Letters are written, never meaning to send

The Sabbath. It is here and finds me in good spirits, albeit a touch groggy. I took a nap this afternoon and it didn't really take. That's alright; as I said I'm in good spirits. I'm equipped with some coffee from True Grounds and expect a boost to my energy level any minute now. Here's a news flash: I'm not terribly fond of the coffee at True Grounds and only went there because I'm out and didn't feel like making a trip to the grocery store. Their brew is watery and bitter, at least to my sensibilities. And they always fill the cup right up to the rim. I once asked my old roommate, Matt, who's a barista, why some coffee houses do this. His reply: "They assume you wouldn't be so foolish as to defile their brew with cream or sugar, so they fill it to the rim." Next time I'll defile their faces with a full, piping hot cup. 

Yesterday was Rachael and Mike's party up in Peterborough, NH. I went up with Spira and Missy D. It was nice not having to make the trip by myself. It took us a while to get there for various reasons, one of which had to do with becoming slightly lost along the rolling back roads of Peterborough. We kept our composure and eventually arrived safe and sound to the Austin compound, where children, dogs, and adults intermingled outside and in.

Foley was there. Hadn't spoken to him in a long time. Despite a vague rift that lasted months, our reunion was joyful from the start . I'm glad he was there. Got to meet his girlfriend, Tess, who was pretty damned cool.

The night was filled with merriment. There was sangria (made by Janelle and I haven't tasted better), beer, smoke, music (impromptu jam sessions in hangar sized garage Mike does his blacksmithing , the kitchen, and porch), and mucho laughter among friends old and newly met.

I crashed in the room off the kitchen which Spira had abandoned in favor of sleeping in my tent because of the mosquitoes. I shouldn't say crashed because I didn't spend too much time there. I had gotten under the covers and Rachael serenaded me and a few others with some old-timey hymnals on the piano that sat across the room. It was a highlight of the night.

When everyone went off to bed, I tried to combat the mosquito problem (and it was a problem - I had thought Spira was overreacting a bit when she abandoned the room - she had even contemplated driving home - but those fuckers were brutal) by hiding under the blankets, but those rascals found a way in and buzzed around my head incessantly.

After about twenty minutes of that, I made an executive decision to change locations. I went out to the car and got my camping pad and pillow and migrated to the basement where there had once been a couch but presently there were only boxes. I set my stuff in the dark and promptly fell asleep. It was a good decision; I slept through the night, dreaming of sugar plum fairies and what not.

Scott made us all blueberry pancakes this morning and we had coffee and toast. Spira and I left around eleven. We stopped at McDonald's so she could get some coffee and we both ended up getting a fillet-o-fish. I rarely - emphasis on the word rarely - get fast food these days, but on occasion a fillet-o-fish is in order. We both like them quite a bit and these indulgences are fine every once in a while. It was tasty, son!

A great weekend with friends. These days especially, I find myself really savoring my time with my people. I won't have them around forever.

And now it is time to get on with my evening. I may watch Synecdoche, New York or find a Charlie Chaplin film on YouTube. We'll see. The night is young and there is a whole menu of options. Wish me luck, worms!

Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me

Had to get away from some rabbit hole searching, so here I am with you. Consider it a blessing, for it could be no less. Ah, anyway....

Had the house to myself this weekend; Fred had gone mountain biking in VT and Evangeline was at a wedding in Chicago. It was nice, but I wasn't around that much to enjoy it. Still, practicing yoga in my underwear and going full out nude for Savasana, was sublime.

Oh, that Shitter! You may remember, but probably don't, a post not to long ago in which I carried on about a guy who was always in the bathroom taking a shit every time I went for a piss or to wash my hands. In a fit of inspiration, I dubbed him The Shitter. I didn't really portray him in a positive light. Might have had something to do with the fact that virtually every time I went to use the restroom, this guy would be in there taking wretched dumps. Yeah, a real gleeful time listening to the disgusting shit purging sounds - pphhhwwwwppptttt!!!!, flawwwwtttttttttt!!!! And that smell! You don't have to be in the employ of Scotland Yard to figure out where that fucker stuffs his face. All you need is a nose, my friend. Wendy's, Taco Bell, Dominos, KFC, - they're all represented in the putrid stench that fills the room. What an asshole!

Anyway, The Shitter is a real pain in the neck, but I suppose he's not so bad. The reason I brought him up at all is because he does something that is actually kind of endearing, but mostly hilarious. Sometimes I'll be in the bathroom and The Shitter will enter hurriedly and make a beeline for one of the stalls (actually, he only ever uses one; it's his favorite). Whenever this happens, I try to wrap up my business post haste so I don't have to get caught up in his noxious activities.

A week or two or ago, I found out that during his "emergencies", he does his best to keep his wolves at bay until I've left the room. How did I find this out? See, one time I decided I wasn't going to let this guy The Shitter dictate how I go about my business. I decided not to hurry out of the restroom this time. I washed and dried my hands at a relaxed pace and even opened the door in a casual manner. When I stepped out into the hallway, I heard a thunderous sound. "PPFFFLAAARRRRSSHHHHH!!" It startled me, but The Shitter had done everything in his power to shield me from his excremental wrath.

The next couple of times a similar scenario played out, I would open the door very slowly and linger a bit in the doorway, holding back laughter all the while. I imagined him all red-faced thinking to himself, "I can't hold out much longer. Why hasn't this asshole left?". And then..... well you know what followed.

So I guess The Shitter, in his own way, is actually considerate. And me? Well, you could say I'm a bit of a prick for playing games with someone's bowel movements. If it's true, whatever. I call it karma. And for the record, I've put up with much worse from him.

And your'e a very sexy girl, who's very hard to please

After work there was an expansive yoga session in which I incorporated a new vinyasa flow I'm pretty sure I would not have been able to execute six months ago. So, if you're wondering whether I'm proud of myself, the answer is yes. But I'm not being cocky about it. Onward and upward we go; no time to bask in glory. Well, there is a little time. So I guess I will  bask a little.

Ever listen to Persian classical music? You should. It's what I'm doing right now. Actually, listen to what you want to. I'm not going to try and stop you. I'm just trying to impress you with my cool music choice is all.

 Went to see Mark's band up in NH over the weekend. Craig and I went up together ( A side note. Craig showed up to my place an hour earlier than his target time. That's right, an hour early! I'm still processing it). Up to Fody's we went and it was a real good time. A night thick with kinship.  Got to see Janelle and Michelle perform for the first time. They didn't sing too many songs, but they delivered like champs on the ones they did. Me=Proud.

People bought me drinks all night. Even when I tried to buy someone a beer (Craig, partly because I spilled a full beer all over his person) there was some Twilight Zone glitch and the bartender ended up not charging us for the beers. I felt merry all night and flirted with women (some interesting exchanges I'm not sure I should write about) and laughed and  slow danced with Becky to a mid tempo song, drank beers, howled, and felt the high vibration of life.

Getting to spend an evening with some of my favorite people on the planet, including Rebecca who I hardly ever see anymore (we shared a long hug), was beyond gratifying. We stayed until closing time and I didn't want to leave. I could have gone all night with that group. But we left (Craig was a champ and drove) and when I was dropped off and sitting at my desk realizing how heavily buzzed I was (Right at the door of drunkenness!), I thought over some of the evening's events and eased into a tranquil, appreciative state.

Alas, you rascals, I must leave you and attend to other matters. I might watch The Maltese Falcon (such a great film!) or 12 Angry Men (it will be my first viewing, which is hard to believe). Or I might go gorge myself on watermelon like a buffoon. We'll see

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

So it is that I'm sitting at the keyboard listening to The Stooges blast their furious enthusiasm all over Raw Power, the album Bowie produced and whose intensity he was accused by many of muting. I agree, but the remaster is almost too hot in the mix. Whatever. I may just be a sourpuss.

And so it is that I'm loose from yoga. My practice has expanded, my body has become leaner and better toned. And I feel stronger than I probably ever have. Whether it's the case that what I just laid out is apparent to the observing eye, I can't really say. Judging by recent photos, I look pretty much the same as I always do, despite my clothes feeling looser. Oh well, in the end it can't be about that anyway. Vanity must be brought to heel if a true yoga practice is to be embraced.

Raw Power has left the building. In it's place appears Buena Vista Social Club. I don't know, man, Raw Power starts off well, but my interest in the rest of it always seems to wither. So it's Buena Vista, an album I truly, truly love but listen to not nearly enough. Perfect summer music? You betcha.

The last few days have been low key. I haven't played much music; I needed a break after recording that last song. How I feel about it changes by the hour, but I tried to get it right; it's the first song I've written about my dad. Time has helped, but the ache of grief still resonates.

Alright, you indefatigable searchers of the truth, I'm about to explore other options.

G'night.

My, my, the clock in the sky is ticking away, there's so much to say

It is Sunday and my long weekend rolls up to the finish line. It was a good one. On July 4th, I went to my mom's early in the day, with Nana in tow, and we had a nice little cookout with my sister and her family. And because the following day was my birthday, we celebrated with cake and possibly ice cream (actually, there was no ice cream). As we were leaving, the absence of my father hit me and I lost it for a bit. So did my mom and sister. We miss him terribly. Fuck, it still hurts.

Later in the day, I went over to Spira's to attend her cookout/birthday gathering. Started off poorly with the concierge telling me there were no parking passes available. I was forced to pay six bucks at the lot nearby. Turns out, Spira had reserved a couple of passes and there was one waiting for me. Not a fan of that concierge.

The gathering went well. Viboo and Jonathan, Pat and Allie, Janelle and Bill, Rebecca Spira, and me had a great meal that included kobe beef burgers and a delicious tort Spira made. We then walked down Memorial Drive to witness the fireworks. I enjoyed myself like a kid having a positive acid trip. I wasn't on acid, but I did have some beers and reefer. So there's that. Fun times.

On Friday, Janelle and Bill treated me to dinner in Newburyport at a Mexican restaurant called Agave. Michelle, Kayla, and her girlfriend, Kiley, came along. I had a swell time, but the restaurant was cramped and didn't have a/c, which was weird because we were in the middle of a crippling heat wave and the place was fairly high-end. I ordered a grilled shrimp and avocado salad and pounded a couple of glasses of water. It was the right call.

The heat must have gotten to me because I was under the weather later that night and into the next day. Seems like every year around this time, lately anyway, I get a stomach virus. I kicked it's ass (after it kicked mine) and spent the rest of the day yesterday lounging around recovering. Which was what I did today, too, though I did start it off with a lengthy yoga session. And I also ate very little. After all the different types of food I'd eaten over the last few days, I needed a bit of cleansing (in addition to the cleansing by way of my ass I'd endured the day before).

What else? I did some recording this weekend and read from Flashman's Lady. I watched episodes of Life's Too Short, caught the replay of the Silva/Weidman fight (too much clowning around cost you, Anderson) and watched China Town. I napped. Those types of things.

Could the weekend gone better? Of course. But that's not the way to approach it. I enjoyed myself quite a bit and felt massive appreciation for the friends and family I have.

Ok, time to do other, sexier, things.

Fuzzy dice, bongos in the back, my ship of love, is ready to attack

I spent my entire work day at the courthouse in Cambridge. It wasn't supposed to have gone down like that, but it worked out to my advantage. The idea was for me to record some docs in the morning and head into work when I was done. Even though we weren't sure when we'd be funded (we were doing this as a favor for an attorney my bosses are friendly with) it seemed likely I'd arrive at work by noon the latest. I got to the registry at nine, recorded some odds and ends we had kicking around at the office and waited for the word about funding. It came around two. In the meantime, I worked on lyrics, admired the female folk, and read from Flashman's Lady. I felt almost zero guilt about getting paid to do all of that. There wasn't much else for me to do.

Around one, I walked over to Finagle-a-Bagel and ordered an egg sandwich, something I haven't done in a long time. After about ten minutes of watching people who ordered after me get their food, I asked a clerk where mine was. Turns out it was sitting on the rear counter all by its lonesome. I was hungry, but man was that a bad sandwich. I don't know about you, but I don't need two or three heaping tablespoons of watery chive cream cheese on my egg sandwiches. After some excavation, I went to town, but it was not a labor of love. The ham was a sickly pink color and the egg was a limp, wilted thing. And the wheat bagel was soft and almost mushy, aka not toasted. Should have walked the extra couple of blocks to my car and grabbed my blueberry Greek yogurt. For reals. Fuck you, Finagle-a-Bagel! Actually, I should thank you for reminding me why I stay away from food like that.

So I ended up getting on record around three. No point going into work at that hour. By the time I got there, I'd be turning around and heading home in short order. I didn't get a full day in, which I'll feel the slight pinch next paycheck, but it was worth it. I came home and spent a couple of hours trying to lay down some guitar tracks for a song I've been developing for months. It concerns the passing of my dad and I think it conveys the appropriate mood.

I've been so focused on this song over the last week or so that I needed some distance from it. I wrote a new song, something decidedly more upbeat, and have been working on adaptations of two cover songs. One is Dog Breath, by Frank Zappa and the other is Porpoise Song, by The Monkees. It's funny, when I chose these songs it wasn't based on any connection between them, but now that I think of it, there are indeed connections. Each song has a mammal featured in the title and Frank Zappa appeared on The Monkees. And maybe that's it as far as connections go. Not so many, but it seemed like there would be none at all.

 Anyway....

Went to Mike's bbq on Saturday. Good seeing friends I don't see all that often. The time flew by and it seemed like I barely got to talk to anyone. I was pretty beat by the time I left. There are reasons for it, and one of them was that I had gotten up early to practice yoga. It was a vigorous, expansive session, but it took it's toll, I suppose. I still stayed up late, though; the toll wasn't too heavy.

The first season of Life's Too Short arrived in the mail today. Wasn't expecting it for a few more days. I'll have to watch an episode or two tonight. It's my birthday present to myself. I asked for a pony, but I doubt I'll be able to afford one.

And I'll work on music and meditate. A short week it will be. G'night, rascals.