The Tough Guy in His Star Trek Uniform...
Well, I was about to say, bow to the left, bow to the right, bow to the center [thanks Tchocolatl & Paula 
], until I read Linda's post......would you care to join me onstage for the curtain calls, Paula 
? My Maria Callas posting kept me laughing for days, too, as well as my friend, Ron, at work ~ with whom I shared the lovely tidbit.
~ Lizzytysh
], until I read Linda's post......would you care to join me onstage for the curtain calls, Paula ? My Maria Callas posting kept me laughing for days, too, as well as my friend, Ron, at work ~ with whom I shared the lovely tidbit.~ Lizzytysh
This is a comment on many postings on this forum (and also answer
to many private emails I have got) regarding Leonard's latest self-portrait.
First of all, to my best knowledge he feels fine! Looks like some have taken his words too seriously. I believe the portrait was made and the lines were written earlier this year in India (maybe in a lonely hotel room?) and he sent it as a Father's Day greeting. We should bear in mind that he often writes (and draws) with tongue in cheek (Star Trek Uniform!!!), and then follows with amusement the reactions.
Finally, as far as I know, he has NOT decided to throw in the towel - on
the contrary. Let's wait patiently - he has still a lot to say.
Jarkko
PS. While writing this kind of an open letter I have also another comment to give. It's summer, if you haven't noticed (except in Australia) - why don't we just enjoy the sun and stop the useless scuffle on this forum (and on the others as well). No need to explain the details. The readers of the recent threads know what I'm talking about. Why don't we concentrate on more constructive topics??
to many private emails I have got) regarding Leonard's latest self-portrait.
First of all, to my best knowledge he feels fine! Looks like some have taken his words too seriously. I believe the portrait was made and the lines were written earlier this year in India (maybe in a lonely hotel room?) and he sent it as a Father's Day greeting. We should bear in mind that he often writes (and draws) with tongue in cheek (Star Trek Uniform!!!), and then follows with amusement the reactions.
Finally, as far as I know, he has NOT decided to throw in the towel - on
the contrary. Let's wait patiently - he has still a lot to say.
Jarkko
PS. While writing this kind of an open letter I have also another comment to give. It's summer, if you haven't noticed (except in Australia) - why don't we just enjoy the sun and stop the useless scuffle on this forum (and on the others as well). No need to explain the details. The readers of the recent threads know what I'm talking about. Why don't we concentrate on more constructive topics??
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tom.d.stiller
- Posts: 1213
- Joined: Fri Mar 07, 2003 8:18 am
- Location: ... between the lines ...
- Contact:
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Andrew McGeever
- Posts: 905
- Joined: Sun Jul 07, 2002 10:02 pm
Dear Jarkko,
This is my first contribution to this thread, and my last.
Yes, I'm already taking your (and my own) advice, and have just finished filling in passport application forms for my children.....we're all going back to Greece for a holiday!
No, it isn't Hydra, but closer to Albania.
I wish you and your family a relaxing and happy holiday, wherever you go. Let's face it, we all deserve it!
If you are in touch with Leonard in the next few weeks, please pass on my best wishes and those of my family. Remind him that he is loved by many.
Yours,
Andrew.
This is my first contribution to this thread, and my last.
Yes, I'm already taking your (and my own) advice, and have just finished filling in passport application forms for my children.....we're all going back to Greece for a holiday!
No, it isn't Hydra, but closer to Albania.
I wish you and your family a relaxing and happy holiday, wherever you go. Let's face it, we all deserve it!
If you are in touch with Leonard in the next few weeks, please pass on my best wishes and those of my family. Remind him that he is loved by many.
Yours,
Andrew.
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George.Wright
- Posts: 1874
- Joined: Mon Jul 08, 2002 3:37 pm
- Location: Bangor, N.Ireland
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Tchocolatl
- Posts: 3805
- Joined: Wed Apr 02, 2003 10:07 pm
Some people really imagined that? Leonard Cohen announcing his, you know... "departure"... with this?
Ey... Elisabeth, I'm so sorry, but your price must go to them as a group, now.
This guy is getting too tough.
Ey... Elisabeth, I'm so sorry, but your price must go to them as a group, now.
This guy is getting too tough.
***
"He can love the shape of human beings, the fine and twisted shapes of the heart. It is good to have among us such men, such balancing monsters of love."
Leonard Cohen
Beautiful Losers
"He can love the shape of human beings, the fine and twisted shapes of the heart. It is good to have among us such men, such balancing monsters of love."
Leonard Cohen
Beautiful Losers
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tom.d.stiller
- Posts: 1213
- Joined: Fri Mar 07, 2003 8:18 am
- Location: ... between the lines ...
- Contact:
Yes, Tchocolatl, "some people really imagined that"! ... Unbelievable... Let's sentence them to twenty years of boredom for trying to contaminate the system from within...
The "tough guy" is at least as alive as Maria Callas is dead...
So long, and it's time that we began to laugh and cry and cry and laugh about it all again...
Tom
PS: Maybe this quote from "First we take Manhattan" explains why he sent such a message as a Father's Day Greeting:
Maybe Leonard was just nursing his old Father's Day wound...Well it's Father's Day and everybody's wounded
Tom
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Tchocolatl
- Posts: 3805
- Joined: Wed Apr 02, 2003 10:07 pm
I lost my job forever, I was counted with the dead
Hello Tom :
It's time that we began to laugh and cry and cry and laugh about it all again...
Yes, let's do it. After all, maybe they were expressing their own fear, fear of the death in general and of his death in particular.
Long before the sky would open
Fortunately, as far as I see this, he is just the old new same Leonard Cohen, old ironical Leonard Cohen with completely new surprising unusual projects, like usual. Wait and see.
It's time that we began to laugh and cry and cry and laugh about it all again...
Yes, let's do it. After all, maybe they were expressing their own fear, fear of the death in general and of his death in particular.
Long before the sky would open
Fortunately, as far as I see this, he is just the old new same Leonard Cohen, old ironical Leonard Cohen with completely new surprising unusual projects, like usual. Wait and see.
***
"He can love the shape of human beings, the fine and twisted shapes of the heart. It is good to have among us such men, such balancing monsters of love."
Leonard Cohen
Beautiful Losers
"He can love the shape of human beings, the fine and twisted shapes of the heart. It is good to have among us such men, such balancing monsters of love."
Leonard Cohen
Beautiful Losers
02/08/03
Dear Diary,
What a day I've had! Things were kinda slow and the boys and I were just standing around moping and complaining about the lack of business and saying how we wished more Americans would eat here because of course the tips are so much better than with the usual lousy French bastards we get. Nothing against the French.
Well, we got our wish and pretty soon the joint was filling up with the pilgrims and the tourists. I got slammed with a six-top, a couple of four-tops and three deuces and was in the weeds big-time when the hostess seated me with a single. Which is just what I needed. The singles always want to take up your time looking sad and discussing the nuances of the menu in the minutest detail especially if they're vegetarian. But you learn to edge away from them gradually and pretty soon you're back to serving your other tables and they don't know what hit them. Nothing against the singles.
But this old guy seemed all right because all he wants to do is drink and instead of looking sad was sitting there smiling beatifically at everybody full of inner peace and harmony. He starts knocking back whiskey like a trooper and I thought, well O.K. So he left me in peace for about an hour and every once in a while I would glance over in his direction just to keep my hand in. But he was busy scribbling away in a notebook so I pretty much ignored him.
But not for long. The old guy waves me over and asks for a drink I never heard of. I hate that. Anyway, I let the bartender in on it, and he looks at me like I'm wasting his time. Because of course, he's never heard of it either and so he goes looking through the Mumbai Mixologist Owner's Manual. The drink wasn't listed and we both roll our eyes. So back to the table I go to get directions. The old guy takes it pretty well and gives the low-down on the ingredients. So away I go again with the goods. The bartender sloshes it all together and just as I'm about to head back to the table with it I get flagged down by Jai the busboy, who's one mixed-up kid, but he lets me in on the secret that the six-top would like to have desert after all. I hate that.
So, I get distracted by five Mumbai Mint Mousses and one Bombay Flambé and six India coffees. I throw it all on the table and by the time I get my bearings the old guy's drink was sweating and so was I. I hotfoot it over to the old man's table, drink in hand and I knew I was in trouble. You shoulda seen the look he gave me. I wish I could draw you a picture of it. All the inner peace and harmony had oozed right out of him. He continued glaring at me while I did my usual song and dance but he wasn't buying what I was selling. He just started looking tougher and tougher. So I froze up on him and suggested he at least try the drink. Which he does and which he pronounces the worst Red Needle he's ever had. What's wrong with it, I say in my most aggrieved voice that has taken me years to perfect. He glares at me again and growls out in a low raspy tone, "Needs more cranberry juice"
So I run back to the bar and return in two seconds flat with a sidecar of cranberry juice and slam it on the table none too gently. It's then that I see that not only was he writing in his notebook, but he had also scribbled all over the placemat. It was covered in words, lines and phrases. The nerve! He doctors his drink with the cranberry juice and downs it in one gulp and asks me to bring the check. So I bring the check with a little extra tacked on for the ruined placemat. He gets out his glasses and I have to tell you for someone who had that much to drink he was a whiz at the math. He spots the placemat fee right away and asks to see the manager. I really hate that.
So I get the manager and of course he doesn't back me up as usual and I end up with egg on my face and the old guy leaves triumphant. But he leaves the placemat behind and one dime on top of it for my tip. The international symbol of bad service. Yeah, like that really bothers me. Like I've never gotten that before. So I pick up the ruined placemat and head out back for a cigarette and find most of the boys taking a break too.
Well, we're all smoking and having a good laugh at the placemat, trying to decipher the meaning of the words, line and phrases but of course we can't because it looks like some kind of poetry and that just not in our line. So we start burning holes in it with our cigarettes until it was more holes than placemat.
All of sudden Jai the busboy comes running out real excited like he had just won the Mumbai lottery. Did I tell you he was one mixed-up kid? "You will never guess who that old man was" he says all out of breath. "Who" we say, flicking ashes on the remnants of the placemat. "A true genius, a poet, and the greatest songwriter who ever lived" Jai the busboy says reverently. Greatest songwriter who ever lived! Well, that covers a lot of territory so we stand around pondering and thinking but couldn't come up with anybody in particular, so we ask him to spit it out. He gets all choked up and then says very slowly and very dramatically, "That ... was .... Bob Dylan."
Bob Dylan! Holy Cow! Suddenly it all fell into place...the guy's age, his physiognomy, the heavy drinking, and the lousy tip. The scribbling in the notebook and on the placemat. Holy Cow! THE PLACEMAT. I run over quickly and pick it up off the ground where we had thrown it and desperately try to salvage the smoldering remnants. It was too late. All the lovely words, lines and phrases were only an ashy smudge of their former glory, a small fortune on e-bay lay in ruins at my feet. We all stand around staring at it saying things like, "Gee Whiz," and "Wouldn't you know it!"
Well, what can you do. The boys and I finished up the night drinking Knitting Needles or whatever it was called...and everyone agreed it was the worst drink ever invented no matter how much cranberry juice you put in it!!!
Dear Diary,
What a day I've had! Things were kinda slow and the boys and I were just standing around moping and complaining about the lack of business and saying how we wished more Americans would eat here because of course the tips are so much better than with the usual lousy French bastards we get. Nothing against the French.
Well, we got our wish and pretty soon the joint was filling up with the pilgrims and the tourists. I got slammed with a six-top, a couple of four-tops and three deuces and was in the weeds big-time when the hostess seated me with a single. Which is just what I needed. The singles always want to take up your time looking sad and discussing the nuances of the menu in the minutest detail especially if they're vegetarian. But you learn to edge away from them gradually and pretty soon you're back to serving your other tables and they don't know what hit them. Nothing against the singles.
But this old guy seemed all right because all he wants to do is drink and instead of looking sad was sitting there smiling beatifically at everybody full of inner peace and harmony. He starts knocking back whiskey like a trooper and I thought, well O.K. So he left me in peace for about an hour and every once in a while I would glance over in his direction just to keep my hand in. But he was busy scribbling away in a notebook so I pretty much ignored him.
But not for long. The old guy waves me over and asks for a drink I never heard of. I hate that. Anyway, I let the bartender in on it, and he looks at me like I'm wasting his time. Because of course, he's never heard of it either and so he goes looking through the Mumbai Mixologist Owner's Manual. The drink wasn't listed and we both roll our eyes. So back to the table I go to get directions. The old guy takes it pretty well and gives the low-down on the ingredients. So away I go again with the goods. The bartender sloshes it all together and just as I'm about to head back to the table with it I get flagged down by Jai the busboy, who's one mixed-up kid, but he lets me in on the secret that the six-top would like to have desert after all. I hate that.
So, I get distracted by five Mumbai Mint Mousses and one Bombay Flambé and six India coffees. I throw it all on the table and by the time I get my bearings the old guy's drink was sweating and so was I. I hotfoot it over to the old man's table, drink in hand and I knew I was in trouble. You shoulda seen the look he gave me. I wish I could draw you a picture of it. All the inner peace and harmony had oozed right out of him. He continued glaring at me while I did my usual song and dance but he wasn't buying what I was selling. He just started looking tougher and tougher. So I froze up on him and suggested he at least try the drink. Which he does and which he pronounces the worst Red Needle he's ever had. What's wrong with it, I say in my most aggrieved voice that has taken me years to perfect. He glares at me again and growls out in a low raspy tone, "Needs more cranberry juice"
So I run back to the bar and return in two seconds flat with a sidecar of cranberry juice and slam it on the table none too gently. It's then that I see that not only was he writing in his notebook, but he had also scribbled all over the placemat. It was covered in words, lines and phrases. The nerve! He doctors his drink with the cranberry juice and downs it in one gulp and asks me to bring the check. So I bring the check with a little extra tacked on for the ruined placemat. He gets out his glasses and I have to tell you for someone who had that much to drink he was a whiz at the math. He spots the placemat fee right away and asks to see the manager. I really hate that.
So I get the manager and of course he doesn't back me up as usual and I end up with egg on my face and the old guy leaves triumphant. But he leaves the placemat behind and one dime on top of it for my tip. The international symbol of bad service. Yeah, like that really bothers me. Like I've never gotten that before. So I pick up the ruined placemat and head out back for a cigarette and find most of the boys taking a break too.
Well, we're all smoking and having a good laugh at the placemat, trying to decipher the meaning of the words, line and phrases but of course we can't because it looks like some kind of poetry and that just not in our line. So we start burning holes in it with our cigarettes until it was more holes than placemat.
All of sudden Jai the busboy comes running out real excited like he had just won the Mumbai lottery. Did I tell you he was one mixed-up kid? "You will never guess who that old man was" he says all out of breath. "Who" we say, flicking ashes on the remnants of the placemat. "A true genius, a poet, and the greatest songwriter who ever lived" Jai the busboy says reverently. Greatest songwriter who ever lived! Well, that covers a lot of territory so we stand around pondering and thinking but couldn't come up with anybody in particular, so we ask him to spit it out. He gets all choked up and then says very slowly and very dramatically, "That ... was .... Bob Dylan."
Bob Dylan! Holy Cow! Suddenly it all fell into place...the guy's age, his physiognomy, the heavy drinking, and the lousy tip. The scribbling in the notebook and on the placemat. Holy Cow! THE PLACEMAT. I run over quickly and pick it up off the ground where we had thrown it and desperately try to salvage the smoldering remnants. It was too late. All the lovely words, lines and phrases were only an ashy smudge of their former glory, a small fortune on e-bay lay in ruins at my feet. We all stand around staring at it saying things like, "Gee Whiz," and "Wouldn't you know it!"
Well, what can you do. The boys and I finished up the night drinking Knitting Needles or whatever it was called...and everyone agreed it was the worst drink ever invented no matter how much cranberry juice you put in it!!!
Last edited by Mr. Ed on Thu Jul 03, 2003 11:03 pm, edited 3 times in total.
