Sunday. A good day to listen to the Stanley Brothers, so that's what I'm doing. I just finished watching the Red Riding trilogy. I watched the first installment yesterday and liked it so much I watched the remaining two today. The films depict a corrupt police force in West Yorkshire England as it tries to cover up a pedophile ring. Filled with rubes, cockerels, and miscreants, the films are bleak, but there are characters who try to expose the corruption. Gripping stuff.
Wrote a song in about ten minutes the other night, lyrics and all. I'm pleased with it and wish this type of thing would happen more often.
This is Rich's last week in the house. I think, over the last week, I've seen him a total of a minute and a half and shared only the briefest of conversations. He's been doing the hiding hermit bit and I half suspect he'll continue with it right up until when he leaves. Whatever. I'm ready for the change. I look forward to seeing what Ella is about.
--
I've never seen a scarier political climate in this country than what we have now. Really, these are truly dark days. Where are the rational voices? Even during the Bush empire, there were at least a few, now it's just a rogue's gallery of villains who make no bones about not having the citizen's interests in mind. Obviously, I'm being cynical here and maybe not entirely rational myself, but things are grim and it's tough to be positive.
On that note, I will finish my coffee and contemplate my next move. Dexter is on soon, I'd like to work on some music, and perhaps I'll watch either Sherlock Holmes or Crazy Heart, the two Netflix movies I have in my possession. Monday approaches - can I make it through another week? We'll see.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
No use waiting like a ghost in a dream, the world has no comfort to bring
Just practiced yoga and feel loose and strong and clear-minded. It's an art that requires patience to reap its rewards. I've been practicing for years now, but it's only been the last several months that I've fully embraced it. And, lately, including my earlier session, I've been challenging myself more, which implies increased exertion, which there has been, but a lot of what's been going has been primarily about release, about trusting my body, connecting to it.
I had a dream about Mandy, the dog of my youth, last night. The theme was the same as always: you can't go home again. It's not natural to give the past the authority of the present. The poor girl, lying beside me as I hugged her tightly, tears streaming down my face. Her breathing was rapid, her heart disturbingly overworked. I knew it wasn't right that I had here, like a fish pulled from the sea, but it was hard to let go. I woke up, eyes wet. She was a fine dog, but she is gone to me. I am not outside nature, I am in the thick of it - I must embrace its rules or suffer. The past is the past. The future is the future. The present is all there is.
At one point yesterday, I thought about how irretrievable the past is, even when it feels so close you could touch it. I recalled the days of early adulthood, when I met many of the friends I still have. Some of their images came up hazy, some vivid. Seemed recent, but in reality quite a bit further back. Years. Strange, this life. Stranger, the older I get. It was this line of thought that summoned the dream. I think so, anyway.
We move on. And on. And on. I don't think we die, I think we just keep experiencing "now". Eternally. I won't be a ghost that haunts people and places that have no tangible existence. Still, I miss my girl, and those days of deep kinship, seemingly abiding. Eventually, will all be forgotten as I hurdle through the great expanse of life? I wonder.
Richard and Linda Thompson's Pour Down Like Silver arrived in the mail today. Gave it a once through already. Less raucous than I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight, but equally effective. Around this time, the couple had embraced Sufism and the songs reflect this paradigm shift. Devotional, but not preachy. Great stuff. Oh, and the shot of Linda in the CD booklet is strikingly beautiful. I feel a sigh coming on.
Coming up: Finish watching Sita Sings The Blues, record some music, read from The Great Hunt, watch The Office, shower, write some emails, and who knows what else. And that's just tonight. I better get started.
I had a dream about Mandy, the dog of my youth, last night. The theme was the same as always: you can't go home again. It's not natural to give the past the authority of the present. The poor girl, lying beside me as I hugged her tightly, tears streaming down my face. Her breathing was rapid, her heart disturbingly overworked. I knew it wasn't right that I had here, like a fish pulled from the sea, but it was hard to let go. I woke up, eyes wet. She was a fine dog, but she is gone to me. I am not outside nature, I am in the thick of it - I must embrace its rules or suffer. The past is the past. The future is the future. The present is all there is.
At one point yesterday, I thought about how irretrievable the past is, even when it feels so close you could touch it. I recalled the days of early adulthood, when I met many of the friends I still have. Some of their images came up hazy, some vivid. Seemed recent, but in reality quite a bit further back. Years. Strange, this life. Stranger, the older I get. It was this line of thought that summoned the dream. I think so, anyway.
We move on. And on. And on. I don't think we die, I think we just keep experiencing "now". Eternally. I won't be a ghost that haunts people and places that have no tangible existence. Still, I miss my girl, and those days of deep kinship, seemingly abiding. Eventually, will all be forgotten as I hurdle through the great expanse of life? I wonder.
Richard and Linda Thompson's Pour Down Like Silver arrived in the mail today. Gave it a once through already. Less raucous than I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight, but equally effective. Around this time, the couple had embraced Sufism and the songs reflect this paradigm shift. Devotional, but not preachy. Great stuff. Oh, and the shot of Linda in the CD booklet is strikingly beautiful. I feel a sigh coming on.
Coming up: Finish watching Sita Sings The Blues, record some music, read from The Great Hunt, watch The Office, shower, write some emails, and who knows what else. And that's just tonight. I better get started.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
I am a roving gambler, I've gambled down in town, whenever I meet with a deck of cards, I lay my money down
Therese came to work late this morning. As she was getting settled, she told Sharon and me that she was delayed because she couldn't find her keys. After searching everywhere in her house, she finally found them in the grass near her front door. Immediately, I saw the problem with this scenario. "So how did you get in the when you came home yesterday?", I asked. Her jaw dropped slightly and her eyes widened. Barely perceptible, but I caught it. I wasn't in the business of trying to catch her in a lie and didn't want her to have that impression, so before she could respond, I said, "Or was someone home already?"
Instead of replying that indeed one of her sons or husband was home , she said "Oh, we don't lock our doors. I suppose we should, but we don't." Therese is the type to install a metal detector in her doorway. This business about leaving the doors unlocked during the day doesn't ring true.
Throughout the day, it became more evident that Therese was late for a reason other than the one she provided. At one point, when recounting her search for her keys, she said her son, who's been unemployed and at home for the last week, helped her look for them. I resisted the urge to ask her about a spare set of keys, but I did wonder. If Therese doesn't have a set of spare car keys filed away somewhere in her house, clearly labeled and visible, then I'm the newest cast member of Jersey Shore. And if she was worried about her house key, well A) she already established they don't lock the doors, so no worries there and B) her son, Billy, is home all day, so even if she was in the habit of locking the door, she wouldn't have needed to this morning.
It's possible Therese was telling the truth, but I doubt it. I was fairly amused by the whole thing but a small part of me felt hurt that she couldn't have told me the truth. Maybe the truth was too embarrassing. What if she was late because she was having a little morning delight with her husband. Maybe she had spent all night at a cock fight and overslept. Ah, I'll probably never know the truth. All I know is that Therese needs to lie better. She needs to look for holes in her story before she presents it, otherwise she could get caught in a lie. Hey, we can't always bring our A-game to the table.
--
I haven't heard back from Ella, our new roommate, yet. After she accepted our offer, I emailed her asking her about when she'd be available to drop off her rent check. That was on Sunday; still no response. I'm not too concerned, but I hope I hear back from her soon. If she bails on us, it could really put us in a bind. One thing I've kept in mind is that throughout our correspondence she's never gotten back to me right away. I suspect the reason for this has to do with the fact that she might not have frequent access to a computer. She's staying with a friend and hers might be packed away somewhere. We'll see. I'm crossing my fingers. How many days do we let go by without a response before we pull the plug and seek out another roommate? Hmmm, let's hope it doesn't get to that point. If I don't hear from her by tomorrow, I'll shoot her another email. I don't have her number (I asked for it in the last email), but she has mine. She doesn't seem the type to bail, but you never know.
In the meantime, we're counting down the days until Rich leaves. I'll get into it another time, but he's really getting on our nerves. What else is new.
And now it's time for me to shut it down. I have laundry to attend to and I may watch Sita Sings The Blues.
Instead of replying that indeed one of her sons or husband was home , she said "Oh, we don't lock our doors. I suppose we should, but we don't." Therese is the type to install a metal detector in her doorway. This business about leaving the doors unlocked during the day doesn't ring true.
Throughout the day, it became more evident that Therese was late for a reason other than the one she provided. At one point, when recounting her search for her keys, she said her son, who's been unemployed and at home for the last week, helped her look for them. I resisted the urge to ask her about a spare set of keys, but I did wonder. If Therese doesn't have a set of spare car keys filed away somewhere in her house, clearly labeled and visible, then I'm the newest cast member of Jersey Shore. And if she was worried about her house key, well A) she already established they don't lock the doors, so no worries there and B) her son, Billy, is home all day, so even if she was in the habit of locking the door, she wouldn't have needed to this morning.
It's possible Therese was telling the truth, but I doubt it. I was fairly amused by the whole thing but a small part of me felt hurt that she couldn't have told me the truth. Maybe the truth was too embarrassing. What if she was late because she was having a little morning delight with her husband. Maybe she had spent all night at a cock fight and overslept. Ah, I'll probably never know the truth. All I know is that Therese needs to lie better. She needs to look for holes in her story before she presents it, otherwise she could get caught in a lie. Hey, we can't always bring our A-game to the table.
--
I haven't heard back from Ella, our new roommate, yet. After she accepted our offer, I emailed her asking her about when she'd be available to drop off her rent check. That was on Sunday; still no response. I'm not too concerned, but I hope I hear back from her soon. If she bails on us, it could really put us in a bind. One thing I've kept in mind is that throughout our correspondence she's never gotten back to me right away. I suspect the reason for this has to do with the fact that she might not have frequent access to a computer. She's staying with a friend and hers might be packed away somewhere. We'll see. I'm crossing my fingers. How many days do we let go by without a response before we pull the plug and seek out another roommate? Hmmm, let's hope it doesn't get to that point. If I don't hear from her by tomorrow, I'll shoot her another email. I don't have her number (I asked for it in the last email), but she has mine. She doesn't seem the type to bail, but you never know.
In the meantime, we're counting down the days until Rich leaves. I'll get into it another time, but he's really getting on our nerves. What else is new.
And now it's time for me to shut it down. I have laundry to attend to and I may watch Sita Sings The Blues.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
She passes him on the spiral staircase, thinking he's the Soviet ambassador
Haven't posted much lately and I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe this has run its course. More likely I just haven't been inspired to write lately. It happens. I haven't been reading much these days; maybe there's a connection. Things have been happening, though.
For one, I just received confirmation from Ella that she will be our new roommate. Janelle and I are pretty happy about it. We only met with three people - everyone else was filtered out for various reasons or were no shows - and each we thought would make a good roommate, but Ella stood out. I kind of wish we had enough room for everyone. Mind you, I only kind of wish that. As things develop, I'll convey Ella in more detail.
Last night, I sat and listened to music. I did little else. On a Saturday night? Before you feel too sorry for me, understand that I enjoyed myself quite a bit and only felt the tiniest pang of guilt for not being social. Hey, sometimes you get a night where listening to music is all you want to do.
I listened to Richard Thompson's Sweet Warrior, Bob Dylan's Desire, The Band's Greatest Hits, and then some more Dylan: his Blonde on Blonde, an album that's confused and perplexed me as much as any relationship I've had. It's his White Album in more than a couple of ways. I sometimes have trouble deciding whether it's an absolute work or genius or at best, uneven. Last night, I leaned closer to the former assessment. Just the fact that it has Sad Eyed Lady of The Lowlands on it makes it a very good album, even if every other song was rubbish.
Desire is such a gorgeous album. I love the songs, the production (all that reverb - the drums sound huge!), the lineup, the cohesiveness (even though one of the criticisms people have of the album is that it lacks some). I came to Dylan fairly late, but I always felt I'd someday get him because I admired his propensity for expansion, his fearlessness when it came to trying new things. Listening to Desire as I type this. Great singing - he and Emmylou Harris have some fine duets- and there's a breezy, Mediterranean, feel throughout. Could be my favorite Dylan album
I've experienced some significant breakthroughs during my last couple of sessions of yoga. Been more flexible, stronger. I've been challenging myself a bit more and I've felt the results. I feel like I've made it to another tier in my practice.
Time to go play a bit with Pooch Edward Bottoms, aka Baby Boy Z.
For one, I just received confirmation from Ella that she will be our new roommate. Janelle and I are pretty happy about it. We only met with three people - everyone else was filtered out for various reasons or were no shows - and each we thought would make a good roommate, but Ella stood out. I kind of wish we had enough room for everyone. Mind you, I only kind of wish that. As things develop, I'll convey Ella in more detail.
Last night, I sat and listened to music. I did little else. On a Saturday night? Before you feel too sorry for me, understand that I enjoyed myself quite a bit and only felt the tiniest pang of guilt for not being social. Hey, sometimes you get a night where listening to music is all you want to do.
I listened to Richard Thompson's Sweet Warrior, Bob Dylan's Desire, The Band's Greatest Hits, and then some more Dylan: his Blonde on Blonde, an album that's confused and perplexed me as much as any relationship I've had. It's his White Album in more than a couple of ways. I sometimes have trouble deciding whether it's an absolute work or genius or at best, uneven. Last night, I leaned closer to the former assessment. Just the fact that it has Sad Eyed Lady of The Lowlands on it makes it a very good album, even if every other song was rubbish.
Desire is such a gorgeous album. I love the songs, the production (all that reverb - the drums sound huge!), the lineup, the cohesiveness (even though one of the criticisms people have of the album is that it lacks some). I came to Dylan fairly late, but I always felt I'd someday get him because I admired his propensity for expansion, his fearlessness when it came to trying new things. Listening to Desire as I type this. Great singing - he and Emmylou Harris have some fine duets- and there's a breezy, Mediterranean, feel throughout. Could be my favorite Dylan album
I've experienced some significant breakthroughs during my last couple of sessions of yoga. Been more flexible, stronger. I've been challenging myself a bit more and I've felt the results. I feel like I've made it to another tier in my practice.
Time to go play a bit with Pooch Edward Bottoms, aka Baby Boy Z.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
And honey believe me, I'd sure like to call you my girlfriend
Heard Pearl Jam on the radio today, can't remember the name of the song - something from their middle period - and I had the same reaction I usually get when I hear them: Yawn. It shouldn't be that way, especially considering their bread and butter is energy, at least as concerns their live shows, but I'm here to tell you that pretty much anything they've done after their debut I find to be pretty lukewarm. I may be in the minority with this assessment, but I can't change the way I feel. What should happen is Eddie Vedder should join The Who. The guy does Daltrey better than Daltrey.
A guy came by to check out the apartment last night. Nice guy; we clicked. Turns out he used to live next door back when Bob TV was taking his sweet time moving out of our place (see earlier posts for more details; will be worth your while) and got to live with him for a week or two when Bob TV crashed on their couch. "Don't be like Bob and we'll have no quarrel", I should have told him. I guess, in a more indirect way, I probably did. That Bob TV was a pip, he was.
By week's end, we're hoping to decide on a new roommate. We're looking forward to the change and so is Rich, I think. The guy needs a change of scenery, to be sure.
No one's coming by tonight. I'll be taking advantage of the free time by watching some Mad Men and maybe some of the Celtics preseason game. I want to do some reading, too. Haven't done much lately and I miss it.
While waiting for my number to be called at the Registry of Deeds in Cambridge this afternoon, the guy sitting behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked me about my phone. I already had a private grievance against this guy because he was in line ahead of me at the security check at the entrance of the building and took forever emptying his pockets of change, keys, more change, and a bunch of other stuff. The security guard looked about ready to scream "Dude, you know you're going through a metal detector - leave some of this shit behind, son!"
Anyway, I tell him about my phone, disabusing him of the notion that it was a Blackberry. "Nothing of the sort", I told him. "Pretty basic." I wasn't in the mood for a chat, but I didn't want to be rude, so I tried to mask my annoyance when he kept talking to me. When someone he knew would walk by, he'd call them over and break into a diatribe about his kid's education or some shit. He obviously couldn't detect or didn't care to acknowledge the body language of his victims, because the second he'd pause for breath, they'd start walking away, only to be called back.
The thing is, this guy seemed pretty nice. If he died today, I bet everyone who knew him would comment on how affable and sweet he was, and they'd probably be right. While alive, though, I bet these same people find him annoying and avoid him like the plague. And they probably feel kind of bad about, like I would, but some people, and I suspect this applies to him, have no off switch. Bob TV had no off switch. He'd go on and on and on.
Speaking of going on and on and on, I'm in danger of doing that very thing, so I'm out of here.
Cheers!
A guy came by to check out the apartment last night. Nice guy; we clicked. Turns out he used to live next door back when Bob TV was taking his sweet time moving out of our place (see earlier posts for more details; will be worth your while) and got to live with him for a week or two when Bob TV crashed on their couch. "Don't be like Bob and we'll have no quarrel", I should have told him. I guess, in a more indirect way, I probably did. That Bob TV was a pip, he was.
By week's end, we're hoping to decide on a new roommate. We're looking forward to the change and so is Rich, I think. The guy needs a change of scenery, to be sure.
No one's coming by tonight. I'll be taking advantage of the free time by watching some Mad Men and maybe some of the Celtics preseason game. I want to do some reading, too. Haven't done much lately and I miss it.
While waiting for my number to be called at the Registry of Deeds in Cambridge this afternoon, the guy sitting behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked me about my phone. I already had a private grievance against this guy because he was in line ahead of me at the security check at the entrance of the building and took forever emptying his pockets of change, keys, more change, and a bunch of other stuff. The security guard looked about ready to scream "Dude, you know you're going through a metal detector - leave some of this shit behind, son!"
Anyway, I tell him about my phone, disabusing him of the notion that it was a Blackberry. "Nothing of the sort", I told him. "Pretty basic." I wasn't in the mood for a chat, but I didn't want to be rude, so I tried to mask my annoyance when he kept talking to me. When someone he knew would walk by, he'd call them over and break into a diatribe about his kid's education or some shit. He obviously couldn't detect or didn't care to acknowledge the body language of his victims, because the second he'd pause for breath, they'd start walking away, only to be called back.
The thing is, this guy seemed pretty nice. If he died today, I bet everyone who knew him would comment on how affable and sweet he was, and they'd probably be right. While alive, though, I bet these same people find him annoying and avoid him like the plague. And they probably feel kind of bad about, like I would, but some people, and I suspect this applies to him, have no off switch. Bob TV had no off switch. He'd go on and on and on.
Speaking of going on and on and on, I'm in danger of doing that very thing, so I'm out of here.
Cheers!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
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