Cloister Commentary, Day 240: An Ominous Pall

As I’ve previously reported, COVID cases are going through the roof in our county; we’ve exceeded 100 new cases in a day almost every day for almost two weeks, and our hospitals are becoming overwhelmed. Still, some folks are denying the virus even exists and refusing to take precautions (must their family and friends be struck for them to accept it?), and, with the city choosing not to report new cases over the weekend, we will be holding our breath awaiting today’s report. Nicole only has two more days of working in person during the week ahead (I am working on my campus, but in seclusion with only virtual interactions), but the occurrence of any feverish flash or sudden aches and pains can bring us ominous worry. What this had to do with yesterday, if it isn’t already apparent, is that ominous worry cast a pall over proceedings.

We were able to Zoom with family, piddle around, and feed ourselves (a friend brought by some eats later in the day, too). It was just a day where one didn’t even feel like going outside at all. We should have; that might have helped.

Streaming for Survivors:

Cajuns aren’t monolithic.

Cloister Commentary, Day 239: Horchata Days

Nicole put the finishing touches on our front yard cleanup with help from several neighborhood cats.

While she toiled away, I continued reading two highly enjoyable books, the original Walter Tevis novel The Queen’s Gambit and Mary Roach’s Stiff, about the different things that have happened and can happen to our bodies after we die (also, probably the funniest book I’ve read all year). Why am I telling you about these books again? Repetition is one of the most reliable of teacher tricks. I’m actually trying to get you to read? Yes.

For our lunch, the app Nextdoor led us to try the New Mexican food drive-thru Crazy Burrito on the Business Loop (where Zipp’s Burgers used to be). The place does not look too spectacular, to be honest; thus, I had not been that motivated to do research there. A Nextdoor neighbor sung its praises, and it is indeed excellent. I had a veggie torta that was splendid, and a tall horchata I later doctored with some rum. But folks: please wear masks! We didn’t see a single patron doing so, and they were definitely leaning in.

The rest of the afternoon was all Springsteen all the time (see yesterday’s entry) while Nicole whipped up some delicious Brazilian black bean soup. We were going to play chess after dinner, but in order not to be beaten I distracted Nicole with classic Bruce clips (“The River” at No Nukes, “Rosalita” from a show in Phoenix in ’78, the “Atlantic City” video).

It was a good day. It certainly beat golf.

Streaming for Strivers:

Pre-“Burn, baby, burn,” and very nice.

Cloister Commentary, Day 238: Talk About a Dream, Try to Make It Real

Physical labor? What is that? I was reintroduced to the concept yesterday as I cleaned up our front-yard landscaping (sedum, daisies, knockout roses, quince, catmint, and one other bit I can never remember) for winter in the afternoon. I was gonna just do half and let Nicole (who was working virtually) do the rest, but the new Aesop Rock album and some nicely remastered early Louis Armstrong pushed me on through. This morning, I can feel that not all of my musculature has atrophied.

Is it just me or did I feel some serious anxiety lift? I heard news from the courts and from the state of Georgia that made me snicker some away.

In the evening we completed Springsteen on Broadway (Nicole: “What a decent man!” Indeed.), which inspired us to watch Gurinder Chadha’s sweet, uplifting and quite powerful film Blinded by the Light, based on the true story of an aspiring teenage writer, a Pakistani living in Luton, England, whose life is changed when a Sikh friend loans him some Springsteen tapes. Many of the best sequences revolve around the character singing and quoting lines from classic Bruce tunes, which reminded me that, just like him, I had those early albums’ lyrics memorized within days of buying the records (and still do). We’ll probably be listening to those and watching videos for the next two days.

Streaming for Strivers:

Raise up off this pianist.

Cloister Commentary, Day 237: Musical Pharmaceutical

An explosion of COVID cases, over a week of 100+ new ones daily, has us reeling–“us” referring to the community as well as our household, as Nicole is currently teaching in person and battling with several students to get them to wear masks properly. I am fortunate to be very isolated in my tutoring work; I’ve found it surprisingly easy to tutor over Zoom, and the Stephens Success Center has actually experienced an increase in tutorial sessions and a decrease in cancelled appointments.

In other health news–well, let me first say that my friend and music-loving brother Bryan Stuart and I one strange night wrote and recorded a Johnny Cash parody entitled “Prescription Bound”; I’ve written and co-written a handful of songs in my life, and that might just be my favorite. Neither of our eyes were dry after knocking it out. Suffice it to say that “Prescription Bound” is what I was yesterday, rounding up refills to treat my high cholesterol and my sudden crop-up of afib. Our insurance won’t cover the best meds for the latter, so when my samples of that run out, I will probably be battling the side effects of the generic meds that are covered, particularly drowsiness, my least favorite state of being.

Speaking of music, friendship, and aging, Nicole and I spent our Thursday Movie Night on Springsteen on Broadway. I go way back with Bruce: he hung the moon for me from the time I was 15 to the time I turned 25–I remember once seriously hampering a date because my main concern was picking up Born in the USA at Liberty Sound in Springfield the day it came out in ’85–but we fell out soon afterward, and the combination of his growing self-seriousness and his shrinking sense of humor and fun kept me from making up with him (artistically speaking). It’s clear he’s a righteous dude, but that does not guarantee creative brilliance. I quite liked his memoir, and as a result sampled about 15 minutes of the show. I thought what I saw corny, strained, mildly self-aggrandizing, awkward, and strangely uncomfortable. However, and I’m quite used to this outcome, I was very wrong. We have the last 20-30 minutes to watch, but it is stunning in its myth-puncturing, passion, and nakedness. These days, I can’t much take the way he sings, but I love to hear him talk, and the balance is perfect. Highly recommended, and being an older gent myself who’s experienced some loss and self-discovery lately made the experience extremely real.

Streaming for Survivors:

Musical pharmaceutical, right here.

Cloister Commentary, Day 236: No Quarter November

November: For us a month of birthdays, anniversaries and holidays. We hope through careful attention we can keep them from being buried by “stress lasagna.” I count at least five layers pushing down on us, plus there’s that thin coating of sauce at the bottom of the pan. And I do believe we are among the fortunate. Sometimes I hold up pretty well; yesterday, I felt so suspended and isolated at work that I could not keep my mind off those layers. Finally, I clicked into a section of a biography of Jean-Michel Basquiat and their looming lifted.

Also, how do your body and mind deal with dramatic temperature swoops? My sinuses go nuts and naps beckon. Once I’ve adjusted, I’m fine, but adjust? In Missouri?

Streaming for Strivers:

Justifies the album title, plus the other guitarist was no slouch.

Cloister Commentary, Day 235: They Say It’s Been Her Birthday

Nicole and I celebrate our birthdays as weeks, not days. So since Sunday, that’s what we’ve been doing, COVID-19 be damned. We’ve had friends over for backyard firepit visits, we’ve Zoomed with some homies, we’ve sipped some cocktails, we’ve invested in some new tech, we’ve resisted feeling too much dread (definitely for the time being), we’ve cranked up some disco, soul, and jazz, we’ve indulged in our new culinary concoction (a German delicacy called “dipsundshit”), we’ve revisited the work of Merle Haggard, we’ve bought some presents for family, and we’ve strolled the neighborhood multiply. And we still have three days left!

Apropos of nothing (yeah, sure), here are my ten favorite books of 2020 (so far), in no particular order:

Louise Erdrich: THE NIGHT WATCHMAN
Peter Guralnick: LOOKING TO GET LOST–ADVENTURES IN MUSIC & WRITING
Ross Johnson: BARON OF LOVE–MORAL GIANT
Richard Grant: THE DEEPEST SOUTH OF ALL–TRUE STORIES FROM NATCHEZ, MISSISSIPPI
Lawrence Wright: THE END OF OCTOBER
Derf Backderf: KENT STATE
Octavia Butler, Damian Duffy, John Jennings: PARABLE OF THE SOWER (graphic novel)
Walter Johnson: THE BROKEN HEART OF AMERICA–ST. LOUIS AND THE VIOLENT HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES
Fernanda Melchor: HURRICANE SEASON
David Zucchino: WILMINGTON’S LIE–THE MURDEROUS COUP OF 1898 AND THE RISE OF WHITE SUPREMACY

Streaming for Strivers:

I needed something leveling, something calming this morning. So far, so good.

Cloister Commentary, Day 234: Is There Life on Mars?

Well, it was nice to have two anxiety-free days. I have never seen a regime like this–gambling their dignity and credibility on kleptocratic success. This stuff just makes me wonder if there’s life on Mars.

Anyway. I had a nice morning at work editing. It’s so enjoyable when what you’re editing is interesting. A writer friend asked me to edit the syllabus and statement of philosophy for his course proposal, and I was very humbled to have been asked. Both documents made me want to take the class (on avant garde jazz), and they were so skillful I had to bear down to make any substantial suggestions (nothing’s perfect–the editor’s mantra). After I’d returned the documents, my friend informed me the school in question is Princeton! Holy sh*t!!!

Nicole and I grabbed a Shakespeare’s pizza curbside (green olives, red onions, fresh mushrooms, pepper cheese–the veggie Overeem Special), then spent the evening reading and relaxing to the musical inventions of Horace Silver, Ray Charles, Skip James, and The Southern Tones.

We awakened at 3 this morning to learn the Columbia Public School Board was wise, given our current COVID explosion: virtuality til January 19, 2021.

Streaming for Strivers:

As the kids and Charles Young say, “Mood.”

Cloister Commentary, Day 233: Return to Earth

Yesterday felt like a return from another planet.

We celebrated the anniversary of Nicole’s arrival on this plane with a walk in magnificent November weather, Bloody Marys, a painfully short game of chess in which my bride did a great Beth Harmon imitation, some classic soul music (Ann Peebles, Joe Tex, and Otis Redding), a Zoom with our boon pals in Springfield and Seattle, and a variety of dips and stuff.

I guess we were plumb wore out, not only from the day but the previous week, as we retired at 8 p.m.

Streaming for Strivers:

A great lost rap concept album by a sharp old pro.

Cloister Commentary, Day 232: Piss and Rain

I’ll be honest with you: I despise louts. I’ve never liked them, period, and I’m suspicious of those who do. Also, I don’t take direction well, especially from loutish “authorities”: my negative model for that was Mr. Harrison, my high school biology teacher–arrogant, smirking, strutting, possessed of no empathy but ironically instantly aggrieved. He helped turned me into an anti-authoritarian, though when I met adepts like Howard South or Kay Lederer, I was all ears. As a professional, most of my “bosses” have been women, none of whom were loutish and all of whom were interested in honest feedback on their performance (props to Mike Jeffers, the one male boss I’ve had who didn’t have a fragile ego). All of this is to say that yesterday I was thrilled that (apparently) I no longer have to be embarrassed to live in country that has been “led” by a lout. Say what you will in contradiction, but, to do so, you will have to do excruciating mental gymnastics to deny it, and even that effort will fail to convince me. I know the difference between piss and rain.

We cranked music, quaffed alcoholic libations, embraced, danced, cranked the music up more, and felt our eyes water, whether from the lifting of strain, the acknowledgement of dissipated despair, or, hey, maybe simple happiness. I was reluctant to think it was the latter, because, again, this is a snatch-away regime, and I didn’t fall off the peach truck yesterday. But, by damn, we deserved some joyous release, and we indulged it.

Shireen, I hope in the future you will remember you spent the night of November 7, 2020 huddled with Nicole and me around our fire pit hashing out the meaning of the day.

Streaming for Survivors:

For joyous indulgence one cannot beat disco.

Cloister Commentary, Day 231: New Shit

New show: Ratched, on Netflix. A very wicked and wickedly funny prequel to One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

New record: The Sun Ra Arkestra’s well-titled Swirling.

New book: Mary Roach’s informative and frequently hilarious Stiff, about what happens to our bodies after they’re done living.

New med: Beta blockers (like father, like son).

New curbside favorite: Main Squeeze’s Vegan Krunchrap (what do they make their chorizo out of?).

New news:

Streaming for Strivers:

Isn’t it?