios. He was 85.

I was just starting to find my own musical way in the Sixties after the old man got us transferred to Randolph AFB at San Antonio, Texas. My folks were into the big bands — Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, Benny Goodman, etc. — but there was this whole new rough beast slouching toward America’s AM radios, and local boys Doug Sahm and his sidekick Augie were riding it.

“She’s About a Mover” was getting a lot of airplay in San Antone back in 1965. And while I didn’t know diddly about Tex (folks on base were from wherever) or Mex (beyond the little taco shop just outside the main gate), Augie’s Tex-Mex fingers grabbed me by the ear and held on tight.

Tweedle … deedle deedle deedle. …

Sahm left Texas for California because of course he did. Meyers eventually followed, and in 1969 we got “Mendocino,” which brought that old Sir Doug sound back to this newly and only moderately hairy (with a covert assist from a Mexican barber) would-be-hippie kid, now in Colorado Springs.

It was fun stuff to listen to; made you want to get up and move around. According to his New York Times obit, Meyers liked the Vox sound, “reminiscent of a merry-go-round or a circus calliope,” because “it could cut through the guitars onstage.”

Meyers would join Sahm again in the Texas Tornados, with Freddy Fender and Flaco Jiménez. He was the Tex-Mex supergroup’s last surviving original member, until March 7. Peace to him, his family, friends, and fans.

A king-size turd

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 13 Comments
O, for the days when kings didn’t have shit all over them.

What a perfect lead-in for next weekend’s No Kings rallies.

The Marquis of Mar-a-Lago is definitely not a king, by the standards of “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.” Shit all over him. Plenty of it his own.

James Fallows has a few thoughts about how the Marquis chose to note the passing of former FBI director Robert Mueller, who died Friday at 81. Quoth His Excremency:

Good, I’m glad that he is dead.

Ouf! Dude sure knows how to set the tone, que no?

Well, I’m glad we got that out of the way, not least because I have a penchant for short and not-so-sweet obits myself, some of them with a callback to the old National Lampoon headline — “Franco Dies, Goes to Hell” — and I’m very much looking forward to writing his.

Fallows gives a shout-out to the upcoming No Kings rallies and suggests that we call/write the Orange House, plus our senators and representatives, to deliver “messages of outrage.” Great idea, and I’m all for it.

But that old Yippie-wannabe streak of mine, as always, yearns to take the response just a wee bit further. …

What about sending His Excremency a roll of industrial-grade toilet paper, the kind of 220-grit sandpaper you find in roadside rest areas, hot-sheet motels, and jails, with a note suggesting that he use it to wipe his all-too-public asshole, the one just below his nose?

Or perhaps a single long pubic hair taped to a postcard, with instructions to use it as dental floss after shitting through his face like this? Which he wouldn’t, of course. You know His Excremency never flosses; just tosses his dentures to a minion, who dunks them in the thundermug and then shoehorns them back in through that wrinkled, puckered orifice.

No, not that one. We’re talking the attic here, not the basement.

In the meantime, we can attend our local No Kings events and wait for that glorious, long-overdue day when we can all breathe a sigh of relief and say:

Good, I’m glad that he is dead.

Call me an optimist, but I like to think that this non-king will rest under a blanket of shit for eternity. His should be the only tombstone in the boneyard with a toilet-paper dispenser.

Sprung

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 19 Comments
The lilacs have been doing the business for the better part of quite some time.

“First day of spring” me bollocks.

The toppling temperature records and soaring pollen counts tell me otherwise.

The Duck! City croaked another mark yesterday with a high of 88°. And our earliest day of 90° or better — May 3, 1947 — looks like an endangered species as well.

This is a small platter of fried spuds to anyone living in Tucson (101°), Phoenix (105°), or Palm Springs (107°). All records, set yesterday. Helluva note when St. Me Day comes with a chaser of heat stroke. If MarkWayne BillyBob JimmyJoe Knucklegobbler and his ICEholes come looking for you in any of those ZIP codes all you need is a parabolic reflector and hey presto! Instant Death Ray.

Speaking of cookery, the hot soups and stews and anything involving the oven have long since been 86ed from the menu here at Chez Dog. Last night we dined on Martha Rose Shulman’s shrimp and mango tacos with a side of rice and green salad. As “spring” scampers into summer, this ol’ dog needs his wok.

Fuelishness 3: Dimed

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments
Speedway: $3.99
DK: $3.99

Half-stepping: checked only two gas stations instead of four today.

Can you feel the savings? The economy roaring?

During my errands this morning I noticed a gas station on Montgomery rocking the $3.99, so when I slipped out for a short bike ride later in the day I checked half of my usual suspects and they were as you see — up a dime since March 14, and up 40 cents or better since March 10.

I’d expect to see some even steeper prices at 7-Eleven directly. 7-Eleven Inc. may have its headquarters in Irvine, Texas, but it’s a wholly owned subsidiary of Seven-Eleven Japan, and I can’t imagine Corporate found Cadet Bonespurs’ little jape about Pearl Harbor a real knee-slapper.