In Memoriam: Bill Hicks

Couple of days late, but in memoriam, eleven years gone, RIP Bill Hicks.

I was a "late comer" to Bill Hicks. He somehow flew 100% under my radar while he was alive, but after repeatedly running across references to him for years (Messages from beyond? Synchronicity? The hand of a benevolent, if highly anti-establishment, God? Who knows...) I managed to get ahold of some of his stuff right after the re-election of Bush II last year. It really, really helped.

Here's a few Hicks quotes -- this guy was a genius:

"Here is my final point. About drugs, about alcohol, about pornography and smoking and everything else. What business is it of yours what I do, read, buy, see, say, think, who I fuck, what I take into my body - as long as I do not harm another human being on this planet?"

"Go back to bed, America, your government has figured out how it all transpired, go back to bed America, your government is in control again. Here, here's American Gladiators. Watch this, shut up, go back to bed America, here is American Gladiators, here is 56 channels of it! Watch these pituitary retards bang their fucking skulls together and congratulate you on living in the land of freedom. Here you go America - you are free to do what we tell you! You are free to do what we tell you!"

"I'll show you politics in America. Here it is, right here. 'I think the puppet on the right shares my beliefs.' 'I think the puppet on the left is more to my liking.' 'Hey, wait a minute, there's one guy holding out both puppets!'"

"You know we armed Iraq. I wondered about that too, you know during the Persian Gulf war those intelligence reports would come out: 'Iraq: incredible weapons - incredible weapons.' How do you know that? 'Uh, well...we looked at the receipts.'"

"The war on drugs to me is absolutely phoney; it’s so obviously phoney, OK? It's a war against our civil rights, that's all it is. They're using it to make us afraid to go out at night, afraid of each other, so that we lock ourselves in our homes and they get suspending our rights one by one."

You know, maybe Hicks was somehow oddly fortunate to have died when he did (1994, age 33, pancreatic cancer. Same thing that killed my uncle about 6 years back). He was this angry, this disgusted, this utterly incapable of fathoming the utter and complete bullshit that is Life in America ... 15 years ago. What would trying to wade through the shit all this time have done to him?

Sigh. I'd have liked to have seen him give it a try.

For way more info on Bill Hicks, check out the links below. If he makes you think, opens your eyes at all, consider a contribution to the Bill Hicks Foundation for Wildlife Rehabilitation.

• Sacred Cow Productions
• billhicks.com - 'People Who Hate People' Party HQ
• The Konformist - The Silence of Bill Hicks
• Bill Hicks - Wikiquote
• Bill Hicks - Interesting Motherfuckers - Acid Logic ezine

Thanks to Lisa Snellings for getting me thinking about Bill today.

Mood: Tired
Now Playing: Tool, "Aenima"

Humor, Dammit! Humor!!!

In an effort to post something that is not sad or moribund or distressing or otherwise depressing, I give you ....

Longmire Does Romance Novels.

I'm really going to have to make a go at doing a few of these myself.

Update: One Hour Later...



Mood: Highly, Officially Amused
Now Playing: John Carpenter, "The Fog"

Ambient Thoughts

I've been listening to Brian Eno's "Ambient 1: Music for Airports" in my car the last couple of days. Great stuff.

If you're not familiar with Eno's ambient work (Music for Airports and Discreet Music are the ones I've heard -- there's also Day of Radiance and On Land, as well as a lot of other work which is heavily ambient even if it is not expressly so), try giving it a listen sometime -- fascinating stuff, and light years away from what is considered "ambient" music nowadays. Most of what passes for ambient now is the stuff that gets played in lounges or restaurants that want to seem hip -- but it's often just standard pop songs without a rhythm track. So if you listen you can still hear the basic 4/4 time signature, the standard verse/chorus/verse/chorus/bridge/chorus approach to writing/churning out a song. It's not really written to be a unique type of music, but rather is created as a by-product of regular dance music that is easier to dance to when stoned and harder to tap your foot to when sober. Not bad really, just mostly uninteresting.

Now, what Eno was working toward with his ambient stuff was the aural equivalent of paintings: Music that could comfortably exist as a "background" experience, but that could also offer a rewarding experience when carefully listened to and scrutinized. The structures of a "song" are sort of there, but not in the usual expected ways. Instead of the rigid v/c/v/c/b/c structure you get lots of independent sound motifs (a pretty little piano run, a chorus of synthesized oooo's, a lovely descending synth line, some very light percussive doodles, etc.) that sort of ... I don't know ... float and bounce around, interacting in different ways at different times over the course of 10-15 minutes. Almost random, but very much not at all random. Fascinating stuff.

Which leads me to the discussion I had with my daughter this morning. Now, every morning I drive Miranda to school. It's not a long drive -- 10 minutes in the car, tops. But it's cool. We get a few minutes that's just for us, and since it's early it's a really good time to throw some music on and just see what she has to say about it.

Now, I listen to pretty much EVERYTHING. Literally. In a given week I can, depending on my moods, swing from Britney Spears to Slayer to Bizet to Duran Duran to Blue Oyster Cult to Ella Fitzgerald to Tool to ABBA, with stops just about anywhere in-between any of those. And I LOVE exposing my kids to lots of kinds of music, just to get their take on it. Miranda, in particular, seems to have my ear for music, in that she describes music in terms that are evocative instead of just "I like this!" For example, recently I played her some Dead Can Dance and within 30 seconds she was telling me how the music sounded like it was from a long ago, ancient place, and that it made her think of Egypt, and it made her want to dance like a snake, which she promptly did. Needless to say, I joined in.

So anyway, I put Music for Airports on and asked her what she thought. And she listened for a minute and then said "It's pretty." So I prompted her a bit, asked her what it made her think of, and she went all quiet. So, I prompted her a bit more, telling her it was named "Music for Airports," and she said "what do you mean, this is music that airports like to listen to? That's silly: Airports don't have ears."

I nearly drove off the road I laughed so hard.

But it got me to thinking: If airports had ears, is this the sort of music they'd listen to? Maybe. Now when I listen to some of Music for Airports, and I hear all those sighing electronic voices, it sounds like some sort of cybernetic angel choir. I imagine enormous, graceful shining metallic angels, singing as they soar through the skies, their wings extended and gleaming in the sun. The voices of things that are sorta like airplanes, but much, much better. Like angels are supposed to be when compared with us. Perfect, without blemish. Sexless and smooth.

And incredibly aerodynamic.

Mood: Kinda floaty
Now Playing: Adrian Belew, "Mr. Music Head"

Valentine's Day: Whoopie

Sigh.

Day three here at Illness Central. Happily, the children both seem to be on the happy side of healthy, with Trevor's fever disappearing sometime last night. Christine, however, continues to run a 100-ish fever and is miserable. We are breaking down and hitting the after-hours clinic in an hour or so, just to make sure she doesn't have strep or anything else that requires antibiotics.

Valentine's gifts were candy and flowers for Christine from the kids and I, and a small toy and some candy from us to the kids. Seeing as my darlin' has been sick as a dog for the past 3 days, I got diddly-squat. I made sure that she got a large box of candy so I can raid it at will.

Sigh.

Of course, I'm starting to feel really run down, and I've got this weird feeling in my throat, like I've got a big wad of phlegm stuck way, way in back. And I'm really tired. So who knows, maybe she gave me something for Valentine's Day after all!

Caring for your sick family: This, too, is love. Kinda short on the whole candy/cherubs/roses/victoriana, but love nonetheless.

Mood: Wrung out
Now Playing: "Aloha Scooby-Doo"

Day Two in the House of Sick

Well, my fervent wishes and prayers that Christine's illness would be of the 24-hour variety went unanswered, as usual. She's still holed up in bed. Trevor's bug is working its way southward, and has manifested in an aggressive bout with diarrhea. For the parent's out there, let me explain that this is his first experience with real diarrhea, and as a result he is only slowly coming to grips with the shall-we-say "urgent nature" of the malady. He's gone through 4 sets of pajamas since about 6:00 last night, and I've had to deal with more shit in close-up Technicolor than I have since the diaper days.

Long night, although I managed to get a good amount of sleep in between the bathroom and ibuprofen patrol. Of course, it's gonna be another long day, so I think I'll keep a running account here for anyone who's interested. I'm getting pretty damn scruffy lookin' -- I'll snap a couple of pictures later for your amusement.

Miranda has been at Mom's for a sleepover, but Mom called last night at about 8 to let me know that she had simply konked out on the floor. Now, 8:00 is Miranda's bedtime, but a sleepover at Nana's is cause for excitement and the fact that she went to sleep so early is cause for concern. Now, of course, my mom doesn't have any children's meds at her place. And consdering that, if she's getting the bug everyone else has then a fever is imminent, I realized I needed to get some stuff for mom ASAP, just in case. Wound up having to run to the store and drop some ibuprofen syrup off at mom's after I managed to get Trevor down. What fun.

-=-

9:01 AM: As it turned out, though, Miranda didn't get sick. She must have just been tired. Instead, she got Mom up at 5:10 this morning. Better her than me, what can I say.

Watched "The Grudge" last night. Meh. Not nearly as spooky as "Ju-On," but just as incoherent.

More later.

Mood: Beat
Now Playing: Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? "Bedlam at the Big Top"

Well, at least SOMETHING good happened today...

... just got my LIVEWRONG bracelet. Got an extra, too, in order to avoid Karl's fate. Shown above, along with a startlingly bad closeup of my rather tired looking face. Check out the mardi gras beads as well. Stuck in the house, nothing to do, I'm gettin' dopey. Next thing you know, I'll be singing karaoke, alone, in the living room.

From the web site:

"Those who LIVEWRONG might...

Live in the woods to save a few bucks on rent, or in a van, down by the river... Not chase the corporate dream... Not watch fox news... Slap a retired sticker on their truck at 30 and make a go at it selling veggie burritos at dead cover band concerts... Tune in, turn on, and drop out... Distrust people who wear dress slacks, unless they bought them at the thrift store for $2 bucks like you did... Believe Evil Knievel is the greatest living example of the American Dream, besides Jenna Jameson... Think EPO stands for "Entering Paris On-time", and it ain't no more dangerous than a of glass of orange juice... Think Danzig had it coming when Danny knocked him out on the Res last year... Consistently give soccer moms all safe and secure in their H2s the finger (please make sure to have the armband in corresponding hand)... Think America is a maelstrom of feel-good corruption that is devoid of any real truth (whatever that means)... Hate reading so much they never get this far down the page. "

LIVEWRONG: At last, a cause I can really get behind.

Mood: Punchy
Now Playing: The B-52's, "Whammy!"

Lame Ass Saturday

Man, this is turning out to be a shitty day.

Our original plan for today/tonight went as follows: Do 3-4 hours of freelance work in the morning to get it out of the way and earn some cash. Grab a nice leisurely workout at the gym in the mid-afternoon. Kids head over to Nana's for a sleepover sometime around 4-ish. We get a couple/few hours of chill-out time, then head out for dinner with two other couples at our favorite restaurant (Valentine's Day, doncha know) at 7:00, followed by us all heading back to our child-free home for as-late-as-we-can-handle drinks and goofin' around (of the fairly tame "Trivial Pursuit" variety). Then, late night hanky panky followed by sleeping in until 8:00 or so.

Man, that would have been nice.

Now, for the reality: One couple had to bail out yesterday. This morning, I woke up at 5:15 and couldn't get back to sleep. About 3 hours later I go up to check on Christine and she's running a 101 degree fever and is miserable. I've got to take care of the kids, so doing my freelance work is pretty much impossible, so I take a single phone call to get some questions answered and that's it. Now I get to try to cram 6 or 7 hours of freelancing in tomorrow and in the evenings next week, after work. I take the kids and go grab some breakfast at Chik-Fil-A, where I notice that my son is neither eating nor playing. We head home, he goes to lay down, takes a 2 hour nap, and wakes up with a 101 degree fever. So now he's all upset that he can't go to Nana's and is crying pretty much non-stop. My daughter is climbing the walls with boredom since we can't really go anywhere since her brother is sick and I can't drag him around, nor can I leave him with my wife because she's sick as a dog. Dinner has been canceled.

So tonight, I'm thinking it's gonna be me, a bottle of wine, a frozen pizza, a video, and my hand for a Valentine's Day date. This totally blows.

OK, my Mom just showed up. Gotta run to the store and grab supplies for the evening. More later if anything good happens.

Mood: Surly, and kinda stinky
Now Playing: Celia Cruz & Friends, "A Night of Salsa"

Ahhh, Love

Not much to say today, really. Just wanted to drop a link to this wonderful entry in TranceJen's blog from today. I've been following her blog for most of the last year or so, and she's remarkable. Easily one of the best journal's out there: Biting. acerbic, bracingly honest and forthcoming. And after reading her for a few months you can't help but love her a bit, to feel as if you know her a bit.

So, when I read, today, that she got back together with her ex-boyfriend DC, and the WAY she wrote about getting back together with him, I just got all teary-eyed. Man, I want them to be all sorts of ridiculously happy.

You know, most folks can be strong and alone and be just fine, but I firmly believe that it takes a lot more strength to admit that you can need help and love and support to be truly great. I know that without Christine, the single finest person I have ever known, in my life I'd be less than half the man that I am. And it's not co-dependent: I'm just bigger, stronger, better with her in my life. I'm a better man because she's with me.

And now I better shut the fuck up, before I sound too much like a Celine Dion song. I'll just close by saying I wish you all the sort of love that truly changes your life.

Mood: Warm and fuzzy
Now Playing: Jeopardy

"I'd Hit It!" List

OK, picked this idea up from Karl's blog: An "I'd Hit It!" list.

Basically, the rules are name 10 celebrities with whom you'd really, really like to have sex. When you've posted the list to your journal (if you have one) then comment here with a link to your list. If you don't do the whole journal thing, just add your list here as a comment.

Scoring: Karl claimed there would be extra points for mixed sexes, so I've adjusted the rules for my list slightly. If you're bi, go ahead and mix it up in the list and name 11 names instead of 10. But if you're totally straight or totally gay, take advantage of the Desert Island pick for the extra point.

About the Desert Island Pick: Assume you are in a classic "situational team switch" situation -- desert island, no hope of rescue, one other person on the island with whom to indulge in some hanky-panky, and they happen to be same-sex (if you're straight) or opposite-sex (assuming you're a big ol' homo), then who would you prefer it to be?

And of course, if you're so freakin' repressed that you just simply can't fathom (or admit to the possibility) that given the right circumstances you might tell Kinsey to fuck himself and switch teams, then, well, no extra point for you! You will lose! Lose lose lose!!!

Anyway, here's my list -- in alphabetical order:

I'd Hit It!

1. Angela Bassett (I've had this unbelievable crush on her ever since I saw "Strange Days")
   
2. Monica Belluci (So freakin' hot it should be illegal)
   
3. Marcia Cross (OK, that scene in "Desperate Housewives," where she shows up at her husband's hotel room in a fur and little else? Woof!)
   
4. Sherilyn Fenn (Haven't seen her lookin' good lately -- she did a guest spot on Gilmore Girls last season and didn't look so hot, but she wasn't really supposed to. But in her Twin Peaks days I would literally get dizzy as the blood rushed from my head to... well... elsewhere)
   
5. Lauren Graham (All I gotta say is "Fuck me Santa fuck me Santa fuck me Santa ...")
   
6. Alison Hannigan (So hot, in that geeky way)
   
7. Salma Hayek (No explanation necessary)
   
8. Michelle Pfeiffer (More ten years ago than now, but she's still utterly gorgeous and is still in my marriage contract as my "Get Out of Guilt Free" celeb fuck, should the occasion present itself)
   
9. Aishwarya Rai (The only woman on this list who is, possibly, almost too beautiful for me to even dream of having sex with. It would be like banging a Botticelli. I think I could muster the courage, though....)
   
10. Catherine Zeta-Jones (just an all around gorgeous, gorgeous woman. But ever since she married Michael Douglas you just know she smells like "Grandpa Breath").
    

Desert Island Pick:

George Clooney or Heath Ledger. Now that's some fine lookin' gentlemen right there. Trapped on a desert island, no hope of rescue? A man could do worse.

Mood: Punchy
Now Playing: BT, "Movement in Still Life (UK Edition)"

Piggyback Ride!

OK, funny story I just wanted to get down before I forget.

Last night, I'm holed up in my bedroom at about 7:30, taking care of some freelance work I've picked up. Wonderful way to cap off an already too long work day. But anyhow.

Christine's just taken care of giving the kids a bath, and they're getting dressed for bed. Our two omnipresent poodles, Cinnamon and Scarlett, are darting about and ensuring they never leave the maximum 10 foot distance they allow from any particular member of the family. I swear, they remind me of that silly sci-fi movie that was out a few years ago, where the prisoners had to wear collars that would explode and blow their heads off if they got too far away from the prison perimeter. You'd think their little poodle noggins will pop right off if they aren't in the room with one of us at all times.

But I digress.

So, anyway, Christine has walked into the bedroom to talk to me about something or other when we suddenly hear Miranda laughing excitedly, and screaming "Oh Scarlett! What a nice dog!"

Then she comes running into the bedroom, smiling and laughing with that total abandon in that way that tends to disappear as soon as your age hits double-digits. I say "What's up, honey?"

"Daddy, you'll NEVER believe what Scarlett did!"

Christine and I shoot each other a quizzical glance, and then I say "OK, I'll bite, honey. What did Scarlett do?"

"She gave Cinnamon a piggyback ride!!! Cinnamon climbed right on her back and started bouncing up and down and Scarlett carried her all the way across the room!"

I swear, I laughed so hard I nearly swallowed my own tongue.

I was thinking about explaining the whole dominance behavior thing, and then it occurred to me that that would lead to "why do they do that at all?" which would lead to a sex talk (not a problem, really) which would then lead to "but they're both girls" which would lead to even more questions and perhaps a bit more of an in-depth discussion of sexuality and its many variants than I was up for last night.

Still, great moment. Can't wait 'til she's older so I can tell her boyfriend all about it. Mwahahahahahahahaha.

And yes, I'm pretty sure she's straight -- the kid is freakin' boy crazy and has been engaged 3 times already. And she's 6.

Help.

Mood: Could really go for a "piggyback ride" myself....
Now Playing: Thomas Newman, "Angels in America"

The Curse of the Non-Sports Fan Male

Just home from a Superbowl "Party." Not much of a "party," really. About a dozen adults plus kids, some beer, and food. More of a gathering, really. But anyway. It is currently 9:11PM CST, which, unless something has changed drastically in the past few minutes, would indicate that the Superbowl is in fact still going on. Couldn't care less, personally.

See, I'm just not a sports fan. I mean, I enjoy some sports just fine -- mostly individual sports, where you can really observe the one-to-one relationship between training and result. Gymnastics. Skating. The World's Strongest Man Competition (the most absurdly theatrical and entertaining fake sporting event EVER). But team sports, in general, leave me icy cold.

So, I'm at this Superbowl party. The host is a good friend, and a terrific guy, if a bit bland. One other guest is a dear friend -- we don't exactly overlap a bunch in terms of politics or general realms of interest, but where we do overlap we can really have a blast. Nice guy.

But, well, the others?

Stiffs.

I'll never understand these sports fan people who want to stare, with laser-like focus and intesity, at a sporting event, even if it's a boring one. Every attempt at joking around and getting conversation going stalled instantly tonight, killed in its infancy by dullard-like uh-huh's and sighs of discontent that communicated, clearly, "can't we just watch the game?"

But, don't these guys realize tonight's game was boring as shit? Isn't there something to be said for declaring that a game is dull and instead trying to get some sort of chatter going to keep things interesting, even if the game is kept on for the sake of tracking the results?

I realized I was really, truly, out of my element when, during the absurdly dull and irrelevant halftime show, one of the guys kept stating, matter of factly, that Paul McCartney is "a real class act." Over and over. And noting with reverence that his voice has really held up.

Oh, ferchrissakes.

Wound up heading downstairs and chattering with a latecomer and his wife about religion (they are really, really nice folks who are at particularly difficult crossroads in terms of our parish -- them moreso than me, for lots of reasons, which is somewhat of a relief -- so at least it was an enthralling talk), and then struck up a great conversation with my wife and another friend (the wife of the one cool guy upstairs). Blessed relief.

Sigh. People wonder why I have so many gay friends when I am, myself, not gay. Well, this is why. The tyrannical mediocrity of straight sports fandom. The implication that if you're straight and not enthralled by a dull football game (not that exciting games aren't out there -- but I've found that they are the exception, not the rule) then you are somehow wrong for the pack. The clear and precise decision to stare, slack-jawed, at a poor game rather than engage in a good conversation.

What the fuck is wrong with people? What the fuck is wrong with *me*?

Mood: Annoyed.
Now Playing: Nada.

Why I Adore Lisa Snellings

OK, time for a change of pace here. Too much downy-clowny lately. Let's try to focus on something wonderful for a change.

And by "wonderful," I mean Lisa Snellings-Clark.

Not sure why, but yesterday, out of the blue, Lisa Snellings crossed my mind, so I Googled her to see what she's been up to, professionally. Snellings is a tremendously talented artist that I've had the good fortune to meet, briefly, about 3 or 4 times. Her work is spectacularly good and she is just plain cool. I remember the first time I encountered her work. I was attending Dragon*Con in Atlanta. I believe it was the year after my daughter was born, so that would be 1999. She was touring the artists room with some of her Dark Carnival pieces, and I was instantly enthralled.

Now, Dark Carnival was a mechanical/sculptural piece of a darkly fantastic carnival, a nightmare phantasmagoria populated by harlequins and angels and imps and ghostly figures, all cavorting about on these fantastic, fully-functional carnival ride models. A ferris wheel, a carousel, and most specatular of all, a fully functional mechanical roller coaster. The level of detail in these peices was simply astonishing, to say nothing of the singular vision and unique quality of the work.

One of the most frustratingly dull things about the "art" shows at a sci-fi/fantasy convention, beyond the enormous signal-to-noise/talent-to-dreck ratio, is the absurd level of derivative and uninspired work you see. Besides the tremendous load of crap being foisted on the buyers, who will often buy anything that is somehow associated with their fandom niche, nearly everything looks like something you've seen before: A novel cover, a Boris Vallejo or Frank Frazetta painting, a particularly striking scene from a film. Once you sift through the truly awful stuff, you're often left with nothing but technically proficient executions of familiar themes. Sort of the fandom equivalent of well-made hotel room art.

But sometimes, rarely, perhaps once in a lifetime, you stumble on someone like Lisa Snellings.

Her work is darkly enchanting. There's a dollop of whimsy, a hint of humor, a touch of eroticism, and this vague "hair-standing-on-the-back of-your-neck" whiff of dread all generously mixed into her work. Some of her pieces are very directly "spooky" (check out "Don't Ask Jack"), while others are more like fabulous, dark and delicious dream images. Her pieces make me think of Carnival, of Mardi Gras, of harlequins in dark firelit streets, of late-night subtly erotic visions hazed by alcohol or laudanum, of the shadow of a doll cast on the wall of a child's room late at night which seems to move ... just ... slightly ... when you close your eyes prentending to be asleep and vulnerable and then open them suddenly.

Her work is simply fantastic. Beautfiul, evocative, challenging and wonderful stuff. She's also recently started a journal that's definitely worth a look. Stop by her site and look around. Google her name and click around a bit. She's simply wonderful. And while you're at it, buy some of her work. Those ridiculously cool RatBag figures are a steal at a measley $25!

Mood: Kinda giddy.
Now Playing: Sinead O'Connor, "She Who Dwells in the Secret Place of the Most High Shall Abide Under the Shadow of the Almighty"

Back from Houston, Back to the Grind

So the Houston trip was terrific, all in all, although the weather was miserable, non-stop. Rained its ass off the whole way there, the whole time we were there, and the entire trip back. So glad we picked a hotel with an indoor pool -- it definitely made the whole thing a bit more fun.

Hit the Houston Museum of Natural Science on Tuesday, which was cool. Saw an IMAX movie about the coral reefs and Miranda is now very concerned. 6 years old and she's concerned about global warming, over fishing, and logging operations fogging the waters in areas of Fiji. Trevor, on the other hand, was far more intrigued by the film we saw at the planetarium regarding Huygen's-Cassini probe and Saturn.

Man, my kids rock.

So yeah, 2 days away, great time was had by all. And in a wonderful stroke of good furtune, upon returning I received a check from my mortgage company. seems we had some extra cash sitting in our escrow account, so they sent me a refund. The check nearly covered the total amount I spent on the trip. So cool! That should happen more. Like, say, 2 or 3 times a week.

And in a surprising personal life development, I've found that I actually kind of sort of enjoy ... karaoke. Well, computerized karaoke. I'm currently addicted to playing Karaoke Revolution on my Xbox.

Otherwsie, not much going on. I'm in some sort of hazy lull right now. No drive, neither particularly excited nor bored nor anything at all. Just sort of ... here. Maybe it's the weather. No idea.

Mood: Blase.
Now Playing: Kate Bush, "This Woman's Work, Volume I"