Cloister Commentary, Day 151: Mayo a Mayo

What a wonderfully mild day for mid-August! We took a neighborhood walk in the morning and evening, finding ourselves like-minded with several neighbors during the latter.

Nicole and I have noticed there’s much division in this country…specifically regarding which mayonnaise is the best: Duke’s or Blue Plate. We decided to settle this roiling rancor (for ourselves, at least) by buying a jar of the former–we already had three of the latter–making a tomato, lettuce and mayo sandwich with each, and taste-testing. I was “blindfolded” for my test, and had concluded which one I preferred by a slim margin, but Nicole, without telling me which one it was, declared we had to default to double-redundancy and try a small unadulterated spoonful a piece to be sure. Since seldom does suspense appear in these reports, the reader will have to wait until tomorrow for the results.

I watched all or parts of four NBA playoff games yesterday. I am not proud; at least I read during commercials and took breaks to help with lunch and dinner. Random thoughts: the Bucks still ain’t gonna cut the mustard; Indy v. Miami might be the series to be glued to, providing ‘dipo returns; I dream of a day OKC fields a team that can drill 3s on the regz; that LeBron James can pass; I’m calling a Blazers upset of L.A. (I think they’re my new favorite team that isn’t the Thunder). I probably should be cynical, but I love observing a microcosm where health and social justice are in the unavoidable forefront. Plus, I just love basketball.

I taught Donovan Wheeler when he was a ninth-grader at Parkview High School during the 1985-1986 school year (I think). He sat on the front row by the window, and was never at a loss for words–a very enjoyable smart-alleck. This semester at Stephens College, I’ll be able to help his daughter navigate her freshman year. That’s the second spawn of a stellar former student from that school year I will have worked with at Stephens, right, Rebecca? Cross-generational family education is one of the great fringe benefits of being a lifetime teacher.

Streaming for Strivers:

Definitely one of the best jazz albums produced in these United States during the last half-decade. If you’re a fan of John Coltrane, you need to acquaint yourself with JD Allen if you’ve yet to.

Cloister Commentary, Day 150: The 3rd Sustenance and Succor Awards

Nicole and I pretty much just recharged our batteries yesterday but…

It’s time for the 3rd “Sustenance and Succor Awards,” which I will give out every 50 days of the pandemic, as long as I keep reporting. These artifacts helped us keep our heads up; the past 50 were not easy ones.

BEST ANTI-COVID-BLUES ALBUMS:

Mark Lomax III: The 400 Years Suite
Sault: Untitled (Black Is)
Various Artists: Uprising 2020 (mixtape)
Carlos Niño and Miguel Atwood-Ferguson: Chicago Waves
Charles McPherson: Jazz Dance Suites

BEST ANTI-COVID-BLUES SHOWS:

The Great
Lovecraft Country
Last Tango in Halifax
NBA Restart
Elmer Gantry / Turner Classic Movies

BEST ANTI-COVID-BLUES BOOKS:

Lawrence Wright: The End of October
Walter Johnson: The Broken Heart of America
Gilbert Hernandez: Luba & Her Family–The Love & Rockets Library, Volume 4
Gilbert Hernandez: Ofelia–The Love & Rockets Library, Volume 5
James McBride: Deacon King Kong

BEST ANTI-COVID-BLUES CURBSIDE EATS:

Main Squeeze
Shakespeare’s
Chim’s Thai Kitchen on Broadway
Cajun Crab Shack

Streaming for Survivors:

Trane to somewhere better.

Cloister Commentary, Day 149: Misanthropy and Grief

Simply watching the morning headlines, reading about the fight to stop the Equal Rights Amendment, and observing flags and bumper stickers on travelers’ cars on the highway was enough to activate a tiny bit throbbing bulb of misanthropy within me. Misanthropy and grief: a toxic cocktail.

Which makes me realize that one way I’ve always broken that bulb in the socket is through being in the midst of young folks across four decades. Most of my fellow public school teachers would agree, I think, though outsiders might think we’re crazy. Daily exposure to a cross-section of the public as their coming into their own, as you’re challenging them and they you, as they find their place in a group, talk about their lives and connect them to subjects under discussion–it’s a pretty good antidote to the humans-are-a-virus malady.

But that’s just another reason why this pandemic sucks, because daily exposure is viral roulette.

Streaming for Strivers:

On that hopeful note?

Cloister Commentary, Day 148: The Old World on an iPod

Nicole and I went on a little ride to get peaches (again) (you gotta have peaches). It was just a 30-minute trip, but the music we listened to again let us imagine we were on the highway to an actual vacation spot like we used to in The Old World.

For vacations, I have always meticulously programmed an MP3 player with fresh music, which we just plug in to the car’s sound system and let rip. But there’s a folder of New Orleans and Memphis music that we have an understanding will never be deleted, and on every trip, at some point, we always migrate to it. It spans everything from classical to rural blues to bounce to swamp pop to brass band sounds, and we never get tired of it.

Anyway, that’s what we picked for our peach run. Simply put, we were able to imagine we might be heading to Como, Mississippi, or Tybee Island, Georgia, or Seattle, or San Diego. Or New Orleans or Memphis. It was very nice.

A few items from yesterday’s shuffle selection out of the folder:

Earl King: “Baby, You Can Get Your Gun”
Jessie Mae Hemphill: “She-Wolf”
The Wild Tchoupitoulas: “Meet the Boys on the Battlefront”
Eddie Floyd: “Things Get Better”
Olympia Brass Band: “Olympia on Parade”
Johnny Adams: “A Losing Battle”
Moloch: “Going Down”
Tommy Tate: “Just a Little Overcome”
Ricky B: “Shake For Ya Hood”
Lee Dorsey: “Yes We Can (Part 1)”
Dr. John: “Right Place, Wrong Time”
James Booker: “Cool Turkey”

Streaming for Survivors:

You can look up the above, or just click here.

Cloister Commentary, Day 147: Jai Alai 1985

The sun did come up yesterday and it is coming up today, albeit on a land where an election is being blatantly threatened with obstruction by one of the candidates. Freedom is a constant struggle, and I hope we’re up for it.

Compared to the day before, my attempts to complete important tasks were like as unto shooting fish in a barrel. Great customer service by four different reps for three different companies helped me resolve three important posthumous issues before 10:30 in the morning. I asked one of them if there was a way for me to give specific feedback to her supervisor and she put me right through to him. “Give her a raise or promote her,” I said, simply. I celebrated by trying two IPAs I’d not heard of (later, in the afternoon!) and getting caught up with my reading.

After the day before, they tasted like the nectar of the gods.

Nicole, Jane, and I played two rounds of Scrabble (my highlights were “dojo,” “wane,” and “radar”–not too stunning, eh?) after a dinner of turkey tetrazzini–it’s not just for post-Thanksgiving meals!–listened to some superb music (Lori McKenna, Bonnie Raitt, Ann Peebles, and Joni Mitchell), and watched the first two episodes of Last Tango in Halifax, which my mom had not seen and really enjoyed. You need a human show? Try it.

Streaming for Strivers:

A ludicrous cover photo, yes, but within is proof that the Ferriday Flash knew early American music like the back of his hand from his teens–and could rock and roll it all.

Cloister Commentary, Day 143: Charming but Treasured, Boring but Important

The day began with a simple task–try again to get Scrappers, the seriously runty stray that our two backyard cats have brought into their professional learning team on the deck, to the vet for an exam. He’s about six pounds soaking wet, and he’d shown enough trust for me to pet him and pick him up. Not to mention that fact that he looks worse for wear. I figured we could easily get him into a cardboard carrier and to the clinic on time.

It was not to be. On Try # 1, I foolhardily tried to grab him gloveless (I did have on a hoodie for arm protection) and got my hands mildly shredded when he exploded out of my hug with the strength of three toms. On Try # 2, which Nicole executed perfectly and we teamed to get him into the crate, the little fart literally TORE his way back out of it and hid stubbornly under the bed, at which point we gave up and shooed him back out of the house with a broom. A few hours later, he was forgivingly figure-eighting around my ankles when I came out with food; at least he knows what side his bread’s buttered on. He may have to tough his way into full health.

We each got mail: Nicole, a package of KN95 masks, I an autographed copy of the newest record by master alto saxophonist Charles McPherson (as well as an autographed photo of him–a charming throwback move I will treasure). I know what you’re thinking: “That defines the difference between their priorities!” Not quite. I have a collection of masks that I wear regularly when I’m in company and I’ve been trained by the last five months to wash and sanitize my hands in timely fashion. But supporting my heroes’ work I am still committed to!

Together, we watched the school board approve a delayed start for the public school year and the use of hybrid scheduling for a tool against COVID-19. I had forgotten how riveting school board meetings were, but seriously speaking it fell under the heading of “Boring But Important.” And it wasn’t that boring: sounds like we have an intelligent and supportive group of critical thinkers on the board. The district and the city have their work cut out for them–what lies ahead is fairly uncharted territory.

Streaming for Strivers:

Did Duke ever go bossa? Mildly, but seductively.

Cloister Commentary, Day 82: Punk’s Progress

I have to grade papers, so I must needs be brief.

Yesterday, I graded papers. I grit my teeth dragging myself to the task, slowly warm to it, almost lose myself paper by paper, and feel renewed afterwards. Somewhere the atoms of George Frissell are laughing and calling bullsh*t on that claim, but I’ve graded over 30,000 in my life, and one does find little streams of pleasure in it. I’ve got some good writers this summer, but later for the comma splices!

I have been struggling with an issue regarding a package USPS couldn’t deliver, had to redeliver, then lost. I’d filed a help request, and received an apology email, but the title of the email included the inaccurate word “Resolved.” So I fired back a tart but polite reply that there had to be more to it than I was being told–I had the tracking number, but no receipt to match it. In no time, I received a call from the local supervisor who’d written the email, who then expertly de-escalated my case of the red-ass, gave me some useful information by which I reached understanding, and very sincerely apologized again. I thanked him for caring enough to follow up, and as I was about to hang up, he said, “Did you use to teach at Hickman? I’m sorry I was a punk.” I had to tell him that a lot of punks turn out just fine.

I went a paragraph too long so I guess those essays aren’t that fetching.

Streaming for Strivers:

Medicine. These songs have been for years, and here they’re administered with care and mastery by two jazz physicians.

Cloister Commentary, Day 74: The Buzz

Some readers may breathe a sigh of relief to learn that I finally taught my first-ever Zoom class to a group of students I’d never met (from all over the country), and not only did I catch the buzz of teaching excitement that I was afraid I wouldn’t, but the students who showed up were down for the program to a one–and it’s some hard work. No more neurotic whining from me! Six students didn’t make the scene, but one was at the dentist with a broken tooth, one was a working mom with log-in issues–those two did turn in their assignments–and I hope the rest had to sacrifice a class to get some sleep after having protested this weekend. The essays students submitted last night (on-demand diagnostic essays) look sharp, Dr. Trish!

I celebrated my relief by donating a pint at the American Red Cross. I’ve tried to to donate the maximum pints in a year the last three years, but something always trips me up, COVID-19 this time (I’d had to cancel two appointments). The local branch off Providence has their pandemic operation down cold, though two dude donors apparently could not read the signs planted right beyond the entrance. My new goal is to try to catch my friend George Frissell in total donations, since he will not be donating anymore (the Red Cross staff is mourning him a bit as well): he’s only 228 pints ahead of me.

Speaking of the late Mr. Frissell, we were happy to learn that a memorial project for him at Hickman High School has gotten the green light. More later. I can assure those that know him it is fitting.

You like graphic novels? I do, especially if they’re off the beaten track. I started Derf Backderf’s Trashed yesterday, which draws on his experience as a city sanitation worker in Milwaukee. Backderf’s main claim to fame is his book My Friend Dahmer (yes, he went to junior high and high school with him), and his Kent State book arrives timed perfectly in the fall.

Nicole and I put the day to rest with some great spaced-out conversation with our neighbor Shireen on her back deck. As usual, our talk was rangy, and Steve, we broke into that Guinness care package you sent us and it was effective.

Streaming for Shut-Ins:

Don’t let nothin’ turn you ’round.

Cloister Commentary, Day 53: Dead Chicken ‘Round a Dog’s Neck

Anyone else out there feeling a little slippage in the routine they’d established to keep themselves together during this mess? We are. We had a fantastically full day yesterday; the signpost of of one of those for us is being able to meditate and get out and walk both, and being able to work on school and read and listen to music both, which we did. However, inconsistency in sleep patterns, going to bed with and waking up to crazy shit from life in your head, feeling anxiety and anticipation about the future, frustration trying to get work or get work done, suffering from “skin hunger,” too much snacking, missing important people and trying to figure out how to see them? All that can throw a person off track. We’re doing fine, but I just have to acknowledge the steep challenges.

Teachers often run into youth they WISH they could have taught, both in the hallways at work and out in the world. Among many, I especially wanted to teach the brother-sister team of Mitch Carlin and Madison Dickens. They are dear family friends from Monett, Missouri, whom I’ve known since they were younger than tykes. I had a terrific Messenger conversation with Mitch last night about great books (the latest in our series, actually)–he seriously gets into reading–and he made the “mistake” of asking me for recommendations for his “classics stack.” My own students know this is a perilous query; you best know you have some spare time after you pose it. Poor guy asked for 10 recommendations (actually, I asked him how many books he wanted me to recommend), and I predictably gave him 33 (including the entire Flashman papers; Mitch is a history scholar, a soldier, and just a dab of a rascal, so they are a must). Clearly, I miss teaching. Did I mention I’m a more-is-more dude? The list (I’d already recommended some prior to these, by the way):

Chinua Achebe: Things Fall Apart

Alfred Bester: The Stars My Destination

Octavia Butler: The Parable books

Alexander Dumas: The Count of Monte Cristo

George Eliot: Middlemarch

Ralph Ellison: Invisible Man

Louise Erdrich: The Roundhouse

George MacDonald Fraser: The complete Flashman Papers

Ernest Gaines: A Lesson Before Dying

Joseph Heller: Catch-22

Toni Morrison: Song of Solomon OR The Bluest Eye OR Beloved

Flannery O’Connor: Wise Blood OR The Collected Short Stories

Tommy Orange: There There

Charles Portis: True Grit

George Saunders: Lincoln in the Bardo

John Kennedy Toole: A Confederacy of Dunces

Mark Twain: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Alice Walker: The Color Purple

Oscar Wilde: The Picture of Dorian Gray

Nicole is having a disturbing Facebook experience! Twice she has employed a deeply meaningful metaphorical quote from the great Texas writer and talker Molly Ivins, and twice the social media mandarins have wiped the quote. Nothing profane was expressed in it, and as far as I know they/it/him gave her no opportunity to make a case for it. It’s one of many things that make me question why I’m here (on Facebook, that is), but apparently the growing pile will not prevent me from writing more paragraphs. I’ll share the quote in the comments and see what happens. Look for the name “Molly Ivins” (and if you haven’t read her, look her up). And here’s the quote:

My friend John Henry Faulk always said the way to break a dog of that habit is to take one of the chickens the dog has killed and wire the thing around the dog’s neck, good and strong. And leave it there until that dead chicken stinks so bad the dog won’t be able to stand himself. You leave it on there until the last little bit of flesh rots and falls off, and that dog won’t kill chickens again.

Streaming for Shut-Ins:

One of Nicole’s fellow Spartans emailed her excitedly that she had to hear this record, which caused me to remember I’d never played it for her. Mr. Danny Gammon, she gives it a thumbs up! If you wanna engage with the (now, not so) new thing in jazz–though that term doesn’t quite do justice to the sound–click play, and do some research on the band, and its talented spearhead Shabaka Hutchings:

Cloister Commentary, Day 52: The Beguiled

Having closely read my Day 50 commentary, Nicole broke out her very accurate imitation of What We Do in the Shadows‘ beguiling Nadja (played by Natasia Demetriou). It very nearly persuaded me to quit reading and get off the couch.

The chef needed no mimicry to entice me to dig in to the aloo gobi she prepared for Sunday dinner. Her excellence in the early stages of her exploration of Indian cuisine bodes poorly for me getting down to my high school graduation weight.

Trying Desperately to Stay Hip Department: Seriously, I do enjoy yute music, and yesterday I sampled and very much enjoyed the new Kehlani album, meaningfully titled It Was Good Until It Wasn’t–trials and tribulations, but the gal is tough. Some smart students from a 2018 Stephens class of mine insisted then that I listen to her work, and I’ve truly not ever been disappointed. Also delighting me was the current release by African supergroup Les Amazones d’Afrique, Amazones, which ranges across several textures and moods in dance music yet holds together exceptionally well. I would have experienced the surprise release by Bad Bunny, but my very new Bluetooth headphones were also bad: they broke. I was taking them off when the right “wing” just snapped in half. What does one do with broken headphones?

Watch Call the Midwife. I ain’t gonna tell you again.

Streaming for Shut-Ins:

Your turn.