Review: I’ve been writing these daily since March 17, hoping to just document how we’ve lived during an actual pandemic (222 new cases of COVID-19, for example, just yesterday in our town). My friend Ken inspired the project and, when I mildly balked and fretted, advised me just to write what happens. That I have done, plus each day exploited YouTube and my vast but ever-hazier music memory to offer a worthwhile full-album stream. Anxiety, joy, discipline, food and drink, art and pop culture, politics (everything’s political), exaltation and mourning–that and more have entered our days (frequently, like Kramer). The pre-pandemic days seem three years ago; the first pandemic day seems like yesterday. The elasticity of time! I hope our innards prove just as elastic. Anyway, I felt it was time, at least for my own purposes, to look back. I hope these thumbings have occasionally proved useful to a few readers.
About yesterday. Finished the audiobook of Octavia Butler’s Bloodchild and Other Stories with the scintillating “The Book of Martha,” in which God asks the title protagonist to make a single positive change to save humanity from itself and jolt it out of its adolescence. Not so easy. Due to the positive influence and generosity of our friends Stephen Fischer and Beth Hartman, we also watched Disney/Pixar’s Coco. I have to purt-near be wrassled into sitting still for animated films, but I must admit the visuals were stunning, while the story moistened my eyes and caused me to cogitate.
Oh yes: and, like you, we continued, patiently, to wait.
Streaming for Strivers:
A forgotten classic of ’80s madness and insight, remixed for better punch. May the cosmos smile on Peter Stampfel!
I did not read a page or listen to a note of non-soundtrack music, yet yesterday was a success. I track three minimum daily goals every day: five minutes of exercise or meditation (73% all-time rate), 50 pages read (94% all-time rate), one recording listened to actively (97% all-time rate). Nicole and I went on a nice park walk on a glorious morning in nature and meditated by a duck pond, so one out of three was just fine.
Later in the morning, I helped Mom with some technology issues and located a missing key, we avoided a tension convention by mostly keeping the news turned off, then we enjoyed a movie marathon: the 2020 adaptation of Emma (our second time–holds up nicely), Brittany Runs a Marathon (just what we needed), and two episodes of The Queen’s Gambit (Nicole and I have already seen it–in fact, I’m reading the book from which it was adapted–but Mom is loving it, and we’re all amazed by Anya Taylor-Joy’s performances).
We are just trying to hold steady; we live under a snatch-away regime, at least for the time being.
We deliberately chose to indulge in activities to distract us from election coverage. I can’t speak perfectly for Nicole, but I think she agrees: we both had enough tension, dread, and other varieties of stress crackling down to our nerve endings without channeling in more noise and numbers.
The most effective of those activities was listening to a chunk of the audiobook of Octavia Butler’s Bloodchild and Other Stories. We’d started it on a recent road trip, then I loved it so much I secretly finished it on my Kindle. Nicole forgave me that, and we were quite literally transfixed (a major improvement on mere distraction) by “Speech Sounds,” “Crossover,” and the dazzling, haunting, dryly (and wickedly) humorous “Amnesty.” As soon as we finished the latter of those–they were all three even better the second time ’round–Nicole turned to me, shaking her head in amazement, and said, “That was incredible.” I proferred (I hadn’t previously realized it), “She’s one of the very best writers of the last 50 years, easily.” Funny: I learn about great writers by reading great writers and reading about great writing, and I obsessively seek them out after I get a clue–but it’s only been in the last 7-8 years that I’ve seen Butler’s name come over my transom. I have a few of my Stephens colleagues and students to thank for that. I encourage you to get familiar with her yourself.
We made it until 10 before we felt obliged to check the election’s progress. I saw no surprises other than in a few local races, which I considered with very, very measured hope. That was smart, because their directions completely changed. Fortunately, when I woke up in the middle of the night, I didn’t reach for my phone.
Streaming for Strivers:
I am less disciplined, at present, in containing my sarcasm.
Yesterday was a fairly quiet day: bringing in and storing Halloween decorations, watching CBS Sunday Morning and reading the New York Times, setting back the clocks–I do love receiving an extra hour (I know it’s an illusion, really), because I know what to do with one–Zooming with family and friends, searching for and listening to some new music, enjoying some fresh chick pea masala, seeing if SNL could deliver. But all the while, Nicole and I both–I didn’t ask her, but I’m sure–felt a creeping, rising force. You know what I’m talking about.
If not, well, this might help. I have a rule of thumb regarding commenting on music that I follow 98% of the time: I do not want to waste my time denigrating something–life’s too short, and it’s better spent exalting powerful works. I violated that rule yesterday on Facebook when, after listening to it twice and being unmoved, I labeled the new Karen O / Willie Nelson cover of Queen and David Bowie’s “Under Pressure” as having a “lay-down-and-die” energy level, which I still believe, though a) it was a great idea, and b) I am a very, very enthusiastic Wille Nelson fan of many years’ duration. A few folks I respect greatly chimed in to the effect that I might be a bit off in my assessment, which is OK with me, though considering that we all come to art with different experiences and values that cause our responses to vary, it’s a bit futile to say about a song, “No, I’m right and you’re wrong.” Which, unsurprisingly, is the main reason I imposed upon myself the above rule in the first place! BUT…one of those friends (jokingly, I’m sure, at least partially) suggested that no one ever listened to the lyrics of the original in the first place, whereas (I am assuming) the less strangulated (?) and bombastic singing applied to the cover version draws those lyrics to the fore. Perhaps; Rodney, it’s a very good point. BUT…I did listen to those lyrics as a 19-year-old in 1981, and I distinctly remembering they absolutely sold the song for me. Bowie, Queen, and the arrangement were all terrific, but I felt those words. I did have to listen to it multiple times (that was no problem, as I lifeguarded that year and had no choice) to, um, untangle and extract a few syllables), but throughout that process it hit me harder and harder. In case you need a refresher, and to loop back to my original intent in hunting and pecking this out, here those lyrics are:
“Pressure, pushing down on me, Pressing down on you, no man asks for. Under pressure that burns a building down, Splits a family in two, puts people on streets. It’s the terror of knowing what this world is about. Watching some good friends screaming, “let me out”. Tomorrow gets me higher.
Pressure on people, people on streets. Chippin’ around, kick my brains around the floor. These are the days, it never rains but it pours. People on streets. People on streets.
It’s the terror of knowing what this world is about. Watching some good friends screaming, ‘Let me out!’ Tomorrow takes me higher, higher, high! Pressure on people, people on streets.
Turned away from it all like a blind man. Sat on a fence, but it don’t work. Keep comin’ up with love, but it’s so slashed and torn. Why, why, why? Love (love, love, love, love).
Insanity laughs, under pressure we’re cracking. Can’t we give ourselves one more chance? Why can’t we give love that one more chance? Why can’t we give love, give love, give love, give love, Give love, give love, give love, give love, give love. ‘Cause love’s such an old fashioned word, And love dares you to care for the people on the Edge of the night, and love dares you to Change our way of caring about ourselves. This is our last dance. This is ourselves. This is ourselves.
Under pressure. Under pressure. Pressure.”
I don’t think it’s our last dance, but neither do you or I need to be so damned literal in applying these foolish things. Have a careful next couple of days.
Our Halloween 2020: not scary–a respite from fear.
We opened our day with a rescheduled meeting with one of our financial advisors at a wonderful setting for a sit-down, Love Coffee. We are not farting through silk, but we’ve been taking time lately to get on top of everything important, as we’ve learned leaving such matters in disarray can be cruel to others. This particular gentleman is astute, thorough, clever, witty, and patient–as well as trustworthy and dedicated. Though we left the meeting, as usual, reminded of our not particularly “exceeds standards”-level investment literacy, also as usual we left smarter.
The afternoon was spent prepping for trick-or-treaters. We always try to create something. warm and inviting, even though this year we figured the turnout would be minimal. This year, we prepackaged little bags of treats and positioned them on a table at the end of the driveway, and manned it with our two skeleton surrogates, then set up ourselves about ten feet behind that with margaritas in hand and appropriate music (The Cramps, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, Love, The Monks, The Nomads) quietly blasting from a Bluetooth speaker. We had around 25 kids–and a couple a-bit-too-old-for-candy-bags individuals–and dispensed with most of our candy. I hope they like Mexican candy, as each bag had a couple pieces.
Our COVID surrogates.
We closed up shop around nine, then snuggled up on the couch with a nightcap a piece and faded out to some spacey, obscure, poignant, and acoustic rock and roll which our dear friend The Wild Yankee Rover once hipped us to (see below). I love getting an extra hour in a day.
Streaming for Strivers:
The street-punk, New Yawk version of Rust Never Sleeps, sans band-crunch and “finished” toons.
We decloistered, threw some logs in the firepot, bundled up, treated the cider, and had a wonderful evening visit in the backyard with Susie Frissell and her daughter (also, my former student, fellow Dead Moon and Roky Erickson fan, and hair stylist) Melody Nicole. We articulated, then tried to solve, all of the world’s problems, laughed our butts off, and ignored the neighbors’ dog, which they left out to bark for 75% of our visit. We definitely need to decloister in this manner more often. It’s been a hard year for all four of us, but in each other’s company we didn’t dwell on it.
Also of note: I do not spend money left over from bills and food on much other than music and books. Readers, I know you’re shocked, but it’s true. Occasionally I will splurge, and I admit to having bought the new 8-CD, 1-DVD deluxe edition of Prince’s Sign o’ the Times. I actually agree that such sets are for suckers 99% of the time, but, hey…this is Prince, and he was seldom more dizzyingly amazing than on this record. The sound’s tons better, the excavated tracks are pretty amazing, and yesterday I finally finished watching the DVD of The Purple One’s legendary 1987 New Year’s Eve show at Paisley Park. Wow. I truly wish we’d had a chance to see him.
On several levels, this has been the worst year of my life. I am incredibly grateful for the love, support, and friendship from my circle of fellow humans, who have stood like iron-clad gates between me and sorrow, cynicism, defeat, raging and crippling moral anger–and retreat. I know I am not alone in expressing this seeming extreme state of being, and I have never experienced any week like the nerve-torturing one of which we are in the midst. I’ll just say now what I’ve said privately to a few: maybe this is the reckoning we’ve been putting off, and maybe if we keep our nerve the outcome, however long it really takes to arrive, will shine in history’s annals.
OK, now that I’ve released those thoughts into the cyber-ether, what about yesterday? I caught up with Nicole on TheQueen’s Gambit (I had missed the first three episodes), and together we took in the final episode. Though it fell prey to some cliches and poured on the sentiment as it closed, I’d still recommend it; in fact, I bought the novel from which it was adapted, which apparently has a cult rep. We may have to get out the chess board–that’s a high compliment to a work of art, that it jolts you into engagement.
Hey…get out and vote if you haven’t already.
Streaming for Strivers:
The “other” Coltrane can be just as effective a salve.
Vote. The last day to absentee vote in person in Boone County is Monday, November 2. I read a short story by Octavia Butler yesterday in which God gives the protagonist (Martha) the chance, in his stead, to do one thing for humanity. This morning, if that were me, I would make voting easier for all U. S. citizens. It astounds me, though that’s just my naïveté, that large numbers of elected are striving to make voting more difficult.
The great Corsicana, Texas, songwriter Billy Joe Shaver passed away yesterday. Long a favorite of ours, his music was a presence as we left Nicole’s mom Lynda Jo Evers at her final resting place. We were able to see him live as well, and I gave Dad his memoir for Father’s Day a few years back–he was Dad’s kind of guy: a little rough-hewn, no-nonsense, common-sensical, old-school, witty. He’s even been one of the keys in keeping me in touch with one of my all-time favorite students, one who became a teacher himself, Mr. Ryan Smith.
I suspect Billy Joe will always be a presence in our lives, and if you’re unfamiliar with his work, I direct you to two stellar recordings: Live at Smith’s Old Bar, where he lays down terrific versions of many of his greatest songs backed by his late son Eddy on fire-guitar, and The Earth Rolls On, which demonstrated he could still write tough, smart batches of songs.
Hey–need a new series to stream? Netflix’s The Queen’s Gambit is an exciting limited series about a chess prodigy (that’s right), who’s played by the talented young actress Anya Taylor Joy, recently splendid as the title character in the reboot of Jane Austen’s Emma and as a Puritan teen who chooses to live deliciously in The Witch. I overheard Nicole watching it on her own and quickly got drawn in (I will be catching up today).
Ten new things I’ve tried and liked during this pandemic:
Twining’s Extra Bold and Irish Morning Teas (pretty much every morning since I first tried them–I now fully understand the word “restorative”)
Zoom instruction (dragged in against my will, kicked and screamed a bit, then started to figure out how to exploit it for constructive educational ends) (it helps that I teach English)
Disco obscurities (really, as much fun as garage rock and rockabilly obscurities if one does one’s homework)
Public notarization (from afar, or when you get something notarized, it seems a snap–but it’s surprisingly nerve-wracking until you’ve done a few)
Almond milk (I’ve never really been a milk fan anyway, but even our cats have no major issues with it)
Studying WNBA box scores (those kids can hit from the charity stripe, now!)
Burmese papaya salad (actually, Nicole ordered it for us rather impulsively, I thought I would dislike it, but then I loved it and she wasn’t sure–best served spicy!)
Judging a short non-fiction “Best of the Net 2020” contest with a bunch of other folks (I love to read, but I thought this might take the fun out of it–however, it’s been a bit of trip reading bad “good” stuff!)
Changing out a bathroom faucet (such undertakings normally fill me with fear–and loathing–but I actually did a good job and solved a problem in the process that the YouTube training didn’t prepare me for)
Eating multiple fruit items regularly (I’ve never been a big consumer of fruit–so unreliable! so easily damaged! so…complicated!–but I have actually eaten an apple–hello, honey crisps!–AND a banana 95% of the last two months’ worth of days)
Obviously, yesterday was a “slow news day” even for living in isolation. Such occasions are what lists are for! In the comment section below, share something you’ve tried and liked in COVID Time.
Streaming for Strivers:
Dedicated to my girl. She is the biggest Otis Rush fan I know!
First snow. Mixed feelings. For some reason, I’m predisposed to love cold weather, so my heart leapt–briefly. The onset of winter, on the other hand, strikes me as foreboding; lately, I’ve come to trust nothing, neither man nor nature, plus memories of personal loss have come creeping over my emotional transom. To top it off or bottom it out, my office was like an icebox.
One nice thing is I finally got scheduled in for my first doctor visit of Terrible ’20. Frankly, I’m too old to blow it off. I’m returning to my old clinic after basically being blankly processed through and checked off the last few times I’ve gotten a check-up at my current clinic. Yes: I’m excited I’m going to the doctor.
I’m here to tell you that, after three episodes, Showtime’s adaptation of James McBride’s wild U. S. epic The Good Lord Bird is so far smashing: faithful to the spirit and details of the novel, studded by great performances (Daveed Diggs as Frederick Douglass–maybe a touch OTT), and juiced by great gospel soundtrack choices (plus the obligatory Nina Simone keynote classic). If you can’t get Showtime…read the book.
The Overeem Farewell Tour: Dispatches from the Public School Trenches 