I believe in freedom, freedom is apparently all I need, but who's ever been free in this world, who has never had to bleed in this world?

Went to my grandmother's house for Mother's Day. There were plenty of mothers there, to be sure, and plenty of children running about. With the inclusion of my aunt and uncle who flew up from PA, nearly the entire extended family was present. A good time, better than the last get together, but still, I'm the oddball in that lot. After talking and thinking about conformity and how it suffocates the artist recently, I didn't feel so bad. A lonelier, bumpier, ride through life, but far less ordinary and confining.

Yesterday, I picked up the Jonsi record, Buffalo Springfield's sophomore effort, and a wonderful surprise: the new album by Rufus Wainwright. Without hesitation, I grabbed a copy. I first heard him at a record store years ago. There was a listening station there where you could sample select new artists. I plopped on the headphones, read a brief description of who this Rufus Wainwright person I was about to listen to was, and pressed play. I didn't know what to expect. After the first song, I took off the headphones and immediately set about purchasing the CD. I had been blown away by what I heard.

I listened to that album, his debut, exclusively for months. The songwriting, his voice, the instrumentation - everything - spoke to me in a way music hadn't spoken to me in a long time. I spread to the word about Rufus to everyone I thought would like him. A majority of them did. To this day, Janelle and Spira are still big fans. I listened to that album constantly. I wore that son of a bitch out.

I awaited his subsequent albums with an eagerness I rarely exhibited with other music. A new Rufus offering was a big deal to me. I liked some better than others, sometimes I wished he'd chosen another direction with a song or two, but always, always his albums never failed to deliver. So when I discovered he'd put out a new one without me knowing about it in advance, I was thrilled.

I listened to it a couple of times yesterday. Just piano and vocals and a more somber tone than his last couple of albums. He recorded it while his mother, his best friend, was dying of cancer.

Late last night, as I lay in bed about to go to sleep, I reached for my iPod and listened to it again, figuring I'd fall asleep during the first song or two. Nope. I made it all the way to the end, wide awake when I got there.

This is a special album. I'm astounded at how advanced his songwriting has grown. He's on top of his game in every conceivable way. I predict I'm going to be learning much from this album for a long time to come. All Days Are Nights : Songs For Lulu it's called, and I'm enchanted.
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Hung out with Spira last night. We got some Brazilian food, talked, and watched some 30
Rock episodes. She asked me if I'd take Missy, her lovely greyhound, out for a walk tomorrow and feed her. I consented. As I left, the two ladies accompanied me, as it was time for Missy's last walk of the night. It was freezing out and I was wearing shorts and flip flops. I walked with them for a bit before the cold and stabbing wind became too much.

"No, don't leave yet", Spira said. "I have to show you wear Missy poops."

"Does it really matter where she poops?", I responded through chattering teeth.

"Yes, she has a particular place she likes to go. C'mon, don't be a baby."

"Easy for you to say, all bundled up. How far ahead is this 'particular place' ?"

She pointed to a position about a hundred feet ahead. "We take a right at that little hill", she said.

No, you take a right at that little hill, I thought. I'm getting into my car and cranking the heat.

And you know what? That's exactly what I did.


The End.