Letters to the Editor
sayrock
Published Letters: 21
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What you didn't know about Cohen's Suzanne
[Read the article: "Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man"]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]Hate to harsh the Cohen buzz, but here's a little something you probably didn't know.
Sure, I'd been a Cohen fan since the beginning and for years, the song "Suzanne" represented a defining period in my life – the emergence into something new....you know, all that peace and love stuff.
Then in the late 90's after returning from a trip to India, I went in to pick up my photos from a small custom photo shop in Northern California. The sprightly young woman behind the counter was enthralled with the pictures. They reminded her of how she and her mother had been club entertainers, dancing in costumes that looked like those in the photos.
She reached under the counter and pulled out a well-worn album. It was filled with aging photos of the two of them. As we thumbed through the pages together, she, without making much of it, casually added, "You probably don't remember the song, 'Suzanne' by Leonard Cohen, but my mother was that Suzanne."
I resisted the urge to throw myself at her feet in unabashed reverence. She explained how she and her mom had lived in a warehouse on the waterfront-- just the two of them. It was a frightening time for a little girl, but her mom was a free spirit and that was just the way life was. And yes, when "Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river, you can hear the boats go by..."
From the sounds of it, Cohen was more than just a causal platonic friend, contrary to how he tells it. She recalled how her mom and Cohen would dance in the street together in the middle of the night.
Then later, after he and the song had become famous, he dropped in once to see her. Her mother asked him to dance with her in the street. When he refused, she pleaded with him. But Cohen had gotten too big to be seen with the likes of her in public. Suzanne was crushed and felt used by Cohen.
I asked where her mother was now. Tragically, the last time she had heard, Suzanne was living on the streets in Los Angeles.
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Thanks for the Suzanne link at cbc.com
[Read the article: "Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man"]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]Yes, that story in the article matches the one I heard from her daughter in the photo shop years ago, - (which I posted earlier ) -- except for the part about there being siblings. I must have misunderstood that part.
Thanks
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From Baby Jam to Lohula
[Read the article: Baby jam]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]Gee Lohula, I don't know. Maybe for the same reason there are clips of kitties chasing their tails here.
Lighten up.
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LSMFT!!!
[Read the article: Leave them kids alone!]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]Oh Garrison! Thanks for that chuckle and a quick trip down memory lane. I bet your younger readers have no idea what LSMFT stands for! But it takes me back to weeknight radio dramas where we'd gather in the kitchen after the supper dishes were washed and put away--my mother ironing my dad's shirt, my brother and I pretending to do homework, the dog lying next to the warm heater snoring while my dad snored from his recliner in the living room.
Yes, LSMFT! Let 'em look it up!
Oh, wait, I just Googled it. Oh my! I'm referring to the original cleaned-up version!
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But did I like the movie?
[Read the article: "300"]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]Hmmmm. . . let's see now, lots-o-cgi-pumped-up male bods with impossibly perfect washboard abs, manly men in brief gladiator get ups, raging testosterone and victory cries, excessive spurting of blood 'n' guts in stylized carnage, an occasional decapitation, a continuim of cover-your-eyes violent and partially slo-mo battle seqences, Persian warriors & gigantic monster things being hurled off cliffs, a big be-jeweled dude who thinks he's a queen . . I mean a god . .who wants all the guys to get on their knees for him, steamy love scenes, semi-nudity, girls on girls, I mean what's not to like? There's something here for everybody assuming you like this kind of stuff.
Actually, the movie made me rush home and start Googling for Spartans. I feel the need to brush up on my history.
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AC/no AC . .
[Read the article: Air head]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]I don't really care what you write about. I love reading your stuff!
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Gift to myself
[Read the article: "Ho ho ho," or "Bah, humbug"?]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]This is the first time in many years, especially since the grandchildren were born, that I'm giving myself the holiday off. That's right! I'm escaping/ignoring the entire season. Instead of the obscene overdo of kiddies' toys, expensive trinkets, and the rest, everybody got to pick one item of clothing and that was it - and they were all delivered before Thanksgiving. I've never experienced such a sense of freedom before. I'm witnessing this whole scene from new perspective. My god! It's so clear. Sure, we've all heard the platitudes about Christmas getting too commercial. But now I can see that it's total madness! I may never go back.
s rockey
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Christopher!
[Read the article: Irving the Snowchicken is coming to town]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]Ok, you've just been added to my short list of favorite writers!
Excuse me, I have to Google you!
:)
S.Rockey
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a woman in a men's room
[Read the article: Women need johns]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]As a woman, I too, have visited a men's room. Only it was purely unintentional.
Not being a big partier, I was not too thrilled when I learned that I was expected to join our clients for a night on the town before our financial conference kicked off. Much revelry ensued.
Early next morning, I was still reeling as I walked into the hotel lobby and looked for the nearest restroom. My first thought upon entering was, "Geeze, what a mess!" There was bathroom tissue (or do they call it butt-wiper in men's rooms?) and paper towels strewn about and the odor was less than aromatic.
As I rushed for the stall, I noticed a line of (fortunately) unattended urinals along the wall. The only thought my fuzzy brain could conjure up was, "Hmmmm, how odd."
It wasn't until I heard the loud grunting from the stall next to me, and then noticed the HUGE black shoes, that it hit me.
OMIGOD! I'm in the men's room. I skipped the wash basin and made a bee-line for the exit, where I was met by a small circle of male colleagues who were waiting to see my expression.
Trust me, next time I'll gladly wait in line!
srockey