The vaccine is being shipped out. Frontline workers to be vaccinated early this week. May this operation be a success…. (I’m not up for an exclamation point yet.)
Yesterday, Jane and I launched a movie / TV marathon. She awakened feeling great (she was very talkative) and suggested we watch The Godfather! She’d never seen Part II, so we watched that as well, though we decided to wait for the release of Coppola’s re-edit of Part III. You know, those first two are pretty decent movies…
After some Mexican curbside deliciousness (I do love Acambaro’s enchiladas banderas), we resumed with a chunk of Springsteen on Broadway–she had to listen to him being blasted on my stereo when I was a teen, and she pronounced him good–and an episode of her favorite investigative series Vera. That show is complicated!
We closed with SNL, since Bruce was the musical guest; neither of us had heard of the guest host. Mom loves Weekend Update, and we struggled through a series of subpar sketches to get to it. A surprise appearance by Dr. Weknowdis made it all worth it. Springsteen: he performed joyfully but left me unmoved. Mom had no comment.
Helped Mom yesterday deal with some arthritic pain. We had a great experience with health professionals here in Monett: a quick and clear diagnosis, and treatment that was fairly immediately effective. I’m very thankful for frontline workers. Very.
We received a visit from longtime family friend Phyllis Garrett. She regularly checks on Mom, and since I’m normally over three hours away, that is a comfort. Phyllis’ love, concern, and good humor is a gift.
After lasagna and salad, we watched two productions I was skeptical about: Hillbilly Elegy and (a few episodes of) Schitt’s Creek. The book from which the former was adapted was a best seller, but a few reviews I’d read convinced me to skip it (I read What You Are Getting Wrong About Appalachia instead). Nicole and I had previously sampled the latter (Catherine O’Hara? Chris Elliott? Eugene Levy? How could it miss?) and were left somewhat cold. However, enthusiastic urging by our friends Frank and Rebecca Wimer-Pisano and my suspicion Mom would be interested prompted me to give both a whirl–and we very much enjoyed them! Maybe the movie improved on the book, though judging from the first three episodes of the comedy series, it needs a little more Chris Elliott.
It is hard to write these on the road (so to speak). I’m out of my routine, and, because I prefer to write via smartphone–I have my reasons–it can seem to those unaware of my mission that I’m simply phone-obsessed and messaging obsessively and mindlessly. Thus, like today, I feel late, late, to a very important date.
My mom and I had pork loin, mac and cheese, and salad for dinner, then binged the entire Amazon Prime Series The Undoing. It was suspenseful and grizzled Hugh Grant is an amusing sight, but I was distracted constantly by Nicole Kidman’s complete inability to keep her Australian accent in check. Why couldn’t her character just have spoken that way? The movie felt no reason to explain why Grant’s character was English. It was embarrassing, but the Monett Margaritas (aka “The Basquiats”–did you know when Jean-Michel was in Europe he relentlessly tried to teach bartenders how to make them?) allowed me to just regard them with humor.
Nicole sent me pics of her kitchen projects. That really helped me not miss her.
One of my favorite little routines of the pandemic has come at the suggestion of my former student and current good friend Nathan Ferguson. Every Friday, we trade Apple Music recommendations via IM, with a brief explanation and / or justification. I spent some enjoyable moments last night plotting what I’d send him today. He’s sent me to some cool stuff, plus he’s just smart. I’ve come to the conclusion he was too quiet when he was in my classroom and needed to have held my feet to the fire more frequently. As teachers, though, we can’t have everything.
With great care and forethought, I reluctantly left Nicole and our feline team yesterday morning to hit the road for two out-of-town visits. This is not the greatest time to be venturing out, but some missions are essential and I’m taking the fewest possible risks.
On my familiar highway chain–70 to 63 to 54 to 5 to 44–I jammed to some relatively new music I’d not yet heard, three rap albums that dazzled me by serengeti (with help from Greg the Deerhoof drummer), Backxwash (hear below), Bktherula. I thought I was fatigued by the first MC’s set-up (I’ve long been a fan, and almost snagged him for a free show at Hickman High School)–I was wrong; the second MC simply stunned me with her aggressive delivery and strong worldview (we’ll call it); the sonics of the third MC’s album (Nirvana). The morning was one of my favorite musical experiences of this calendar year, and you may not like critics, but they DO care–and I got the tips from a goodun.
My first visit was with one of my lifelong best friends, a former housemate and (once) bandmate, and a stellar groomsman, Mike Rayhill. We talked Ebo Taylor and Fela, Taysom Hill and Patrick Mahomes, fatherhood and fathers, public and social parochial education, and cruelty and love. We also ate six delicious Taco Bell tacos.
My second visit was with my mom, with whom I’ll be staying for a few days. I helped her with a Zoom church business meeting, we enjoyed pork loin and baked potatoes, and took in a sweet and fun movie, The Fishermen’s Friends, which I’d seen before but she needed to see (thanks again, Clay). It’s recommended to fishermen, friends, and lovers of sea shanties.
Streaming for Strivers:
Been awhile since a rap album has injected my body and mind with pure caffeine like this record by Backxwash.
On yesterday’s day of the year, December 8, we always take time to remember Nicole’s mom Lynda Jo Evers. She passed away on that day in 2013 after a difficult but heroic battle with Stage 4 glioblastoma. What we usually do is do something she loved to do: go out to Les Bourgeois Bistro and get a riverside window or catch a movie in her wheelhouse, for example. But these are not the days for those. We simply sat at the kitchen table after Nicole finished teaching and drank an Old Fashioned toast to her. That cocktail was her favorite, and her daughter mixed up maybe the best one I ever tasted. We miss that woman deeply. She was hard-working (she was a nurse and had just retired), kind, accepting, very funny–and she had her politics straight.
Streaming for Strivers:
I was sipping my drink and browsing through a reference book (that’s how I relax) when I realized I needed to catch up with this master singer. Would you care to join me? There are a few instrumentals on this album, but the band’s sharp.
Nicole enjoys memorizing classic poems, and last night she asked me to test her on Longfellow’s “Psalm of Life”–she nailed everything, including the quality of the reading. If you don’t know it, you should look it up: it’s one of the good ones. Anyway, she told me Bob Dylan’s “It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)” is next on this list–a worthy challenge–and we traded our Top 5 Dylan songs. Nicole didn’t even know about yesterday’s news: that Dylan had sold the rights to all his songs so far to Universal for $300 million. That triggered an evening of reading and browsing to the tune of those Top Fives, among them “Every Grain of Sand,” “Visions of Johanna,” “High Water,” “Only a Pawn in Their Game”–and “Girl from the North Country,” much loved by Nicole’s mom Lynda Jo, who passed away seven years ago today. I find it interesting how spontaneous choices frequently lead us to where we really need to be.
In other news, I had to do a sleep study, so Nicole helped me get outfitted so as not to screw that up. Her very pretty face smiling as she straightened my nasal and oral cannulas helped ease my anxiety about having a black box strapped to my chest, plastic tubes wrapped around me, and sensors in my nose and mouth. Thinking about that helped me actually sleep six hours, despite cat distractions.
Streaming for Strivers:
One of the great unsung Dylan tributes. Maria’s more than “Midnight at the Oasis.”
I was invited back to my old school to be a guest speaker (I thought). Turns out I was invited back to guide and introduce the guest speaker, who turned out to be the very last person on Earth for whom I would want to do those honors. I didn’t find that out until I was already on-site and walking down the hallway to meet him. His security detail was the actor Tom Hardy. I led them to the auditorium, but as we were about to enter, the guest grunted, “I have to take a dump.” He and Agent Hardy went into the bathroom and, figuring it would be awhile, I went on out into the auditorium, which was packed with students in groups of 10-15, but maskless.
Immediately one of the students ran up to me and said, “There is a big problem and you need to figure it out before the speaker speaks!” I asked him, “Are you in Literacy Seminar, because the key will be in that room.” He said, “Yeah, it’s right over here,” and pointed to an open classroom and bookcase situated in the front right corner of the auditorium. I hurried over, looking for my long-time colleague Jessica, but instead there were three very robotic co-teachers teaching the class.
I told them with great urgency, “I need to find a specific book that always worked with my kids, but I can’t remember the title, the main character’s name, or the plot–if I can see the title it’ll come right back to me.” My frustration with my own memory was vividly palpable in the dream, since I’ve been experiencing it while awake.
One of the robots said, “Well, sir, that’ll be a problem,” and gestured toward the bookcase: all the books were shelved with their spines facing toward the back of the bookcase.
I burst out, “How the hell do you find a book around here?”
The robot replied, “You have to know exactly where it is. We haven’t read a book this semester,” then giggled and rolled her eyes.
I craned my neck and saw The Guest and Agent Hardy emerging from the hallway, both with toilet paper trailing a shoe.
At that point, I broke out of the dream and sat bolt upright in bed, trying to remember the protagonist’s name, but finally realizing there was no actual book. In the dream, I remember thinking the author was Corey Hayden, but dismissing that; all I know is the hero was a young girl who had powers of divination. But I am so grateful I awakened when I did.
Dreams are boring-ass boring, but this one was so Kafkaesque I had to share it. It was my second return-to-Hickman dream in a week. I dedicate this post to my friends Rex Harris and, of course, Mrs. Lucas.
Streaming for Strivers:
When I think of dreams and music, I often think of this plectrist.
I have come to love a COVID ritual that I will probably extend into the next world (if we ever get there). I drove Nicole to the grocery store ultra-early for provisions, before it got too crowded, and just sat in the truck cab meditating and thinking (those aren’t always the same thing). I know it looks like I’m lazing there blissfully while she’s endangering herself, but it’s not what it seems. My spouse would probably agree.
The blower–the telly-phone, as Elvis once sang (he stole the phrasing from Jackie Wilson)–has become a welcome alternative to Zoom for many lately, I just read in The Week. I spoke to two loved ones who are suffering via that technology myself yesterday, and I definitely understand.
I don’t mean to torture readers with constant reports of my good fortune due to my wife being an incredible cook, but she spent the afternoon preparing delicious black bean-stuffed poblano peppers with queso fresco and they delivered serious satisfaction. We bought some fresh tortillas from the Tortilleria ” EL PATRÓN ” Group and, as is my wont, I spied an improvisational opportunity to combine the stuffed peppers and the lettuce, onion, and avocado salad she’d also prepared into a scrumptious soft taco. I am not completely culinarily worthless!
You no doubt have heard of Steve McQueen’s limited series on Amazon Prime, Small Axe. If not, you’re hearing about it now. How many of you learned about the lives of black men and women in England when you were in school? I didn’t, either, and you can catch up here. The second installment, titled “Lovers Rock” (after the warm and romantic strain of golden-age reggae of the same name), is simply beautiful. There is no plot; it’s one night in the life of a group of (mostly) young black youth at a blues dance. The performances, soundtrack, and cinematographical brilliance of the episode will dazzle and inspire you, possibly to joyful tears. That’s what we watched last night; it was just a shade better than dinner.
I can definitely understand anyone in our current situation choosing not to visit a doctor’s office or clinic if at all possible. I’ve now been to four different such facilities within the last month, most of them on routine missions because I’m getting older and that and the events of this year are making me more vigilant. I’ve been reluctant, because masks are not completely preventative, but I’m glad I went, because I’ve found out things I’ve really needed to know. I encourage you, if you’ve been holding out on check-ups and such, to visit your health professionals soon.
The capper to our week, especially Nicole’s working week, was a dinner of Parmesan portobello mushrooms, fresh spinach, and sweet taters with cinnamon and brown sugar. Hard to beat! We had a glass of wine and sat down to a wide-ranging Zoom conversation with our friends Rebecca and Frank Pisano. We discussed excellent Zoom teachers, Jessco White and Jimi Hendrix, HillbillyElegy and Mangrove, English vs. American Black Panthers, J. K. Rowling and Lee Smith, middle-schoolers and elementary humans, and much more. We were so drained from the rich talk we were asleep about 10 minutes after the Zoom concluded.
Streaming for Strivers:
I, too, am a free-born man. It’s after birth that’s the hard part of the bargain.
Ended my semester tutoring at Stephens. Didn’t do any sessions in person, but it was encouraging that we did not have a decrease in tutoring requests but did have one in cancelled appointments. My only in-person interaction with students was to notarize a few absentee and mail-in ballots. I miss students, but I’ve stayed healthy and so have most on Stephens’ campus. Looks like more of the same next semester; I hope my on-line comp class makes.
Had to get another blood panel run (nothing major). The poor intern tasked with drawing my blood might have been too distracted by my kitten mask (made by my mom), since she couldn’t draw blood in three sticks. The head nurse got the needle in and blood drawn while I was still explaining the mask to the intern.
Made a decent effort to curb a few habits. Kept myself to one small cup of coffee and no unhealthy snacks. Nicole prepared an Indian dish with butter sauce that was scrumptious and found some good pre-packaged garlic naan at the store.
Spent the evening continuing to bury my nose in Lee Smith‘s Saving Grace. If you need a high-quality page-turner that is sure to beat the pants off Hillbilly Elegy, check it out. Also, listened to some VINTAGE Western swing from the Thirties. That stuff never gets old, and it’s got serious juice.
Dreamed I was substituting at Hickman. The hallways were realistic, but when I entered my room, first it was shoebox-size with 35 students (I counted), then it elasticized to the size of a lecture hall, with the students suddenly very socially distanced. There was a foosball table a few juvenile delinquent types claimed the teacher let them play every day (BS, but why the table?); the ten students that had to sign out to go to tutoring just left without my signature; the remaining students laughed at me for saying reading could save them, but then were surprised not only that I was going to teach the lesson plan but knew my sh*t. Then a cat woke me up.
The Overeem Farewell Tour: Dispatches from the Public School Trenches 