Moses made it turn to blood. Usually it's a syrupy drape gray, like the color of Dick Cheney's skin. And now VIRGINIA MORELL is trying to tell us the Nile River is blue. Go figure. Well that's not completely true. It's blue in some parts, but not all the time. But it's a great concept, and one that should get the Aronoff's Procter & Gamble Hall packed full of people curious about all things exotic, Egyptian and blue. (See Literary, and go to www.citybeat.com now for an interview with Virginia Morell and photographer Nevada Wier.)
What is it about Cincinnati weather that bypasses spring and goes straight into summer? We'd like a little springtime comfort, for crying out loud! Well, at least the sweet smell of tulips, apple blossoms and daffodils is in the air. And it's Poetry Month, too, so now we get to hear JOHN DRURY and DALLAS WIEBE read their stuff at the Main Library.
Where Drury is melodious, Wiebe is burlesque, so the combination is good for the missed-spring-entirely blues. (See Literary.)
Is there no place in Cincinnati where you can get snot-flinging drunk and still listen to some kickass Jazz? By the time you fall off the bar stool, your options are pretty much limited to whiney college-boy Alt Rock or some palm-job covers of Burt Bacharach's red hot lover tunes. So you might as well jump on the juice wagon. In that case, go see BLUE LUNCH. From what we hear, they're pretty good even when you're stone-cold sober.
He snorted more cocaine by the metric ton than you can shake a mirror and rolled Ben Franklin at. His kite got so high that it would BLOW in the wind. And he also provided a valuable service to those who wanted to add a little pep and zing to their lives. What a guy! But you can't give George Jung too many props: Kip Winger hair and Neil Young lamb chops to match make it a tad bit difficult to love the guy entirely, no matter how much our noses are running.
They came, they saw, they did PANTOMIME. From time immemorial to the present day, gesticulating with your hands and feet when there's really no other way of saying what you want to say has been a tried-and-true method of miscommunication. Besides, how much time can you spend communicating when you're busy climbing a ladder, pulling on a rope or trying to get out of that damned box? (See Onstage.)
How many novels does it take to become a literary institution? Six? Ten? Fourteen? Well, we're thinking it's really not about the number of books you write, but about how much the academics find you interesting, like JOHN UPDIKE. You don't see literary theorists fawning all over the likes of Dick Francis, do you? Or how about Evan Hunter or even Danielle Steele? Nope. They're apparently not "literary" enough to get much attention. (See Literary.)