2013, ISBN: 9780141006468

Gebundene Ausgabe

Fodor's. Used - Good. . . All orders guaranteed and ship within 24 hours. Your purchase supports More Than Words, a nonprofit job training program for youth, empowering youth to tak… Mehr…

Fodor's. Used - Good. . . All orders guaranteed and ship within 24 hours. Your purchase supports More Than Words, a nonprofit job training program for youth, empowering youth to take charge of their lives by taking charge of a business., Fodor's, 2.5, Paperback. Very Good., 3, Hardback. Very Good., 3, Hardback. Good., 2.5, Jazz Heritage ‎– 513164H, 1992. Audio CD. Very Good. with paperwork, cd plays fine.TracklistPositionArtistsTitle/CreditsDuration1–The New Orleans FeetwarmersMaple Leaf RagBass – Wilson MyersDrums – Morris Morland*Piano – Henry "Hank" DuncanTrombone – Teddy NixonTrumpet – Tommy LadnierWritten-By – Scott Joplin2:552–The New Orleans FeetwarmersI've Found A New BabyWritten-By – Palmer*, Williams*3:123–Tommy Ladnier And His OrchestraWeary BluesBass – Elmer JamesClarinet, Tenor Saxophone – Mezz MezzrowDrums – Manzie JohnsonGuitar – Teddy BunnPiano – Cliff JacksonTrumpet – Tommy LadnierWritten-By – Artie Matthews3:004–Tommy Ladnier And His OrchestraReally The BluesWritten-By – Mezz Mezzrow3:375–Jelly Roll Morton's New Orleans JazzmenHigh SocietyBass – Wellman BraudClarinet – Albert NicholasDrums – Zutty SingletonGuitar – Lawrence LuciePiano – Jelly Roll MortonTenor Saxophone – Happy CaldwellTrombone – Claude JonesTrumpet – Sidney De ParisWritten-By – Traditional2:476–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersIndian SummerBass – Wilson MyersDrums – Kenny ClarkeGuitar – Charlie HowardPiano – Sonny WhiteVocals – Sidney BechetWritten-By – Victor Herbert3:087–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersSidney's BluesWritten-By – Sidney Bechet3:028–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersShake It And Break ItBass – Wellman BraudDrums – Sid Catlett*Guitar – Bernard AddisonPiano – Cliff JacksonTrombone – Sandy WilliamsTrumpet – Sidney De ParisWritten-By – Clark*, Frisco*2:569–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersWild Man BluesWritten-By – Morton*, Armstrong*3:1810–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersSave It, Pretty MamaBass – John LindsayCornet – Rex StewartDrums – Baby DoddsPiano – Earl HinesWritten-By – Redman*, Davis*, Denniker*2:5211–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersStompy JonesWritten-By – Duke Ellington2:4912–Dr Henry Levine's Barefooted Dixieland PhilharmonicMuskrat RambleSoprano Saxophone – Professor Sidney Bechet*Written-By – Edward "Kid" Ory*2:4713–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersBaby, Won't You Please Come HomeBass – Wellman BraudDrums – J.C. HeardPiano – James TolliverTrombone – J.C. HigginbothamTrumpet – Henry "Red" AllenWritten-By – Warfield*, Williams*2:3414–Sidney Bechet's One Man BandThe Sheikh Of ArabyBass – Sidney BechetClarinet – Sidney BechetDrums – Sidney BechetPiano – Sidney BechetSoprano Saxophone – Sidney BechetTenor Saxophone – Sidney BechetWritten-By – Wheeler*, Smith*, Snyder*2:1015–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersWhen It's Sleepy Time Down SouthBass – Wilson MyersDrums – Arthur HerbertPiano – Cliff JacksonTenor Saxophone – Lem JohnsonTrombone – Sandy WilliamsTrumpet – Gus AikenWritten-By – Muse*, Rene*, Rene*3:0116–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersI'm Coming VirginiaBass – Wilson MyersDrums – Manzie JohnsonGuitar – Everett BarksdalePiano – Willie "The Lion" SmithTrumpet – Charlie ShaversWritten-By – Heywood*, Cook*2:3817–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersStrange FruitWritten-By – Lewis Allen*2:3118–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersBlues In The AirBass – Ernest Williamson*Drums – Manzie JohnsonPiano – Don DonaldsonTrombone – Vic DickensonTrumpet – Henry GoodwinWritten-By – Sidney Bechet2:4519–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersThe MoocheWritten-By – Ellington*, Mills*3:0920–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersTwelfth Street RagBass – Wellman BraudDrums – Sidney CatlettGuitar – Everett BarksdalePiano – Willie "The Lion" SmithTrumpet – Charlie ShaversWritten-By – Bowman*, Sumner*2:5921–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersMood IndigoWritten-By – Bigard*, Ellington*, Mills*3:1522–Sidney Bechet And His New Orleans FeetwarmersWhat Is This Thing Called Love?Written-By – Cole Porter3:33Credits This Listing Includes The Actual Picture of the book . Please email me if you need to see more pictures! The orders are processed promptly, carefully packaged and shipped within 1 day of purchase. PLEASE NOTE! if you need the book quickly, please Purchase Priority Shipping.Media will not show updates in mail confirmation till reaches continental U.S. FOR International orders under 5 lbs please use asendia for the cheapest rates worldwide!, Jazz Heritage ‎– 513164H, 1992, 3, Paperback. Acceptable., 2.5, Paperback. Very Good., 3, Paperback. Good., 2.5, Abbeville Press Inc.,U.S., 1998-12-31. Hardcover. Good. 2.8179 in x 23.1724 in x 16.6773 in. Ex-library book, usual markings. Hardback with dust cover. Clean text, sound binding., Abbeville Press Inc.,U.S., 1998-12-31, 2.5, Thames And Hudson Ltd, 1997. This is an ex-library book and may have the usual library/used-book markings inside.This book has hardback covers. In good all round condition. Dust Jacket in fair condition. Please note the Image in this listing is a stock photo and may not match the covers of the actual item,1650grams, ISBN:9780500018101, Thames And Hudson Ltd, 1997, 0, Thames And Hudson Ltd, 1998. This is an ex-library book and may have the usual library/used-book markings inside.This book has soft covers. In fair condition, suitable as a study copy. Please note the Image in this listing is a stock photo and may not match the covers of the actual item,500grams, ISBN:9780500203187, Thames And Hudson Ltd, 1998, 0, Thames & Hudson, 1999-02-01. Paperback. Good. 0.6000 in x 8.1000 in x 5.8000 in. Paperback. Some surface/edge wear to cover. Pages are in good condition. Some highlighting., Thames & Hudson, 1999-02-01, 2.5, Oxford University Press, 11/1/2013. Illustrated. hardcover. Good. 11x8x1. Bruise/tear to cover., Oxford University Press, 11/1/2013, 2.5, New York: Arcade Publishing, 1994, 1994. Hardcover. Collectible - Fine/Near Fine. Octavo, hardcover, Fine in Near Fine white pictorial dj..First printing. Gift quality. 252 pp. On sport and other amusements--of wit, curiosity, and insight to bear on the world of sports and entertainment. He writes with equal verve on golf (his favorite sport), tennis, boxing, sailing, and horse racing. And his selections on the movies, jazz, and the theater are just as delightful., New York: Arcade Publishing, 1994, 1994, 4.5, Arcade Pub. NY, First No. Amer. Ed. 1995, 1995. Paperback. Very Good. Octavo, softcover, VG in white and green pictorial wraps. Here the host of Masterpiece Theatre brings his blend of wit, curiousity and insight to bear on sports and entertainment--golf (his favorite sport), tennis, boxing, s ailing and horse racing. also movies, jazz, and theater. 255 pp., Arcade Pub. NY, First No. Amer. Ed. 1995, 1995, 3, Fodor's, September 1997. Trade Paperback . Good. Light edge and cover wear. Unmarked pages. All Orders Shipped With Tracking And Delivery Confirmation Numbers., Fodor's, 2.5, Oxford University Press, USA. Hardcover. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Oxford University Press, USA, 2.5, Paperback. Very Good., 3, Abbeville Pr. Hardcover. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Abbeville Pr, 2.5, Rough Guides. Very Good. 198mm / 128mm. Paperback. 1994. 1110 pages. <br>This guide is a comprehensive and practical handb ook to the entire US, providing full details of the sights plus a ll the information necessary to get the best value across the cou ntry. Features include: state-by-state accounts from Florida to H awaii, covering the dynamic modern cities - New York, Chicago, LA alongside natural wonders like Yosemite and the Grand Canyon.;A strong emphasis on contemporary American life - from country musi c in Nashville and jazz in New Orleans, to gambling in Las Vegas and catching a ball game in Boston. Entertaining accounts of the people and places that have shaped America, from the ghost towns of the Wild West to Mark Twain's Mississippi. Critical first-hand reviews of hotels, restaurants, clubs and bars from coast to coa st, with strong practical advice on how to travel safely and easi ly. ., Rough Guides, 1994, 3, London.: Wire Magazine., 1988. 58pp, features & reviews, photographs. This issue includes: John Scofield, John McLaughlin, Chet Baker, Johnny Hodges, Von Freeman.. Magazine.. Very Good+. 4to - over 9¾" - 12" tall., Wire Magazine., 1988, 3, London.: Wire Magazine., 1986. 82pp, features & reviews, photographs. The Jazz and New Music Magazine. Double Issue. This issue includes: Lester Bowie, Brandford Marsalis, Dexter Gordon, Frank Zappa & more.. Magazine.. Very Good. 4to - over 9¾" - 12" tall., Wire Magazine., 1986, 3, Paperback. Acceptable., 2.5, Paperback. Very Good., 3, Thames & Hudson. Used - Good. Good condition., Thames & Hudson, 2.5, Delacorte Press. Good. 5.1 x 1.2 x 7.6 inches. Hardcover. 2006. 336 pages. Ex-library. Cover worn. <br>Some women shop. Some eat. Dora cures the blues by bingeing on books-reading one after anot her, from Flaubert to bodice rippers, for hours and days on end. In this wickedly funny and sexy literary debut, we meet the begui ling, beautiful Dora, whose unique voice combines a wry wit and v ulnerability as she navigates the road between reality and fictio n. Dora, named after Eudora Welty, is an indiscriminate book jun kie whose life has fallen apart-her career, her marriage, and fin ally her self-esteem. All she has left is her love of literature, and the book benders she relied on as a child. Ever since her la rger-than-life father wandered away and her book-loving, alcoholi c mother was left with two young daughters, Dora and her sister, Virginia, have clung to each other, enduring a childhood filled w ith literary pilgrimages instead of summer vacations. Somewhere a long the way Virginia made the leap into the real world. But Dora isn't quite there yet. Now she's coping with a painful separatio n from her husband, scraping the bottom of a dwindling inheritanc e, and attracted to a seductive book-seller who seems to embody a ll that literature has to offer-intelligent ideas, romance, and a n escape from her problems. Joining Dora in her odyssey is an e lderly society hair-brusher, a heartbroken young girl, a hilariou s off-the-wall female teamster, and Dora's mother, now on the wag on, trying to make amends. Along the way Dora faces some powerful choices. Between two irresistible men. Between idleness and work . And most of all between the joy of well-chosen words and the un tidiness of real people and real life. Editorial Reviews From P ublishers Weekly Kaufman, a former L.A. Times staff writer, and M ack, a former attorney and Golden Globe Award- winning film and T V producer, check in with this solid, thoughtful chick lit debut. Dora, at 35, is a twice-divorced former young reporter on the ri se at the L.A. Times. Second ex-husband Palmer is now head of Son y Pictures, and still supporting her. Dora's depressed, and she o nly leaves the house to stalk Palmer and buy more books. At the b ookstore, she meets elegantly scraggly comp lit Ph.D. Fred, and t hey begin an unlikely courtship. Dora is soon surprised by Fred's invitation to meet his mother, Bea, whom Dora likes instantly, a ll the more so when she learns Bea is also raising Harper, the si x-year-old daughter of Fred's troubled sister. The bond between B ea and Dora gives Dora something she never had with her own, alco holic mother, and helps her make decisions that bring her life ba ck into focus. Dora is the kind of deadpan and imperfect heroine with whom readers can easily identify. Kaufman and Mack mishandle the abrupt ending and epilogue, but are most likely setting up a welcome sequel. (June 6) Copyright ® Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. From Book list Book lust meets chick lit in this tale of a love-challenged bookworm. Dora, named for Eudora Welty, confesses, I collect new books the way my girlfriends buy designer handbags. Estranged fro m her husband and living in a luxurious L.A. high-rise, she deals with melancholy by taking long baths while drinking wine and rea ding paperbacks. Luckily, her habit must be fed, requiring freque nt trips to the local bookstore, where she meets tall, handsome F red--a starving playwright who ekes out a living by providing boo k-group recommendations to Brentwood housewives. Soon they're inv olved in a heated romance, but things begin to sour when Dora mee ts his family. Then Dora's husband pops up, and confusion creeps in. Dora is a charming character, and readers will appreciate som e of her more neurotic tendencies, such as her debilitating fear of driving on freeways. No literary masterpiece, this cowritten d ebut reads instead like a gossipy e-mail from a witty, intelligen t friend. A list of referenced books and authors is included at t he end. Emily Cook Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved Review A book with the word Literacy in the titl e? A book with a lot of astute and telling quotes used as a plot device?... Literacy and Longing in L.A. turns out to be the most delightful read of the year.... An absolute romp dotted with the kind of wise sayings you never want to forget.-Liz Smith Kaufman and Mack cultivate a bright, breezy tone.... This is chick ficti on in its purest form, so humor is always plentiful.-The Miami He rald Jennifer Kaufman and Karen Mack have a lot of nerve! How d are they come up with the brilliant idea to write a novel about a woman who tells her life story through her obsession with books! And how dare they execute it so beautifully?!...The book is shar p, seamless and very, very funny. I wish I had written it.-Sara N elson, author of So Many Books, So Little Time A poignant and w itty tale of life, love and letters in Los Angles...[a] brilliant debut novel.-Karen Quinn, author of The Ivy Chronicles A wonder ful story that completely won me over-insecure bookish Dora will appeal to anyone who has ever found solace or inspiration in read ing. This is chick lit for bookworms, at times breezy, sexy, prof ound...-Denise Hamilton, author of Prisoner of Memory A delightf ully stylish romp through life and love in Southern California in which our heroine offers irrefutable proof that literacy and L.A . are not mutually exclusive. -Judith Ryan Hendricks, author of T he Baker's Apprentice I'm absolutely crazy about Literacy and Lo nging in L.A., which deftly serves up all the best elements of so -called 'chick lit,' lovingly larded with light-hearted, quick-wi tted, absolutely astonishing learning!-Carolyn See, author of Mak ing a Literary Life Funny and charming.... What a pleasing combi nation: books and romance.-Fort Worth Star-Telegram Funny and ch arming.... A bit of chick lit for women who actually love to read .-Arizona Republic About the Author Karen Mack, a former attorne y, is a Golden Globe Award-winning film and television producer. Jennifer Kaufman was a staff writer at the Los Angeles Times and is a two-time winner of the national Penney-Missouri Journalism A ward. Their debut novel, Literacy and Longing in L.A., was a #1 L os Angeles Times bestseller and also won the 2006 Southern Califo rnia Booksellers Association Award for Fiction. Excerpt. ® Repri nted by permission. All rights reserved. Master of the Universe All the best stories in the world are but one story in reality, t he story of escape. It is the only thing which interests us all a nd at all times, how to escape. -Arthur Christopher Benson (1862- 1925)- Women do different things when they're depressed. Some sm oke, others drink, some call their therapists, some eat. My mothe r used to go ballistic when she and my father had a fight, then s he'd booze for days on end and vanish into her bedroom. My sister was more into the global chill mode; give 'em the silent treatme nt and, in the meantime, gorge on frozen Sara Lee banana cake. An d I do what I have always done-go off on a book bender that can l ast for days. I fall into this state for different reasons. Some times it's after an I hate your fucking guts fight. Other times i t's symptomatic of my state of mind, ennui up to my ears, my life gone awry, and that feeling of dread whenever I'm asked what I'm doing. How can anyone sort all this out? All things considered, I'd rather read. It's the perfect escape. I have a whole mantra for my book binges. First of all, I open a bottle of good red win e. Then I turn off my cell phone, turn on my answering machine, a nd gather all the books I've been meaning to read or reread and h aven't. Finally, I fill up the tub with thirty-dollar bubble bath , fold a little towel at the end of the tub so it just fits in th e crick of my neck, and turn on my music. I have an old powder-bl ue plastic Deco radio near the tub that I bought at a garage sale in Hollywood a few years ago. The oddest thing: the radio only r eceives one AM radio station, which plays jazz standards from the forties and fifties, and it suits me just fine. Within my bathr oom walls is a self-contained field of dreams and I am in total c ontrol, the master of my own elegantly devised universe. The outs ide world disappears and here, there is only peace and a profound sense of well-being. Most of the people in my life take a dim v iew of this . . . what would you call it? Monomania? Eccentricity ? My sister is perhaps the most diplomatic. We both know that I h ave a tendency to lose my tether to reality when I close myself o ff like this. But then she'll joke that I'm really just another b oring bibliomaniac and what I really need is a little fresh air. She always was a whiz with words. She actually informed me that a book she read by Nicholas Basbanes (appropriately called Among t he Gently Mad) states that the first documented use of the word b ibliomania came in 1750 when the fourth earl of Chesterfield sent a letter to his illegitimate son warning him that this consuming diversion with books should be avoided like the bubonic plague. Ho hum. I peel off my clothes and throw them on the floor. As I' m walking to the tub, I glance at the floor-to-ceiling mirror tha t covers the south wall of my bathroom. Oh god. Wait a minute. Yo u know how you look in the mirror and you look the same and you l ook the same and all of a sudden you look ten years older? It's f itting that at age thirty-five I should notice this. My waist is thicker, my breasts saggier, the beginnings of--shit, is that cel lulite on the backs of my thighs? Why is it that you think this a ge thing won't happen to you? Oh, and look at the backs of my elb ows! They look like old-lady wrinkled elbows with a sharp, bony p rotrusion. I've never been able to figure out my looks. I've bee n told I'm striking. But what does that mean? It's something peop le say when they can't give you the usual compliments, like you'r e beautiful. It could be my height that puts them off. I'm almost five foot ten, which has only recently become fashionable. I als o have enormous feet. Size 10 on a good day. When I was young, I hated my tall, too-thin, sticklike figure, which my mother descr ibed as willowy. She'd argue that my looks were special and would be appreciated when I got older. Just give yourself time, she'd say. You'll see. You'll outshine all those other girls with hourg lass figures. I felt like Frankie in The Member of the Wedding: a big freak . . . legs too long . . . shoulders too narrow . . . b elonging to no club and a member of nothing in the world. It was n't just my appearance. I always felt like an oddball, the except ion in a world where I imagined other families were normal and ha ppy. Virginia and I endured the secrets and shame of an absent fa ther and an alcoholic mother, and the few friends I had, I kept a t a distance, always relieved when they didn't come over. The fac t of the matter was that I was embarrassed that my mother couldn' t cope, and in some ways, she passed that on to me. I shut my ey es as I get into the tub. I have purposely made the water scaldin g hot and when I dip my foot in, my toes turn red and start to st ing. Too hot. I add a little cold, letting the water run through my fingers as I listen to a tinny version of Coltrane blasting ou t Love Supreme. Paul Desmond once said that listening to late-nig ht jazz is like having a very dry martini. I think he's right. I stick my foot back in and then ease my body into the water. Stil l too hot. I twist the spigot with my toes, adding more cold. The re. Perfect. I pick up The Transit of Venus, an obscure novel by Shirley Hazzard, whose newest book, The Great Fire, has become a favorite among book clubs. The premise is fascinating. It's about two beautiful orphaned sisters whose lives are as predestined as the rotation of the planets. I try to concentrate. The prose is dense and complex; I have to keep rereading paragraphs. I start t o daydream and lose my place. This isn't working for me. Basicall y, I'm still depressed. Maybe it's just the time of year. It's C hristmas, I'm alone, and my social prospects are nonexistent. Thi s is the season to be somewhere else, and for the majority of my friends, that means packing up the kids and maybe a few of their best friends and migrating to second homes in Maui, Aspen, Cabo, Sun Valley, and the second tier, Palm Springs and Las Vegas. Bei ng in West L.A. in December is like being banished to an isolated retreat or even a rehab center where parties and other forms of merriment are verboten. Not that I'm complaining. If you come fro m the east, the weather here in December is glorious. Right up un til the El Ni-o rains in late January and February, the world is temperate, mild, and forgiving. Natural disasters like fires, flo ods, landslides, and earthquakes don't happen in West L.A. This year I have no plans to go anywhere and I am occasionally nagged by that insidious feeling of missing out. When I was with Palmer, we used to go to the Four Seasons on Maui every year. We'd get t he corner suite and even bribe a beachboy to reserve our lounges every day to avoid getting up at five a.m. like everyone else. (I n truth, most of our friends just had their nannies do it.) Now I hear Palmer is going to St. Barts. He thinks it's younger, hippe r, and more fun, unlike being with me. I used to sit by the pool in the shade and read all day. The phone rings. It's my sister, Virginia. She sounds worried. I know you're there, Dora. Why have n't you returned my calls? If you don't pick up I'm coming over . . . I pick up. I'm okay, I say. You don't sound okay. Are you doing another one of your book-hermit things? Nobody knows me lik e Virginia. I've been a little upset. A little, like twenty-fou r hours little or a little, like three days little? Like three d ays little. Doesn't sound little to me. Do you want me to come o ver? I look around. My place is a shambles. No. Really. I'm fine . I was just going out. I convince her that I'm simply marvelous and she buys it. She just doesn't get it. She has a husband and a baby. Who can blame her? I pick up the Hazzard book and try ag ain. This is so depressing. I have just finished an early chapter about Ted Tice, Paul Ivory, and Caro, and I can already tell the y are all eventually doomed to lives of unspeakable loss and trag edy. For one thing, Paul is, Delacorte Press, 2006, 2.5, Harlequin Teen. Good. 5.38 x 1.2 x 8.25 inches. Paperback. 2011. 432 pages. Ex-library. Cover worn<br>Savannah Colbert has never k nown why she's so hated by the kids of the Clann. Nor can she den y her instinct to get close to Clann golden boy Tristan Coleman. Especially when she recovers from a strange illness and the attra ction becomes nearly irresistible. It's as if he's a magnet, pull ing her gaze, her thoughts, even her dreams. Her family has warne d her to have nothing to do with him, or any members of the Clann . But when Tristan is suddenly everywhere she goes, Savannah fear s she's destined to fail. For years, Tristan has been forbidden to even speak to Savannah Colbert. Then Savannah disappears from school for a week and comes back...different, and suddenly he can 't stay away. Boys seem intoxicated just from looking at her. His own family becomes stricter than ever. And Tristan has to fight his own urge to protect her, to be near her no matter the consequ ences.... Editorial Reviews About the Author Melissa Darnell is the author of a growing list of adult and YA fiction and nonfict ion books, including The Clann Series #1: Crave, The Clann Series #2: Covet, The Source, and The Ultimate Guide to Making Cheer/Da nce Gear & Gifts. Born in California, she grew up in Jacksonville , Texas and has also called the following states home since then: Utah, West Virginia, Louisiana, Alabama, Kentucky, Iowa and Sout h Dakota. She currently lives in Nebraska with her husband Tim an d two children, Hunter and Alexander, where she enjoys watching W hale Wars, Glee and True Blood, designing digital graphic product s for the virtual world of Second Life, and of course writing her latest book. Visit her websites for news, online playlists for e ach of her books, and more at MelissaDarnell.com and TheClannSeri es.com. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Savannah The last day I was fully human started off like any o ther April Monday in East Texas. Oh, sure, there were all kinds o f warning signs that my entire world was about to come crashing d own around me. But I didn't recognize them until it was too late. I should have known something major was wrong when I woke up th at morning feeling like utter crap, even though I'd just snagged a full nine hours of sleep. I'd never been sick before, not even with the flu or a cold, so it couldn't be anything like that. Go od morning, dear. Your breakfast is on the table, Nanna greeted m e as I shuffled into the kitchen. As usual, she was the ultimate in contradictions, her voice and smile a Southern mixture of swee tness and steel. Like your favorite old baby blanket wrapped arou nd a mace. Eat up. I'm going to go find my shoes. I nodded and p lopped down into one of the creaky chairs at the table. When it c ame to cooking, Nanna rocked. And she made the absolute best oatm eal in the world, maple and brown sugar with a ton of butter just the way I liked it. But it tasted like flavorless mush today. I gave up after two bites and dumped it in the trash can under the sink seconds before she came back. Finished already? she asked b efore slurping her tea. The sound grated over my nerves. Um, yea h. I set the bowl and spoon in the sink, keeping my back turned s o she couldn't see the blush burning my cheeks. I was a horrible liar. One look at my face and she'd know I'd just thrown out the breakfast she'd made me. And your tea? Oops. I'd forgotten my d aily tea, a blend that Nanna made just for me from the herbs she spent months growing in our backyard. Sorry, Nanna, there's no ti me. I still have to fix my hair. You can do both. She held out m y mug, her cheeks bunched into a bright smile that didn't do much to disguise the snap in her eyes. Sighing, I took the cup with me to the bathroom, setting it on the counter so I could have bot h hands free to do battle with my wild, carrot-colored curls. Dr ink your tea yet? she asked ten minutes later as I finished tamin g my hair into a long ponytail. Nag, nag, nag, I mumbled. I hea rd that, missy, she called out from the dining room, making me sm ile. I chugged the cold tea, set down the empty mug with a loud thump she'd be sure to hear, then headed for my bedroom to grab m y backpack. And nearly fell over while trying to pick it up. Jeez . I must have forgotten to drop off a few books in my locker last week. Using both hands, I hefted a strap onto my shoulder and tr udged back down the hall. Nanna was at the dining table digging through her mammoth purse for her keys. That would take a while. Meet you at the car? I said. She gave an absentminded wave, whic h I took for a yes, so I headed through the living room for the f ront door. As usual, Mom had been on the couch for hours already , talking on her cell phone while drowning in stacks of paperwork and pens she'd be sure to lose under the sofa cushions by the en d of the day. Why she couldn't work at a desk like every other sa fety product sales rep was beyond me. But the chaos seemed to mak e her happy. Even as she ended one call, her phone squalled for attention again. I knew better than to wait, so I just waved good bye to her. Hang on, George. She hit the phone's mute button the n held out her arms. Hey, what's this? No 'good morning, Mom,' no hug goodbye? Grinning, I crossed the room and bent over to hug her, resisting the urge to cough as her favorite floral perfume f looded my nose and throat. When I straightened up again, my back popped and twinged. Was that your back? she gasped. Good grief, you sound worse than your nanna today. I heard that, Nanna yelle d from the dining room. Smothering a smile, I shrugged. Guess I practiced too much this weekend. My beginner ballet and jazz clas ses would be performing in Miss Catherine's Dance Studio's annual spring recital soon. As the days ticked down to my latest impend ing public humiliation, I'd kind of started freaking out about it . I'll say. Why don't you take it a little easier? You've still got two weeks till the recital. Yeah, well, I need every second of practice I can get. That is, if I wanted to improve enough to avoid disappointing my father yet again. You know, killing your self in the backyard isn't going to impress your father, either. I froze, hating that I was so transparent. Nothing impresses him . At least, not enough to earn a visit from him more than twice a year. Probably because I was such a screwup at sports. The man m oved like a ballroom dancer, always light and graceful on his fee t, but I didn't seem to have gotten even a hint of those genes in my DNA. Mom had tried enrolling me in every activity she could t hink of over the years to help me develop some grace and hand-eye coordination...soccer, twirling, gymnastics, basketball. Last ye ar was volleyball. This year it was dance, both at Miss Catherine 's Dance Studio and at my high school. Apparently my father was fed up with my lack of athletic skill, judging by Mom's argument with him over the phone last September when I began dancing. He r eally didn't want me to take dance lessons this year. He must hav e thought they were a waste on someone as uncoordinated as me. I was out to prove him wrong. And so far, failing miserably. Mom sighed. Oh, hon. You really shouldn't worry so much about making him happy. Just dance for yourself, and I'm sure you'll do fine. Uh-huh. That's what you said last year about volleyball. And yet , in spite of taking her advice to just have fun, I'd still ended up hitting a ball through the gym's tile ceiling during a tourna ment. When the broken pieces had come crashing down, they'd almos t wiped out half my team. That had sort of ended the fun of volle yball for me. Mom bit her lip, probably to keep from laughing at the same memory. Found 'em! Nanna sang out in triumph from the dining room. Ready to rock and roll, kid? Sighing, I pulled up m y backpack's slipping strap onto my shoulder again. It scraped at my skin through my shirt, forcing a hiss out of me. Youch. Maybe I should grab an aspirin before we go. Absolutely not. Nanna st rode into the room, keys jingling in her hand. Aspirin's bad for you. Huh? But you and Mom take it all the t- But you don't, Nan na snapped. You've never taken that synthetic crap before, and yo u won't start polluting yourself with it now. I'll make you more of my special tea instead. Here, take my purse to the car and I'l l be right there. Without waiting for a reply, she shoved her fo rty-pound purse into my hands and headed for the kitchen. Great. I'd be late for sure. Again. Why can't I just take an aspirin li ke everyone else in the world? Mom smiled and picked up her phon e. Four very long minutes later, Nanna finally joined me in the car. She thrust a metal thermos into my hand. There, that ought t o fix you right up. Be careful, though. It's hot. I had to nuke i t. I bit back a groan. Nanna hated the microwave. The only butto n she'd learned how to use was the three-minute auto-heat. I'd be lucky if the tea cooled off at all before we reached my school, even if it was a ten-minute drive. We lived in a small, somewhat isolated nest of houses five miles outside of town. As I blew on my tea to cool it, I watched the rolling hills pass by, dotted h ere and there with solitary houses, big round bales of hay, and c ows in all shades of red, brown and black. Out here, the thick pi ne trees that had once covered all of East Texas had been cut bac k to make room for ranches that were now broken only by rows of f ences, mostly of barbed wire, sometimes wide slats of wood turned gray by time and the weather. You could breathe out here. But a s we neared the city limits, the strips of trees became thicker a nd showed up more often, until we passed through a section of not hing but pines just before reaching the junior high and intermedi ate schools. The first traffic-light intersection marked the star t of downtown Jacksonville, where all of a sudden it became nothi ng but streets and business after business, mostly single-story s hops and a few three- and four-story buildings for the occasional bank, hotel or hospital. And more pines winding around and throu gh every area of housing large and small, even butting up against the edges of the basket factory and near the Tomato Bowl, the br ownstone open-air stadium where all the home football and soccer games were held. I used to love my hometown with its cute boutiq ues and shops full of antiques where Nanna sold her crocheted des igns. I even used to love the town's ribbons of pines and the way the wind in the trees added a subtle sighing to the air. When th e fields of grass and hay turned brown and dead in the winter, yo u could always count on the pines to keep Jacksonville colorful a ll year long. But the town's founding families, locally referred to as the Clann due to their Irish ancestry, had ruined it for m e. Now when I heard the wind in the trees, it sounded like whispe ring, as if the trees themselves had joined the town's grapevine of gossips. Those gossips had probably produced the long line of famous actors, singers, comedians and models that Jacksonville's relatively small population of thirteen thousand residents was so proud of. Growing up here, where everybody talked about everybod y else, either made you want to live here forever or run away and become something special just to prove the gossips and the Clann wrong. I wasn't sure I wanted to be famous. But I definitely wa nted to run away. We made the daily turn through the neighborhoo ds that led to Jacksonville High School, the drive made shady by still more pines and a few hardwoods that lined the modest street s. And then the blue-and-yellow home of the JHS Indians exploded into view, its perimeter choked by woods thick and shadowed, and I felt my shoulders and neck tense up. Welcome to my daytime pri son for the next four years, complete with a guard shack and a gu ard who lowered a heavy metal bar across the driveways on the dot of 8:00 a.m. every weekday, forcing you to accept a tardy slip i n order to gain entrance when you were late. Unlike a teacher who might be convinced to let you slide, the guard was notoriously w ithout mercy, ruling our school's entrance as if it were the gate s to some medieval castle. If JHS were a castle, then its royalt y would definitely be the twenty-two equally merciless Clann kids who ruled the rest of the campus. The Clann kids had probably l earned their bullying tactics from their parents, who ran this to wn and a good portion of Texas, inserting themselves into every p ossible leadership role from county and state even to federal gov ernment levels. Local rumor had it that the only way the Clann co uld do this was by using magic, of all things. Which was total bu ll. There was nothing magical about the Clann's power-hungry meth ods. I should know. I'd had more than enough of their kids' idea of magical fun at school. After graduation, I was so out of here. While Nanna pulled up to the curb by the main hall doors, I suc ked down a quick slurp of tea, adding a burnt tongue to my list o f pains for the day. Better take that with you. Nanna nodded at the thermos. You should feel it kick in pretty soon, but you migh t need more later. Okay. Hey, don't forget, today's an A day, an d I have algebra last period, so- So pick you up in the front pa rking lot by the cafeteria. Yeah, yeah. I'm old, not senile. I th ink I can keep up with your alternating A-B schedule. Her twinkli ng green eyes nearly disappeared as her plump cheeks bunched high er into a wry smile. The front parking lot was closer to my last class on A days. The first class in five years that I'd shared w ith Tristan Coleman... Savannah? She shifted the car into Drive then looked at me with raised eyebrows, a silent prod to get movi ng. I climbed out into the pine-scented warmth of the morning, sh ut the door and gave her a wave goodbye. Tristan. His name echo ed through my head, fuzzing up my mind with old memories and emot ions. An answering tingle rippled up the back of my neck and over my scalp. Ignoring it, I stuffed the forbidden thoughts back int o their imaginary box and turned to face the main hall doors. The day was sure to be miserable enough without my stewing over back stabbing traitors like him. Sure enough, I shoved through the ma in hall's heavier-than-normal glass front doors and slammed right into the Brat Twins, two of the Clann's worst members. Yep, the perfect start to a fabulo, Harlequin Teen, 2011, 2.5, Penguin, 11/03/2005. Hardcover. Used; Good. **WE SHIP WITHIN 24 HRS FROM LONDON, UK, 98% OF OUR ORDERS ARE RECEIVED WITHIN 7-10 DAYS. We believe you will be completely satisfied with our quick and reliable service. All orders are dispatched as swiftly as possible! Buy with confidence! Greener Books., Penguin, 11/03/2005, 2.5<

2005, ISBN: 0141006463

[EAN: 9780141006468], Gebraucht, sehr guter Zustand, [SC: 4.1], [PU: Penguin UK], COOK RICHARD COOK'S JAZZ ENCYCLOPEDIA, The book has been read, but is in excellent condition. Pages are i… Mehr…

[EAN: 9780141006468], Gebraucht, sehr guter Zustand, [SC: 4.1], [PU: Penguin UK], COOK RICHARD COOK'S JAZZ ENCYCLOPEDIA, The book has been read, but is in excellent condition. Pages are intact and not marred by notes or highlighting. The spine remains undamaged., Books<

2005, ISBN: 9780141006468

Penguin, Hardcover, 704 Seiten, Publiziert: 2005-11-03T00:00:01Z, Produktgruppe: Book, 1.07 kg, Verkaufsrang: 689137, Jazz, Styles, Music, Arts & Photography, Subjects, Books, Reference, … Mehr…

Penguin, Hardcover, 704 Seiten, Publiziert: 2005-11-03T00:00:01Z, Produktgruppe: Book, 1.07 kg, Verkaufsrang: 689137, Jazz, Styles, Music, Arts & Photography, Subjects, Books, Reference, Film, Television & Music, Biography, Encyclopedias & Subject Guides, Penguin, 2005<

2005, ISBN: 9780141006468

Softcover, Gebraucht, guter Zustand, Former library book; Pages can have notes/highlighting. Spine may show signs of wear. ~ ThriftBooks: Read More, Spend Less., [PU: Penguin UK]