It happens sometimes when there is much to write about, but little energy to do the writing. It's where I'm at this evening, readers. Maybe the prospect of covering a wide swath of subject matter is just too daunting, maybe I just flat out don't feel much like "blogging" tonight. With that in mind, be aware that this post could end abruptly, leaving you unsatisfied and cheated, which, for all I know, you may feel with many of my posts. Best get started and see where we end up.
To begin, yesterday Jeff called us all into his office and told us he was going to have to cut hours and, if things continued to deteriorate, make some layoffs. This wasn't a big surprise to any of us, but, because it was made official, it was a bit unsettling. Jeff, however, assuaged our fears by telling us he's doing everything he can to improve business.
After the meeting, I remained in Jeff's office so we could go over my new hours. The prospect of losing more hours wasn't tasty, but it still meant I had a job, which was the essential thing. And, as it turned out, my hours weren't cut that much. A sigh of relief. I issued another one when Jeff told me that, because of my unique position, my status was secure.
I had my first honest-to-goodness nightmare in a long time last night. It was brief, but absolutely cathartic. All day, I marveled at how utterly ferocious it was- I bounced between feeling disturbed and being impressed. Basically, the dream went like so:
I found myself in a dilapidated warehouse. There were overturned and smashed crates and pockets of fire everywhere, which provided the only light. It was right out of a Freddy Krueger flick. I was among a group of about twenty people. Everyone, including myself, was on edge, nerves frayed. We awaited the predator.
It wasn't a long wait.
Out of the shadows emerged a hulking mass, a savage, primordial beast. I couldn't make out it's features. I'm not sure it had any. All I knew was that it was the most ferocious, tenacious, and evil thing I've ever witnessed. Really, it's rage was so intense and limitless that it could have eaten through a thousand solar systems, a thousand centuries, without losing a fraction of it's malevolent drive. Basically, it was like The Incredible Hulk, but way, way more pissed off.
We all scattered. I looked over my shoulder - it wasn't chasing me. I ran anyway, as fast as my terrified legs would allow. I hid behind some boxes. I could hear it's furious, fear-inducing, howls and grunts off in the distance. What the fuck was this thing? I hoped not to find out.
When the terror had subsided enough for me to take action, I stepped out from behind the boxes and saw that I was standing on a track. Was I in an abandoned gym? Before I could think any further on the subject, the beast burst out of the shadows and made for me with startling speed. I ran for my life, for my soul. Yes, I knew full well that this beast was capable of tearing apart more than my flesh. I ran and felt its hot breath on my neck.
It never overtook me. It should have, given it's speed, but it never went in for the kill. I realized that I was being harried. I saw that I was running on the track. Exactly where this monster wanted me to be. This was a game to the frothing, howling, beast. Discovering this fact didn't lessen the fear one bit.
I woke up then and whispered "What was that all about?". Indeed, what was that all about? I have an idea that the message of the dream is that fear (the beast) is guiding my actions. It is true, maybe even to a substantial degree. Whether that was the true meaning of the dream, I don't know. I hope that's it, because if that evil creature is real on some level, look out, son!
-
Well, how do you like that? I ended up with a much larger word count than you or I expected. Are any of you respectful enough to congratulate me on this feat? I eagerly await your heartfelt and detailed responses.
There is more, but I'm tired and have other things to do. This weekend is going to be jam-packed with activity; I'm must conserve my energy as I await it.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Begin the day with a friendly voice, a companion unobtrusive
I went for a run after work. It was drizzling when I left and, about halfway through, it started pouring. I quickened my pace, but the damage was done. I was completely soaked. Wouldn't have been so bad if it was a little warmer out. Still beats the humidity, a runner's arch enemy.
Foley and I caught the Elliott Smith documentary, Searching For Elliott Smith, at the Somerville Theater last night. Both of us are big fans of his music and it's a sad and wasteful thing that he committed suicide. The film did a good job portraying him, which must not have been an easy feat, considering how shy and private he was. I'll never forget when I first heard him. Years ago, Luke Warm stopped by and popped in a CD. "I think you might like this", he said. He was correct. It was his self titled album we were listening to, and I recognized instantly the immense talent he possessed. One of the best songwriters I've ever heard. He continues to be missed.
Regarding my own music, I've overcome a hurdle with one of my songs. I've had it floating around for a year or two and, about a month ago, I attempted to record it. I put the guitars down first - they came out fine - and then I attempted the vocals. I say attempted because I still haven't finished them. Every track I put down sounded dull and uninspired until I figured out what the problem was. I'd been singing the song pretty much the same way for a long time and the other day it finally registered that I wasn't happy with the vocals because the melodies weren't that strong. I had thought it was my delivery. I revamped the vocals the other day and I think I'm in the clear. They sound much better.
I have more to say, but I've got a Celtics game to watch, some reading to do, some emails to send, and a shower to take. Perhaps tomorrow I'll fill in the gaps.
Foley and I caught the Elliott Smith documentary, Searching For Elliott Smith, at the Somerville Theater last night. Both of us are big fans of his music and it's a sad and wasteful thing that he committed suicide. The film did a good job portraying him, which must not have been an easy feat, considering how shy and private he was. I'll never forget when I first heard him. Years ago, Luke Warm stopped by and popped in a CD. "I think you might like this", he said. He was correct. It was his self titled album we were listening to, and I recognized instantly the immense talent he possessed. One of the best songwriters I've ever heard. He continues to be missed.
Regarding my own music, I've overcome a hurdle with one of my songs. I've had it floating around for a year or two and, about a month ago, I attempted to record it. I put the guitars down first - they came out fine - and then I attempted the vocals. I say attempted because I still haven't finished them. Every track I put down sounded dull and uninspired until I figured out what the problem was. I'd been singing the song pretty much the same way for a long time and the other day it finally registered that I wasn't happy with the vocals because the melodies weren't that strong. I had thought it was my delivery. I revamped the vocals the other day and I think I'm in the clear. They sound much better.
I have more to say, but I've got a Celtics game to watch, some reading to do, some emails to send, and a shower to take. Perhaps tomorrow I'll fill in the gaps.
Friday, April 23, 2010
She'll feed you tea and oranges that come all the way from China
I just deleted a mess of an introductory paragraph. It was a vulgar thing, all knotted up and meandering. It needed to be put down, obliterated, erased from memory. I was trying to be cerebral with it, but conceited was how it hit the virtual page. Well, it's done with. Let's proceed, start anew.
It's been slow at work and we've been having abbreviated days. Thoughts of being suddenly jobless have been cropping up. Uncertainty. Funny thing is, I'm one of the only people who has plenty of work and, as a consequence of leaving early almost everyday, I'm starting to fall behind. Oh, the irony.
After work, I went to the grocery store. At checkout, the cashier and bagger were locked in a circular exchange I'm convinced didn't reach its conclusion until well after I left. Perhaps, in Twilight Zone fashion, they'll continue on in this manner, wanting to stop, but not being able to until they eventually drop dead from the exertion of repetition. Anyway, this is what I overheard:
Bagger: I gave it to you.
Cashier: Seriously, there's no way you did.
Bagger: No, i gave it to you.
Cashier: You didn't
Bagger: I did
Cashier: You didn't
This went on throughout the transaction. I never learned what the "it" in question was. I might have to hire a Private Investigator to get to the bottom of this. I wish Magnum was still answering my calls. As I was collecting my bags, the bagger, a young, rotund woman with curly hair and a merry countenance, stepped away from the pitched battle she was having with the cashier long enough to wish me a nice weekend. I wished her one too, and she said, "Oh, I'll have a nice weekend alright, as long as I have Elvis with me."
I wasn't expecting that response, but I rolled with it. "Ah, the King"
She grinned widely and said, "He's always with me". She then pulled a doll out of her pants pocket. That, I most certainly wasn't expecting. It took me a minute to conclude that the doll was indeed meant to be in the likeness of Elvis because:
1. It looked to be about thirty years old and was beat to fuck. There were scuff marks and dirt all over it. I suspect she may have pulled it out of a dumpster. If you grew up in the seventies, you've seen a doll like this. Six inches or so in length, rubber head, plastic body, ill-fitting clothes. All my super hero dolls were like that. I used to enjoy squishing their heads. Ah, memories.
2. The flesh was cadaverous gray and didn't typify the Elvis we're accustomed to seeing. You know, the alive one.
She waved the doll in my face and sang a verse from "Jailhouse Rock" in a passable Elvis voice. I gave her a thoughtful look. I wondered if she was a little off, perhaps a little deranged. Probably, but she seemed happy. Maybe she's on to something.
-
Sometimes I feel inadequate and small, like I have no viable function in this life. Insignificant. I don't like feeling that way. It's a process; I'll get through it. Ups and downs, peaks and valleys: we all experience them. I know, as a solid truth I know, that our natural state has little to do with the way we behave in the throes of the ego, which most of us constantly are. Eckhart Tolle says we need look no further than a houseplant for an illustration of a natural state. Stillness. Imagine even a minute without the constant barrage of thoughts. Not such an easy feat, hence our ups and downs, peaks and valleys.
Speaking of thoughts and Eckhart Tolle, I'll leave you with a pretty cool mental trick I learned from him. If you want to clear your mind, think "I wonder what my next thought is going to be." Sounds counter-intuitive, but it works. At least for me it did. I had the thought and then sat around waiting for a thought to pop in my head. Took a while. Give it a try, and see what happens.
It's been slow at work and we've been having abbreviated days. Thoughts of being suddenly jobless have been cropping up. Uncertainty. Funny thing is, I'm one of the only people who has plenty of work and, as a consequence of leaving early almost everyday, I'm starting to fall behind. Oh, the irony.
After work, I went to the grocery store. At checkout, the cashier and bagger were locked in a circular exchange I'm convinced didn't reach its conclusion until well after I left. Perhaps, in Twilight Zone fashion, they'll continue on in this manner, wanting to stop, but not being able to until they eventually drop dead from the exertion of repetition. Anyway, this is what I overheard:
Bagger: I gave it to you.
Cashier: Seriously, there's no way you did.
Bagger: No, i gave it to you.
Cashier: You didn't
Bagger: I did
Cashier: You didn't
This went on throughout the transaction. I never learned what the "it" in question was. I might have to hire a Private Investigator to get to the bottom of this. I wish Magnum was still answering my calls. As I was collecting my bags, the bagger, a young, rotund woman with curly hair and a merry countenance, stepped away from the pitched battle she was having with the cashier long enough to wish me a nice weekend. I wished her one too, and she said, "Oh, I'll have a nice weekend alright, as long as I have Elvis with me."
I wasn't expecting that response, but I rolled with it. "Ah, the King"
She grinned widely and said, "He's always with me". She then pulled a doll out of her pants pocket. That, I most certainly wasn't expecting. It took me a minute to conclude that the doll was indeed meant to be in the likeness of Elvis because:
1. It looked to be about thirty years old and was beat to fuck. There were scuff marks and dirt all over it. I suspect she may have pulled it out of a dumpster. If you grew up in the seventies, you've seen a doll like this. Six inches or so in length, rubber head, plastic body, ill-fitting clothes. All my super hero dolls were like that. I used to enjoy squishing their heads. Ah, memories.
2. The flesh was cadaverous gray and didn't typify the Elvis we're accustomed to seeing. You know, the alive one.
She waved the doll in my face and sang a verse from "Jailhouse Rock" in a passable Elvis voice. I gave her a thoughtful look. I wondered if she was a little off, perhaps a little deranged. Probably, but she seemed happy. Maybe she's on to something.
-
Sometimes I feel inadequate and small, like I have no viable function in this life. Insignificant. I don't like feeling that way. It's a process; I'll get through it. Ups and downs, peaks and valleys: we all experience them. I know, as a solid truth I know, that our natural state has little to do with the way we behave in the throes of the ego, which most of us constantly are. Eckhart Tolle says we need look no further than a houseplant for an illustration of a natural state. Stillness. Imagine even a minute without the constant barrage of thoughts. Not such an easy feat, hence our ups and downs, peaks and valleys.
Speaking of thoughts and Eckhart Tolle, I'll leave you with a pretty cool mental trick I learned from him. If you want to clear your mind, think "I wonder what my next thought is going to be." Sounds counter-intuitive, but it works. At least for me it did. I had the thought and then sat around waiting for a thought to pop in my head. Took a while. Give it a try, and see what happens.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Are you such a dreamer, to put the world to rights?
My, was that an incredible game last night. I'm referring to the double overtime victory the Bruins pulled out in game four of their playoff series against the Sabres. These days, I watch more basketball than hockey, but nothing beats the NHL playoffs for sheer excitement. And who scored the game winner last night? Satan! Seriously, it was Miroslav Satan. His parents, as a gag or in an effort to illustrate the duality of man, should have named him Jesus. Anyway, it was a great, great game and when the deciding goal was scored, I let out a WHOOOOP!! and clapped enthusiastically. I almost got up and did a jig, but absent jug band accompaniment, I couldn't summon the will.
Still plugging away at Drood, which I've been reading slow in order to savor it. And, at work, I'm about halfway through The Picture of Dorian Gray. Almost every sentence is quotable. Also been reading selections from Jim Marr's Rule By Secrecy, a primer on secret societies. I've read it already, but it lends itself to subsequent attention.
Baby Boy Z was frisky when I came home from work, so I had to erect barriers to prevent him from coming in the room while I did yoga. The barriers were flimsy -- if he really wanted to, he could have stepped over the duffle bag or squeezed past the chair -- but the message was clear: no puppy dogs allowed in the room during yoga. He didn't come in the room, but he whined and cried a good amount of the time I was exercising. I'm not going to lie to you: I had to fight the urge to stop doing yoga and start horsing around with Z. It was tough, but I made it through the session. As soon as I was finished, though, the two of us had some quality play time. And we lived happily ever after.
Getting late. Must follow the muse in whatever guise it reveals itself.
Still plugging away at Drood, which I've been reading slow in order to savor it. And, at work, I'm about halfway through The Picture of Dorian Gray. Almost every sentence is quotable. Also been reading selections from Jim Marr's Rule By Secrecy, a primer on secret societies. I've read it already, but it lends itself to subsequent attention.
Baby Boy Z was frisky when I came home from work, so I had to erect barriers to prevent him from coming in the room while I did yoga. The barriers were flimsy -- if he really wanted to, he could have stepped over the duffle bag or squeezed past the chair -- but the message was clear: no puppy dogs allowed in the room during yoga. He didn't come in the room, but he whined and cried a good amount of the time I was exercising. I'm not going to lie to you: I had to fight the urge to stop doing yoga and start horsing around with Z. It was tough, but I made it through the session. As soon as I was finished, though, the two of us had some quality play time. And we lived happily ever after.
Getting late. Must follow the muse in whatever guise it reveals itself.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Well, I'm a tumbler, I'm a government man
My car is covered in bird shit. I'm usually okay with it - they have to go somewhere - but when you're dealing with the amount of poop I've got spotted all over my car, the only logical conclusion to make is that the culprit(s) of this heinous crime committed it in premeditated fashion. They must have some beef with me, but for the life of me I can't figure out what it is. It's been months since my last argument with a bird, so that can't be it. Almost always, because of my pure heart, animals of all shapes and sizes will walk alongside me, climb up on my shoulder, nuzzle my leg --that type of thing-- but now with this bird shit business, I don't know what to think. Have I lost my mojo? Stay tuned, readers. This could get ugly.
I've had a lingering sense of doom for the last week or so. It hasn't been at the forefront of my being, but it's always there in the periphery. There are at least a couple of things that could account for it, but I'd rather not get into them here. I'm hoping the doom is soon replaced with something more appealing, like ecstasy or bliss.
I was going to flesh out some ideas I've had about ADD, but the Bruins game isn't going to watch itself, so I better wrap this up. I also want to work on some music tonight. Been really having to pick my spots with recording; the mics pick up a lot, especially Rich's throbbing heavy metal directly below me. I'll have to figure something out.
I'll leave you with this performance by Fleet Foxes, one of my favorite bands. Ciao!
I've had a lingering sense of doom for the last week or so. It hasn't been at the forefront of my being, but it's always there in the periphery. There are at least a couple of things that could account for it, but I'd rather not get into them here. I'm hoping the doom is soon replaced with something more appealing, like ecstasy or bliss.
I was going to flesh out some ideas I've had about ADD, but the Bruins game isn't going to watch itself, so I better wrap this up. I also want to work on some music tonight. Been really having to pick my spots with recording; the mics pick up a lot, especially Rich's throbbing heavy metal directly below me. I'll have to figure something out.
I'll leave you with this performance by Fleet Foxes, one of my favorite bands. Ciao!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Oh, I dwell in the north, in the green country,
The dream came unto me as follows. I was guesting in someones bungalow, it was late at night. I rose from my slumber and walked outside onto a moonlit, sprawling backyard. I made my way up a slight hill to the side of the main house. I stood outside a window where light was emanating and saw two women with their tops off in the early stages of love making. One of them I recognized from my waking life and, despite never having been particularly attracted to her, I was pleased beyond belief at my good fortune seeing her in this state.
I don't recall feeling the slightest built guilty for being a voyeur; in fact I felt as if it was preordained that I stumble upon this delightful scene and, furthermore, believed, nay, had a strong conviction, that these two lovely ladies, if they were to become aware of my presence, would not only be pleased, but their passions would escalate to intoxicating heights.
In spite of all that, I bolted like a skittish pervert when the woman I knew looked over at the window suspiciously. As I made my way back to the bungalow, I was overtaken by a third woman, who I instantly recognized from my waking life. I don't think we said a word to each other. In a flash, we were in a tent having vivid and not-too-shabby sex.
The End.
I have no idea what spawned the dream. If I had just watched a double header of Porky's and American Pie, it would have made sense. Hell, I didn't even look at any porn that night. Let me rephrase that: Hell, I didn't even look at that much porn that night. Whatever the cause, it was better than dreaming about killing a hundred golden retriever puppies with a branding iron or the same scenario in reverse. And before you ask -- no, I've never had a dream so horrific. Just pointing out the relativity of things, is all.
--
Went over to Spira's after work and met Missy, her new greyhound. I loved her instantly and couldn't stop petting and hugging her. She's been giving Spira the agita, though. The adjustment for both of them has not been smooth sailing. I'm confident things will improve, though. When I came home, Baby Boy Z looked a little hurt when he smelled Missy on me. Oh, Baby Boy, no one will ever take away our BFF status.
I watched the Celtics dismantle the Heat tonight. Great game. And last night, the Bruins/Sabres game was one of the best.....I'm sorry, what was that? You're not interested in my boring sports rhetoric? You'd rather I riff on the magnificence of this guy?
Fair enough, but for that to happen, multiple lengthy posts will be required. And, in order to do Sir Justin justice, I'll need a weeks preparation. His complexities run deep, my friends: keep that in mind when you're jonesing for a Bieber post.
And with that, I'm out of here. Getting late and I need to go have another frat boy dream. Girls locker room? Hey, why not.
I don't recall feeling the slightest built guilty for being a voyeur; in fact I felt as if it was preordained that I stumble upon this delightful scene and, furthermore, believed, nay, had a strong conviction, that these two lovely ladies, if they were to become aware of my presence, would not only be pleased, but their passions would escalate to intoxicating heights.
In spite of all that, I bolted like a skittish pervert when the woman I knew looked over at the window suspiciously. As I made my way back to the bungalow, I was overtaken by a third woman, who I instantly recognized from my waking life. I don't think we said a word to each other. In a flash, we were in a tent having vivid and not-too-shabby sex.
The End.
I have no idea what spawned the dream. If I had just watched a double header of Porky's and American Pie, it would have made sense. Hell, I didn't even look at any porn that night. Let me rephrase that: Hell, I didn't even look at that much porn that night. Whatever the cause, it was better than dreaming about killing a hundred golden retriever puppies with a branding iron or the same scenario in reverse. And before you ask -- no, I've never had a dream so horrific. Just pointing out the relativity of things, is all.
--
Went over to Spira's after work and met Missy, her new greyhound. I loved her instantly and couldn't stop petting and hugging her. She's been giving Spira the agita, though. The adjustment for both of them has not been smooth sailing. I'm confident things will improve, though. When I came home, Baby Boy Z looked a little hurt when he smelled Missy on me. Oh, Baby Boy, no one will ever take away our BFF status.
I watched the Celtics dismantle the Heat tonight. Great game. And last night, the Bruins/Sabres game was one of the best.....I'm sorry, what was that? You're not interested in my boring sports rhetoric? You'd rather I riff on the magnificence of this guy?
Fair enough, but for that to happen, multiple lengthy posts will be required. And, in order to do Sir Justin justice, I'll need a weeks preparation. His complexities run deep, my friends: keep that in mind when you're jonesing for a Bieber post.
And with that, I'm out of here. Getting late and I need to go have another frat boy dream. Girls locker room? Hey, why not.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Fame throwa, pass out the gold, the diamond watch, the last reward, all the things we hid before, you sold us out , and took it all
Having a tough time articulating my thoughts, which could be a direct result from eating Sun Chips and Vienna Fingers earlier. Not exactly brain food. It's been ages since I've had either snack and, for some reason, I decided today was the day to indulge. Isn't gluttony a staple of Patriot's Day? You wouldn't thinks so because of the Boston Marathon, but I'm almost positive I heard the gals on The View say that it was. Maybe I dreamt that. Regardless, I had me some snacks, I feel full, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.
I watched Capitalism: A Love Story earlier. Not that the information it presented was anything new, but it was fucking depressing all the same. Nothing like being reminded that our Government and financial institutions, which are one in the same, have fleeced, swindled, bamboozled, and sodomized us with impunity and will most likely continue to do so until we meet the fate of ancient Rome. One of the really disturbing parts of the documentary concerned the dastardly practice of employers taking out life insurance policies on their their employees without them ever knowing. They call it "dead peasant insurance". One woman discovered that because of her husband's death from cancer his employer was the beneficiary of several million dollars. Lesson: there's always money to made.
Found out The Kremlin is moving to North Carolina. Seems everyone I know who's left New England has headed south. Matt moved to Nashville, Anne to Savannah, Steve to Atlanta, Bob TV to Nashville -- and those are just the ones I'm lucid enough to recall. What does it all mean? Oh, I don't know, but what I do know is I'm going to go sit on the porch while it's still light out and read from Drood. Then I'll watch a little Bruins playoff action.
So there.
I watched Capitalism: A Love Story earlier. Not that the information it presented was anything new, but it was fucking depressing all the same. Nothing like being reminded that our Government and financial institutions, which are one in the same, have fleeced, swindled, bamboozled, and sodomized us with impunity and will most likely continue to do so until we meet the fate of ancient Rome. One of the really disturbing parts of the documentary concerned the dastardly practice of employers taking out life insurance policies on their their employees without them ever knowing. They call it "dead peasant insurance". One woman discovered that because of her husband's death from cancer his employer was the beneficiary of several million dollars. Lesson: there's always money to made.
Found out The Kremlin is moving to North Carolina. Seems everyone I know who's left New England has headed south. Matt moved to Nashville, Anne to Savannah, Steve to Atlanta, Bob TV to Nashville -- and those are just the ones I'm lucid enough to recall. What does it all mean? Oh, I don't know, but what I do know is I'm going to go sit on the porch while it's still light out and read from Drood. Then I'll watch a little Bruins playoff action.
So there.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Got some bad shit, then I walked the beach in Venice
Walking back from Rite Aid, where I had the exquisite pleasure of standing in line behind a woman who unveiled a tackle box of coupons and wasn't afraid to use them, I came upon a man walking his dog. As I approached, the dog squatted and took care of his morning ablutions. The man pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and scooped up the steaming brown lump. Being the Renaissance man that I am, I thought it would be quite the social experiment to confront this man about his actions or, to me more precise, to completely misread the situation and brand him a pervert for saving his dog's poo for some immoral purpose. I imagined pointing an accusatory finger at the wretch and saying, " You sick fucking animal! And I'm not talking to the dog, either Bubs. I can only imagine what you have planned for that poo I saw you put in a bag." You might be able to guess, dear reader, that I said no such thing and walked by man and beast without even a nod of acknowledgment. I know, I know: I should act on these impulses, otherwise when I'm old and weak and contemplative, I'll think back with regret that I never did, that I never said YES to life.
--
I haven't posted much recently. The chief reason why is because I haven't been feeling well. My sinus issues had worsened and, up until recently, I was in quite a bit of a pain almost all the time. Some nights, I'd only get a couple of hours of sleep. I'd suffer through work, come home and do next to nothing because of lack of energy and focus. There were other unpleasant aspects of this time that had nothing to do with my health that made living a real chore, but I'll leave them on the cutting room floor where they belong. Still, I was able to keep my spirit raised, enough, at least, to function among my fellow humans without causing them to be concerned for my well being. Presently, I feel quite a bit better, and see a break in the clouds.
--
Sean came by on Friday and we walked over to The Burren and had some drinks. Sean and I go back a long way and, though we don't see each other too often these days, it's always a fine thing when we do. After The Burren, we walked back to my place through the rain and chill and watched a compilation of high school era performances by our respective bands that Craig had been thoughtful enough to put together. Strange how recent these events seem, despite being lodged in the distant past. Ah, time, you're a real mind fuck.
--
Mara and I had a dinner of squash raviolis and garlic bread at my place last night, followed by a viewing of the Celtics first playoff game against the Heat. Actually, I was the one doing most of the viewing; Mara had her laptop to hold her interest. A fun game to watch. Love the playoffs!
--
I walked into Starbucks the other day and was astonished at the makeover the place had undergone. Absent were the cozy couches and chairs; they were replaced with long, dull gray, banquet-style tables. All the warmth of the place had been sucked out. When I talked to Mara about this, she suggested the changeover was due to the fact that people were lingering too long in those cozy couches and chairs and costing the place money. I'm not a fan of the new look. Guess I'll have to find another place where I can sit, all comfy-like, with a book or pen and journal. I'll take rustic over the soulless, technology-suited, designs that are becoming more and more prevalent. Seems I'm an anachronism.
--
I'm thinking of writing a book entitled, "Humans Are Narcissistic Insane Pricks", or something to that effect. The other day, I was on the highway headed to work when traffic slowed to an abrupt crawl. I had to slam on my brakes and nearly hit the car in front of me. The reason for this dramatic change of events? There was a tow truck with flashing orange lights on the side of the road, hoisting up a car. That's going in the book. Why? Because, on the road, people are always in a hurry. They'll endanger everyone in their paths with risky moves in order to shave a minute or two off their commute. My favorite is when traffic is at a crawl and some jackass cuts me off, nearly clipping my front end, only to end up in front of me, going just as slow as before and having gained nearly no ground. But when there's something happening on the side of the road, like what I described above, or something worse, people will instantly become mesmerized by what they see and forget about always being in a rush. Yes, that's going in the book, which, now that I think of it, will, as a matter of necessity, be massive, and will probably never be completed, even if I live to be a hundred.
--
I've had my iTunes on shuffle as I've been typing this post. For some reason, the inanimate DJ has been in the mood for only a few artists: Tom Waits, Sigor Ros, and The Moody Blues. Strange. Oh, wait, things have changed up! Sufjan Stevens has made an appearance. Thanks for finally doing your job, Mr. DJ.
--
My dad just sent me an email. He began it by addressing me as "sweetie", then related his need to find a hiding place from my mother and her list of projects, and concluded by asking me how to look up Gaydar online. My reply included a cease and desist order regarding the "sweetie" appellation; a suggestion he convert his pigeon coop into a man cave, a haven all to himself; and a thumbs up for the Dwight Schrute "Gaydar" reference.
--
It's raining out. Today may be a lazy day. I may put a significant dent in Drood, watch the Lakers/Thunder game, record some music, do some yoga, daydream about a future love, take a nap. Plenty of options. I shall proceed.
--
I haven't posted much recently. The chief reason why is because I haven't been feeling well. My sinus issues had worsened and, up until recently, I was in quite a bit of a pain almost all the time. Some nights, I'd only get a couple of hours of sleep. I'd suffer through work, come home and do next to nothing because of lack of energy and focus. There were other unpleasant aspects of this time that had nothing to do with my health that made living a real chore, but I'll leave them on the cutting room floor where they belong. Still, I was able to keep my spirit raised, enough, at least, to function among my fellow humans without causing them to be concerned for my well being. Presently, I feel quite a bit better, and see a break in the clouds.
--
Sean came by on Friday and we walked over to The Burren and had some drinks. Sean and I go back a long way and, though we don't see each other too often these days, it's always a fine thing when we do. After The Burren, we walked back to my place through the rain and chill and watched a compilation of high school era performances by our respective bands that Craig had been thoughtful enough to put together. Strange how recent these events seem, despite being lodged in the distant past. Ah, time, you're a real mind fuck.
--
Mara and I had a dinner of squash raviolis and garlic bread at my place last night, followed by a viewing of the Celtics first playoff game against the Heat. Actually, I was the one doing most of the viewing; Mara had her laptop to hold her interest. A fun game to watch. Love the playoffs!
--
I walked into Starbucks the other day and was astonished at the makeover the place had undergone. Absent were the cozy couches and chairs; they were replaced with long, dull gray, banquet-style tables. All the warmth of the place had been sucked out. When I talked to Mara about this, she suggested the changeover was due to the fact that people were lingering too long in those cozy couches and chairs and costing the place money. I'm not a fan of the new look. Guess I'll have to find another place where I can sit, all comfy-like, with a book or pen and journal. I'll take rustic over the soulless, technology-suited, designs that are becoming more and more prevalent. Seems I'm an anachronism.
--
I'm thinking of writing a book entitled, "Humans Are Narcissistic Insane Pricks", or something to that effect. The other day, I was on the highway headed to work when traffic slowed to an abrupt crawl. I had to slam on my brakes and nearly hit the car in front of me. The reason for this dramatic change of events? There was a tow truck with flashing orange lights on the side of the road, hoisting up a car. That's going in the book. Why? Because, on the road, people are always in a hurry. They'll endanger everyone in their paths with risky moves in order to shave a minute or two off their commute. My favorite is when traffic is at a crawl and some jackass cuts me off, nearly clipping my front end, only to end up in front of me, going just as slow as before and having gained nearly no ground. But when there's something happening on the side of the road, like what I described above, or something worse, people will instantly become mesmerized by what they see and forget about always being in a rush. Yes, that's going in the book, which, now that I think of it, will, as a matter of necessity, be massive, and will probably never be completed, even if I live to be a hundred.
--
I've had my iTunes on shuffle as I've been typing this post. For some reason, the inanimate DJ has been in the mood for only a few artists: Tom Waits, Sigor Ros, and The Moody Blues. Strange. Oh, wait, things have changed up! Sufjan Stevens has made an appearance. Thanks for finally doing your job, Mr. DJ.
--
My dad just sent me an email. He began it by addressing me as "sweetie", then related his need to find a hiding place from my mother and her list of projects, and concluded by asking me how to look up Gaydar online. My reply included a cease and desist order regarding the "sweetie" appellation; a suggestion he convert his pigeon coop into a man cave, a haven all to himself; and a thumbs up for the Dwight Schrute "Gaydar" reference.
--
It's raining out. Today may be a lazy day. I may put a significant dent in Drood, watch the Lakers/Thunder game, record some music, do some yoga, daydream about a future love, take a nap. Plenty of options. I shall proceed.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Ram on, give your heart to somebody, soon, right away
Here I am, I am here. Been a week since my last post. Did you notice my absence? Before you respond, I've provided a group of answers you can select from. This will make it easier for you when you leave a comment. Instead of going on and on about how much you missed me, or whatever, you'll be able to reply with the letter that corresponds with the answer you choose. On to the list.
A) Of course I noticed your absence. It was as if everything that was beautiful and right in the world had been swallowed by a black pit.
B) I haven't worked, I haven't slept, I haven't eaten, I haven't smiled -- what do you think?
C) I've been so depressed without you. Not even Justin Bieber's soulful croon and angelic visage has been able to cheer me up.
D) One more day and it was going to be wrist-slitting time. Don't ever go this long without publishing your witty, profound, and intoxicating prose. Your writing is the very air I breathe.
E) All of the above.
You'll probably choose E, which is the right response. Don't let me influence you, though. What does your heart tell you? E, right? See, I knew it. Anyway, I'm sorry it's taken me a while to post. I know how important I am to you, how essential I am, and I don't want to let you down.
Cheers.
A) Of course I noticed your absence. It was as if everything that was beautiful and right in the world had been swallowed by a black pit.
B) I haven't worked, I haven't slept, I haven't eaten, I haven't smiled -- what do you think?
C) I've been so depressed without you. Not even Justin Bieber's soulful croon and angelic visage has been able to cheer me up.
D) One more day and it was going to be wrist-slitting time. Don't ever go this long without publishing your witty, profound, and intoxicating prose. Your writing is the very air I breathe.
E) All of the above.
You'll probably choose E, which is the right response. Don't let me influence you, though. What does your heart tell you? E, right? See, I knew it. Anyway, I'm sorry it's taken me a while to post. I know how important I am to you, how essential I am, and I don't want to let you down.
Cheers.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
I'm the guy who left you with tears in his eyes
Yesterday, my alarm liberated me from a lousy dream. I almost kissed it in gratitude. The dream wasn't terrible, but it was a real pain in the ass. In it, I was at the court house in Lowell, trying to do some recording for work and nothing was going right. I kept waiting in the wrong lines and discovered my car had been towed. My alarm went off as I was asking someone where my car ended up.
This morning, my alarm liberated me from one of the best dreams I've had in a long, long, time. I resisted the impulse to pulverize it with my fist. This dream, like the previous one, had me at a court house, this time vaguely in Cambridge. I say vaguely, because it was also in grandmother's living room, but determining geography in dreams is like trying to extract a tear from a glass of water. Where the dream took place doesn't matter. What matters is that I was with her.
I won't pursue the telling of the dream much further, because most of it is inconsequential. Most of it can't be articulated. But what I can and will share is how utterly terrific it felt interacting with someone who was as deeply attracted to me as I was to her. She was a composite of at least a few women I've known and it was established that she and I had worked alongside each other at the courthouse for some time. I was on the verge of asking her out, though it was pretty much a given we'd end up together at some point, that we already were on some level. I remember half-jokingly asking her this: "In the event that the courthouse hosts a ball, would you say yes if I asked you to go with me?". Without hesitation, she nodded yes, her eyes never leaving mine. We were one, we both knew it. We loved each other right out of the gate. This was what I've always wanted, what I've never had, not to this degree, in my entire life.
Waking up from that was rough. If I ever have that type of bond with someone, I will know true communion, something I've only had glimpses of. And it's not something unattainable. I wasn't dreaming of having a harem of fresh young women, though I suppose if I really worked at it, I could manifest that in my waking life, but you get the point. No, this was something people experience every day: simple, easy, and abiding love. I wonder, though, if I'll ever have that connection with someone. If I don't, I guess the closest I'll come will be this dream. Another glimpse.
So, two morning dreams at courthouses, one crummy, one yummy. I wonder, because of the similarities between the two, if there's some meaning to be derived. I wouldn't be opposed to at least one of the dreams being prophetic, but are any dreams prophetic? I guess the only way to find out is to wait and see.
-
That's all I've got tonight. Peace.
This morning, my alarm liberated me from one of the best dreams I've had in a long, long, time. I resisted the impulse to pulverize it with my fist. This dream, like the previous one, had me at a court house, this time vaguely in Cambridge. I say vaguely, because it was also in grandmother's living room, but determining geography in dreams is like trying to extract a tear from a glass of water. Where the dream took place doesn't matter. What matters is that I was with her.
I won't pursue the telling of the dream much further, because most of it is inconsequential. Most of it can't be articulated. But what I can and will share is how utterly terrific it felt interacting with someone who was as deeply attracted to me as I was to her. She was a composite of at least a few women I've known and it was established that she and I had worked alongside each other at the courthouse for some time. I was on the verge of asking her out, though it was pretty much a given we'd end up together at some point, that we already were on some level. I remember half-jokingly asking her this: "In the event that the courthouse hosts a ball, would you say yes if I asked you to go with me?". Without hesitation, she nodded yes, her eyes never leaving mine. We were one, we both knew it. We loved each other right out of the gate. This was what I've always wanted, what I've never had, not to this degree, in my entire life.
Waking up from that was rough. If I ever have that type of bond with someone, I will know true communion, something I've only had glimpses of. And it's not something unattainable. I wasn't dreaming of having a harem of fresh young women, though I suppose if I really worked at it, I could manifest that in my waking life, but you get the point. No, this was something people experience every day: simple, easy, and abiding love. I wonder, though, if I'll ever have that connection with someone. If I don't, I guess the closest I'll come will be this dream. Another glimpse.
So, two morning dreams at courthouses, one crummy, one yummy. I wonder, because of the similarities between the two, if there's some meaning to be derived. I wouldn't be opposed to at least one of the dreams being prophetic, but are any dreams prophetic? I guess the only way to find out is to wait and see.
-
That's all I've got tonight. Peace.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Star me kitten
Woke up feeling lousy about life, but I shook that feeling with relative ease. Seeing Stan parade around on his porch naked was enough to shock the blues out of me. Dude, there's a school two blocks away and kids are walking by your house - how about some shorts, or something? Yeah, I know you're scoping out the college chicks and want them to see you in all your wrinkly glory, but you're freaking us out.
He was at it again later on in the day. I was making dinner and saw him out on his porch, scanning up and down the street. He was wearing a black thong this time, so there's that, at least, but still fucking gross and still mostly naked. Every time a female would walk or jog by, he'd spill out of the house and onto the porch. He did this a lot, but I'm sure it was just a coincidence that he did so when these hot young things were passing by. And so was the fact that his hand was on his junk much of the time he was out there. Probably just adjusting the thong; those suckers can be tight, son!
A beautiful, if unseasonably hot, day. After suffering through the worst haircut I've had since I let my sister give it a try when we were kids, I decided today was the day to get it done right. Really, this last cut was atrocious. I ended up with cowlicks where I've never had them before and there was absolutely no way to style my hair without it looking a poor imitation of an '80s do. And I hate 80's fashions with a passion!
So I went to a new place. Katelyn, the attractive and affable young woman who cut my hair was a pro. I told her my plight, and she went to work. When she was finished, I looked in the mirror and said, "Now that's more like it". She was great; even the way she washed my hair was quality: she really massaged the scalp, which, as you know, is essential to a good wash. Katelyn made me feel human again, and I told her as much.
--
I finally finished The Pillars of the Earth yesterday. Epic book and, consequently, a long journey with a cast of characters that were hard to part with. But not too hard: while I enjoyed much of the book, there was too much of the following scenario: bad guys try to foil good guys plans/good guys figure out a way to prosper despite said foiling. The prose was accessible, which was not surprising considering Follett is an author with mass appeal, but at times I wanted a little more oomph in the writing. I say the prose was accessible but the book, by it's very nature, was outside Follett's comfort zone and could have flopped terribly, so hee gets a huge thumbs up for ambition. I liked the book quite a bit, but wasn't as floored by it as Oprah and members of her book club were. On to Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray, which competed against eleven other books to be my next lunch break read. Nerd that I am, I constructed a March-madness type bracket and books advanced to the next round by a flip of a coin. How's that for nerdy? No wonder women find me repulsive.
This afternoon, I was on the porch talking to my sister on the phone, when a rickety van pulled up to the house. It was packed with dogs, which meant one thing: Baby Boy Z was home from Wags To Riches! My sister could tell I was distracted and asked me what was going on. I explained to her my joy at seeing BBZ getting off the bus. "He's a dog, right?", she asked. "Oh, he's much more than that", I replied.
When I came home from my run earlier this evening, I was taking my shoes off in the living room and, seeing that we still had plastic on the windows, I decided it was time to take it off. I stripped the plastic off one of the windows and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rich approach. Of course! These sheets of plastic are his babies and here I was brutally tearing them off the windows. This could get ugly, I thought. I quickly tried to explain myself.
"Figured it was time, especially during a day like today, to take the plastic off the windows."
"Actually, I was hoping we could keep it up at least for one more day", he said. "The plastic is helping keep the house nice and cool."
Fair enough. I wasn't married to the idea, was just acting on impulse, but I made sure to tell him the plastic should come off the windows soon. He looked immensely relieved that his precious children will be around a little bit longer.
That was a close one. I thought for sure he was going to tear my throat out when he saw me with my hands on the plastic.
--
Watched last night's episode of Lost a few hours ago. Started watching it last night when Mara did the ol' pop in. In retrospect, I think I would have enjoyed watching Lost much more than being chided about numerous things, and watching her fall asleep on my chair. I seem to have that affect on her, this sleepiness that overwhelms her whenever we hang out. I should have nipped in the bud early on and said, "Ok, then...how about a ride home?". Instead, I let it play out like I usually do and then drove her home. Not a very comfortable ride.
I'm done with you. Off to watch Precious or Capitalism: A Love Story, not sure which.
He was at it again later on in the day. I was making dinner and saw him out on his porch, scanning up and down the street. He was wearing a black thong this time, so there's that, at least, but still fucking gross and still mostly naked. Every time a female would walk or jog by, he'd spill out of the house and onto the porch. He did this a lot, but I'm sure it was just a coincidence that he did so when these hot young things were passing by. And so was the fact that his hand was on his junk much of the time he was out there. Probably just adjusting the thong; those suckers can be tight, son!
A beautiful, if unseasonably hot, day. After suffering through the worst haircut I've had since I let my sister give it a try when we were kids, I decided today was the day to get it done right. Really, this last cut was atrocious. I ended up with cowlicks where I've never had them before and there was absolutely no way to style my hair without it looking a poor imitation of an '80s do. And I hate 80's fashions with a passion!
So I went to a new place. Katelyn, the attractive and affable young woman who cut my hair was a pro. I told her my plight, and she went to work. When she was finished, I looked in the mirror and said, "Now that's more like it". She was great; even the way she washed my hair was quality: she really massaged the scalp, which, as you know, is essential to a good wash. Katelyn made me feel human again, and I told her as much.
--
I finally finished The Pillars of the Earth yesterday. Epic book and, consequently, a long journey with a cast of characters that were hard to part with. But not too hard: while I enjoyed much of the book, there was too much of the following scenario: bad guys try to foil good guys plans/good guys figure out a way to prosper despite said foiling. The prose was accessible, which was not surprising considering Follett is an author with mass appeal, but at times I wanted a little more oomph in the writing. I say the prose was accessible but the book, by it's very nature, was outside Follett's comfort zone and could have flopped terribly, so hee gets a huge thumbs up for ambition. I liked the book quite a bit, but wasn't as floored by it as Oprah and members of her book club were. On to Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray, which competed against eleven other books to be my next lunch break read. Nerd that I am, I constructed a March-madness type bracket and books advanced to the next round by a flip of a coin. How's that for nerdy? No wonder women find me repulsive.
This afternoon, I was on the porch talking to my sister on the phone, when a rickety van pulled up to the house. It was packed with dogs, which meant one thing: Baby Boy Z was home from Wags To Riches! My sister could tell I was distracted and asked me what was going on. I explained to her my joy at seeing BBZ getting off the bus. "He's a dog, right?", she asked. "Oh, he's much more than that", I replied.
When I came home from my run earlier this evening, I was taking my shoes off in the living room and, seeing that we still had plastic on the windows, I decided it was time to take it off. I stripped the plastic off one of the windows and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rich approach. Of course! These sheets of plastic are his babies and here I was brutally tearing them off the windows. This could get ugly, I thought. I quickly tried to explain myself.
"Figured it was time, especially during a day like today, to take the plastic off the windows."
"Actually, I was hoping we could keep it up at least for one more day", he said. "The plastic is helping keep the house nice and cool."
Fair enough. I wasn't married to the idea, was just acting on impulse, but I made sure to tell him the plastic should come off the windows soon. He looked immensely relieved that his precious children will be around a little bit longer.
That was a close one. I thought for sure he was going to tear my throat out when he saw me with my hands on the plastic.
--
Watched last night's episode of Lost a few hours ago. Started watching it last night when Mara did the ol' pop in. In retrospect, I think I would have enjoyed watching Lost much more than being chided about numerous things, and watching her fall asleep on my chair. I seem to have that affect on her, this sleepiness that overwhelms her whenever we hang out. I should have nipped in the bud early on and said, "Ok, then...how about a ride home?". Instead, I let it play out like I usually do and then drove her home. Not a very comfortable ride.
I'm done with you. Off to watch Precious or Capitalism: A Love Story, not sure which.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Who will love Aladdin Sane
Turns out the troll in the closet story is some kind of urban legend. Sharon broke the news to me today. Not really sure on the details - I was only able to speak with her briefly - but her friend pulled a fast one on her. I did a quick search online and found variations of the story. Oh well, it was destined to be proven false. Sorry for the erroneous information, folks.
Just did a bunch of recording. Tried putting vocals over a song, but I wasn't very satisfied with the results. I switched to a new song I've been working on. I played it live and from the gut; most of the performance was intuitive. I was very happy with the results. I added a quick harmony over one of the parts. I work better this way. When I try to record my songs neat and polished, they often sound flat, especially the vocals. I like imperfections and a sense of looseness. It's one of the main reasons I dig Will Oldham. Having this new recorder is the best thing that's happened to me in a while. Can't wait to get back at it.
Now I go to watch a flick or read from Drood. Or perhaps listen to some ELO like I've been doing lately. Kind of ironic, considering I was just riffing about liking imperfections and looseness; ELO is the exact opposite. I love it, though. A lot to be learned from Jeff Lynne.
Just did a bunch of recording. Tried putting vocals over a song, but I wasn't very satisfied with the results. I switched to a new song I've been working on. I played it live and from the gut; most of the performance was intuitive. I was very happy with the results. I added a quick harmony over one of the parts. I work better this way. When I try to record my songs neat and polished, they often sound flat, especially the vocals. I like imperfections and a sense of looseness. It's one of the main reasons I dig Will Oldham. Having this new recorder is the best thing that's happened to me in a while. Can't wait to get back at it.
Now I go to watch a flick or read from Drood. Or perhaps listen to some ELO like I've been doing lately. Kind of ironic, considering I was just riffing about liking imperfections and looseness; ELO is the exact opposite. I love it, though. A lot to be learned from Jeff Lynne.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Life, I love you, all is groovy
I'm about to get ready for Easter dinner at my grandmother's house. In a way, I wish we could do this over the phone. Hey, conference calls aren't such a bad thing. Ah, but it will be good seeing the family face to face.
Started feeling better yesterday; today I feel hale. It was a rough week, but at least I was better for part of the weekend. I was hoping to see Sean play in Union Sq. on Friday, but it wasn't to be. Every nerve ending on my face was alive in hot fury, my skull locked in perpetual ice cream headache. An ugly cocktail. With all due respect to Sean's fine music, it would have been a painful experience for me.
I did, however, get out of the house for a bit that night. Kagemusha was playing at the Brattle. One of Kurosawa's quieter films, I figured that, coupled with being in a dark theater, my condition wouldn't be adversely affected. Mara had free passes, so away we went. When she found out the film was three hours long, she had second thoughts about going. As much as I wanted to see the epic on a big screen, I wouldn't have minded too much if she decided not to go. I just didn't want her to resent me for dragging her to a movie she found to be too long and utterly boring.
She was a trooper, though, and, somehow, she made it through the entire film without falling asleep. She enjoyed the film. I was impressed. I was equally as impressed that I didn't fall asleep, given my condition. Credit Kurosawa for constructing an engaging, albeit challenging, film. And credit also the theater for serving coffee.
--
Got some new recording gear yesterday and spent a good chunk of the day fooling around with it. For those of you who care, I got Tascam's DP-008 pocket studio. So far, I absolutely love this unit. I recorded a song with six tracks yesterday without plugging in a mic. I used the two built-in condenser mics and, I must say, I was pretty impressed with the result.
--
It's been several hours since I finished that last paragraph. The day went by quickly. I am tired. In retrospect, I could have done without going to my grandmother's house. I was a marginal figure there. I don't have a family of my own, no wife, no children. Besides my cousin Brian, I'm the only one in that position. It was nearly impossible engaging anyone in a conversation because of all the inherent activity involving the children. I'd be halfway into a sentence with someone, and one of the kids would need their attention or someone would need help reaching for a plate in the cabinet. Or something. Always something. End of conversation. I eventually just sat down and played Centipede on my phone. That lasted about ten minutes until the realization struck me that I could be spending my time in better fashion at home. So I left.
At home, I joined Janelle's Easter gathering in progress. Foley stopped by shortly after I arrived and, after hanging out for a bit, he and I went out for some coffee. We sat on a bench in the mini park situated at the hub of the Powder house rotary. It was good hanging out with him; hadn't seen him in a while. And the weather was glorious.
Later, I watched the last part of The Human Condition. What an experience that was, the whole epic. Very, very moving. Samurai Rebellion and Hara Kiri came in the mail on Saturday. They'll be watched soon. Kobayashi has become one of my favorite film makers.
I attempted to do some recording. Didn't get much done. I'll try again tomorrow.
--
At work Friday, Sharon told Therese and me she'd been dying to tell us something. Sharon rarely initiates conversation, which is not to say she's not social. She's just usually on the receiving end of conversations. I'm fond of Sharon and, if it were pretty much anyone else, I'm not sure I'd trust the veracity of the story she told us. Readers, I'll leave it to you whether you believe what I'm about to share with you is a bunch of hogwash or not.
From Sharon:
"So the other day one of my friends was at work and she got a call from her son. He was animated. ' Mom, mom -- you've got to come home!! Please, please, come home!' Her son is mentally disabled. He's a real big guy, probably in his early twenties. My friend tried to get him to tell what was wrong, but he wouldn't say. He just kept telling her to come home.
Worried for his safety, she dropped everything and rushed home. He was at the door when she arrived, beckoning wildly for her to come inside. She was barely through the door when he took her arm and led her to the closet. 'I caught the troll, mom! I caught the troll!', he said. My friend had no idea what he was talking about. He said again: 'I caught the troll, I caught the troll!'. His tone suggested what he'd done was a fine, and not easily accomplished, feat.
My friend opened the closet door, expecting anything other than what she found: a midget! There was a little guy standing in the closet! My friend's son had apprehended a midget! (At this point in the telling, Sharon is uncharacteristically laughing uncontrollably. Almost as funny as the story she was telling)
Apparently, this man was going door to door -- he was a census taker -- and my friend's son, who, like I said, is a big guy, grabbed him, thinking he was a troll!"
Needless to say, I wasn't expecting the story to end up there. I figured there would have been a doll or even nothing in the closet. I was not expecting a Lilliputian to be found within its depths. I had questions. How long was the man held captive? Was he terrified, angry? Did the police get involved? Are you sure your friend wasn't pulling your leg?
Sharon was only able to address the last question. No, she said, her friend is not the sort to tell tall tales and, if she was, they wouldn't be at the expense of her son. The story does sound far fetched, but it's not implausible. There are little people roaming about and there are people with mental issues who might misidentify said little people. As I stated above, I don't think this story was the product of someone's imagination. Still, I'd love to find out more about what happened. That poor little guy -- at the very least, he must have been terribly embarrassed. Unless, of course, this type of thing happens a lot more than anyone realizes. Maybe it's a phenomenon. I'll have to look into this. You may want to as well, readers.
So there you have it: another post, another day.
Started feeling better yesterday; today I feel hale. It was a rough week, but at least I was better for part of the weekend. I was hoping to see Sean play in Union Sq. on Friday, but it wasn't to be. Every nerve ending on my face was alive in hot fury, my skull locked in perpetual ice cream headache. An ugly cocktail. With all due respect to Sean's fine music, it would have been a painful experience for me.
I did, however, get out of the house for a bit that night. Kagemusha was playing at the Brattle. One of Kurosawa's quieter films, I figured that, coupled with being in a dark theater, my condition wouldn't be adversely affected. Mara had free passes, so away we went. When she found out the film was three hours long, she had second thoughts about going. As much as I wanted to see the epic on a big screen, I wouldn't have minded too much if she decided not to go. I just didn't want her to resent me for dragging her to a movie she found to be too long and utterly boring.
She was a trooper, though, and, somehow, she made it through the entire film without falling asleep. She enjoyed the film. I was impressed. I was equally as impressed that I didn't fall asleep, given my condition. Credit Kurosawa for constructing an engaging, albeit challenging, film. And credit also the theater for serving coffee.
--
Got some new recording gear yesterday and spent a good chunk of the day fooling around with it. For those of you who care, I got Tascam's DP-008 pocket studio. So far, I absolutely love this unit. I recorded a song with six tracks yesterday without plugging in a mic. I used the two built-in condenser mics and, I must say, I was pretty impressed with the result.
--
It's been several hours since I finished that last paragraph. The day went by quickly. I am tired. In retrospect, I could have done without going to my grandmother's house. I was a marginal figure there. I don't have a family of my own, no wife, no children. Besides my cousin Brian, I'm the only one in that position. It was nearly impossible engaging anyone in a conversation because of all the inherent activity involving the children. I'd be halfway into a sentence with someone, and one of the kids would need their attention or someone would need help reaching for a plate in the cabinet. Or something. Always something. End of conversation. I eventually just sat down and played Centipede on my phone. That lasted about ten minutes until the realization struck me that I could be spending my time in better fashion at home. So I left.
At home, I joined Janelle's Easter gathering in progress. Foley stopped by shortly after I arrived and, after hanging out for a bit, he and I went out for some coffee. We sat on a bench in the mini park situated at the hub of the Powder house rotary. It was good hanging out with him; hadn't seen him in a while. And the weather was glorious.
Later, I watched the last part of The Human Condition. What an experience that was, the whole epic. Very, very moving. Samurai Rebellion and Hara Kiri came in the mail on Saturday. They'll be watched soon. Kobayashi has become one of my favorite film makers.
I attempted to do some recording. Didn't get much done. I'll try again tomorrow.
--
At work Friday, Sharon told Therese and me she'd been dying to tell us something. Sharon rarely initiates conversation, which is not to say she's not social. She's just usually on the receiving end of conversations. I'm fond of Sharon and, if it were pretty much anyone else, I'm not sure I'd trust the veracity of the story she told us. Readers, I'll leave it to you whether you believe what I'm about to share with you is a bunch of hogwash or not.
From Sharon:
"So the other day one of my friends was at work and she got a call from her son. He was animated. ' Mom, mom -- you've got to come home!! Please, please, come home!' Her son is mentally disabled. He's a real big guy, probably in his early twenties. My friend tried to get him to tell what was wrong, but he wouldn't say. He just kept telling her to come home.
Worried for his safety, she dropped everything and rushed home. He was at the door when she arrived, beckoning wildly for her to come inside. She was barely through the door when he took her arm and led her to the closet. 'I caught the troll, mom! I caught the troll!', he said. My friend had no idea what he was talking about. He said again: 'I caught the troll, I caught the troll!'. His tone suggested what he'd done was a fine, and not easily accomplished, feat.
My friend opened the closet door, expecting anything other than what she found: a midget! There was a little guy standing in the closet! My friend's son had apprehended a midget! (At this point in the telling, Sharon is uncharacteristically laughing uncontrollably. Almost as funny as the story she was telling)
Apparently, this man was going door to door -- he was a census taker -- and my friend's son, who, like I said, is a big guy, grabbed him, thinking he was a troll!"
Needless to say, I wasn't expecting the story to end up there. I figured there would have been a doll or even nothing in the closet. I was not expecting a Lilliputian to be found within its depths. I had questions. How long was the man held captive? Was he terrified, angry? Did the police get involved? Are you sure your friend wasn't pulling your leg?
Sharon was only able to address the last question. No, she said, her friend is not the sort to tell tall tales and, if she was, they wouldn't be at the expense of her son. The story does sound far fetched, but it's not implausible. There are little people roaming about and there are people with mental issues who might misidentify said little people. As I stated above, I don't think this story was the product of someone's imagination. Still, I'd love to find out more about what happened. That poor little guy -- at the very least, he must have been terribly embarrassed. Unless, of course, this type of thing happens a lot more than anyone realizes. Maybe it's a phenomenon. I'll have to look into this. You may want to as well, readers.
So there you have it: another post, another day.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Rasberry beret, the kind you find in a second hand strore
I woke up intermittently throughout the night convinced I was resting my head in the lap of a woman. Strange, that, and it was a different woman each time. I vaguely recall at least two of them, but I'm not divulging who they were. Ah, it was blissful, I tell you: I'd wake up - I'm a side sleeper, by the way - convinced there was a woman caressing my head and whispering comforting things to me I can't, and probably wasn't meant to, recall. Yes, I'm aware of what this suggests psychologically, but it was comforting, soothing, and, in light of all the pain I've been experiencing, a welcome relief. Just dreams? My body healing itself? Something deeper, something beyond? I don't know.The Universe is so ancient and we are so young, so very young. We play at knowing, but we are enshrouded in not knowing. With that in mind, I'll not bother trying to figure this one out.
Feeling a little better today. Yesterday, in the afternoon, I took the T into Boston to do some recording at the registry. The ride in was a fever dream. I was malnourished and weak; shards of pain, powered by some demonic battery, coursed through my head. It wasn't a fun trip, was rife with strange thoughts, but I pulled through and the worst seems to be over.
The story of Phoebe Prince, the girl who hanged herself after constant bullying from classmates, has touched me deeply. I am teary as I write this. She was treated savagely, abused, and made to feel less than human, like some mangy, lice-ridden beast. I am glad charges are being pressed. Somebody had to do something. I wish I knew her; I bet she was a sweet girl.
Just received disc three of the 9 1/2 hour epic The Human Condition. What a fantastic and brave film! Made in 1959, the trilogy follows the life of Kaji, a Japanese pacifist and socialist, as he tries to survive in the fascist and oppressive WW2 era Japan. Watching it, I've been struck by how deep, insightful, and truly ahead of time this film was.
In the last week, I finished Cryptoterrestrials and Impossible Visits. Tomorrow, I'll more than likely finish The Pillars of The earth. And Drood, as thick as it is, may be finished as early next week. A reading fiend, I am.
And on that note, I will make myself scarce. I plan on working through a couple of songs, do some reading, and watch either Seinfeld or The Human Condition. And, when I can stay awake no longer, I will travel to the world of sleep and its attendant dreams, and maybe, if the Universe is kind, I will return to the laps of my angels.
Feeling a little better today. Yesterday, in the afternoon, I took the T into Boston to do some recording at the registry. The ride in was a fever dream. I was malnourished and weak; shards of pain, powered by some demonic battery, coursed through my head. It wasn't a fun trip, was rife with strange thoughts, but I pulled through and the worst seems to be over.
The story of Phoebe Prince, the girl who hanged herself after constant bullying from classmates, has touched me deeply. I am teary as I write this. She was treated savagely, abused, and made to feel less than human, like some mangy, lice-ridden beast. I am glad charges are being pressed. Somebody had to do something. I wish I knew her; I bet she was a sweet girl.
Just received disc three of the 9 1/2 hour epic The Human Condition. What a fantastic and brave film! Made in 1959, the trilogy follows the life of Kaji, a Japanese pacifist and socialist, as he tries to survive in the fascist and oppressive WW2 era Japan. Watching it, I've been struck by how deep, insightful, and truly ahead of time this film was.
In the last week, I finished Cryptoterrestrials and Impossible Visits. Tomorrow, I'll more than likely finish The Pillars of The earth. And Drood, as thick as it is, may be finished as early next week. A reading fiend, I am.
And on that note, I will make myself scarce. I plan on working through a couple of songs, do some reading, and watch either Seinfeld or The Human Condition. And, when I can stay awake no longer, I will travel to the world of sleep and its attendant dreams, and maybe, if the Universe is kind, I will return to the laps of my angels.
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