Cloister Commentary, Day 286: Hey 2020–Don’t Let The Doorknob Hit You in the Ass!

What were you doing on New Year’s Eve?

Well, for myself, I can see I over-posted! And I didn’t even wish people a Happy New Year–instead, I let loose with a Gene Vincent “quote.” I’m odd.

I got in a friendly cyber argument with my friends Kevin and Eric (definitely not Tim and Eric)! Evil Kevin was trying to make me pick between the Stones and the Velvets; my stance was “Why do I have to choose?” as well as “Why even compare these bands?” You cannot win an argument with anyone who has Eric’s backing (he’s that smart), and I guess I argue so infrequently they thought I had a case of the red-ass, which I didn’t. To get Kevin’s teeth out of my leg, I chose VU because they seem less colonial to me.

Nicole and I sampled the amazing cuisine of Pasta La Fata here in Columbia! You order, they make the pasta and sauce and everything and run it out to you, and you get to have the fun of assembling and cooking it! We had not had authentically Italian food in forevz and Pasta La Fata’s was scintillating. What did we order? Mostaccioli in Sugo sauce with salsiccia meatballs and cheese tortelloni in a brown butter and herb sauce. How’s that grab ya, darling? We will call them up again.

Nicole beat my butt in Scrabble as usual. My game-long paucity of vowels eventually led me to resign–can you resign in Scrabble? Seemed like the only thing for me to do to stop the bleeding, as I was also holding a Q and a J.

We also mourned the just-revealed Halloween passing of Daniel Dumile, the skilled rapper and producer better known as MF DOOM. I’m still somewhat skeptical due to the unusual announcement, but 2020 just had to be an ass one more time. His music kept the blues at bay for us, though.

No one karaokes like my old pal Brock, and we got to watch him “do a show” for his family in the Boland lair. He appears to be training his talented daughter Fay to take over her dad’s business; it was almost as fun as being at a club!

We didn’t call anybody. Nobody called us! It’s fun to do on New Year’s Eve, but apparently not that fun.

Though time and calendars are constructs of human beings, I am damn glad 2020 is over. It was the worst year of my life, easily. I’m not even totally sure what the damage is; I know there is some. But, I tell you what (what’s the origin of that phrase? it cracks me up!), in our 30-plus years together Nicole and I have seldom been apart–this year, we were more together than ever, and not only did I truly enjoy it, I’m not sure we ever argued seriously, and I am sure I’d have not made it without her. Also, I think thumbing out these entries helped, too. It’s not like I ever bare my soul; it’s just a record of what happened, plus a way for me to keep pushing music. But when things seemed to be falling apart, I could write one, read it back, and see some order. Thanks for bearing with me.

Streaming for Survivors:

Everybody / Loves a winner!

Cloister Commentary, Day 285: Futzin’

One thing we’ve started to do frequently at this stage in the pandemic is just sit at the kitchen table, listen to music, have beers and futz around (browsing the Internet, reading the paper, sharing opinions, and planning plans for when we can plan again). We did that for a few hours yesterday and I really enjoyed it. I must have had one beer too many, as, realizing my experiment in self-denial is about to begin and hearing Nicole’s words (“You do realize I’M not asking you to do this, right?”) pinging off the inner walls of my skull, I tipsy-bought, um, a few music items. I do not really need a “Gary Stewart King of the Honky Tonk” ballcap, but one’s on the way.

My long-time pal Kenny Wright was doing some cleaning yesterday and discovered that, over the years, I’d made him around 200 mixtapes (cassettes, that is). And those are just the ones I made him. I really, really miss the process of making those; I still have a working cassette deck and some blank tapes, so I thought I’d just make one for kicks. Then I had another beer instead.

Show Me a state that has a wilder, more avid predilection than Misery does for schmucky, supercilious, workout-obsessed white men who prove over and over that you can emerge from an Ivy League school (or the military) principle- and character-free, and I’ll…never mind, don’t.

Streaming for Survivors:

For Kenny, Nathan, and all other celebrants.

Cloister Commentary, Day 284: Nasty Weather of All Kinds

Dismal weather was moving in to cruelly combine with the continued COVID wildfire, so we headed out for enough curbside provisions to get us a few days into 2021. Speaking of cruelty, our political leadership continues to find ways to withhold economic relief from struggling Americans; I had thought this time a winning combination had been found, but where do I get this optimism from?

We had a very nice evening, finishing the deeply powerful Wright Thompson book Pappyland (last time I will mention it, but I’m trying to hypnotize you into buying it), enjoying some butternut squash soup and some locally baked batard (courtesy of Uprise Bakery), toasted and garlicked, and spreading out in the living room for a few hours with books, cats, beer, and the intense, painful honky tonk music of Gary Stewart. We closed down the day with three episodes of TrueSouth, which focused on the terrific cultural cuisine of Nashville, Shreveport, and New Orleans. In all our trips to the Crescent City, how did we miss Mandina’s?!!

Streaming for Strivers:

Is there such a thing as a bad Bob Wills – Tommy Duncan album? I think not.

Cloister Commentary, Day 283: I Will Buy No More Forever

As New Year’s Day approaches, like a dork I’ve been considering resolutions. But I’m very serious about this one, and maybe if I make it public that will add to my resolve.

It will come as a surprise to no one who knows me that our house is teeming with books and music. Some who know me are also aware that I struggle with this, suspended between the desire to own every great album there is (and many of the great books, but that’s different) and the clear awareness that my life is finite, the rage to “possess” is ridiculous and very likely colonial residue, and I can enjoy so much great music and literature without having the concrete thing.

So. I’m going to try not to buy a single piece of music next year. My fortune is such that I have enough records here (beyond 10,000) to enjoy for the rest of my life. What about things that aren’t streaming, you wisely ask? I have a network of friends who are adepts and might be persuaded to swap. If that doesn’t work? It won’t kill me. Books: if I can’t find ’em in a library…I’ll live. Maybe, just maybe, if I learn about a great book that’s out of print and can find a cheap used copy, I’ll buy it. But isn’t that like that ONE cigarette that won’t hurt?

Wish me luck. Nicole and I had a great, relaxing day, got a neighborhood walk in, and discovered a “new” food show called “TrueSouth,” which was executive produced by Wright Thompson. Beebs seems to be feeling better. I drank a porter and it didn’t mess with my stomach. And my new nerdy Inspire watch revealed that my previous night’s sleep was “excellent.”

Streaming for Strivers:

A great singer whose life was cut terribly short, as was Sam Cooke’s, his boon companion and artistic admirer.

Cloister Commentary, Day 282: Home Again

Nicole and I headed back home yesterday after a holiday with my mom and my brother and sister-in-law. I knew Nicole would do so with no problem, but I’d worried how successfully I would be able to stay masked (other than being outdoors and sleeping and eating) for the whole visit. It’s not that I didn’t want to; I’m simply too present-minded, meaning my mind’s so full of everything important I need to attend to that I can forget the most important task. I would give myself an A-. It has been a very, very hard year for all of us and we needed to be together.

On the ride home, we listened to the audiobook of Wright Thompson’s terrific Pappyland. I’ve recently mentioned it, but if you have a gift card for a bookstore, think about this one. It’s about the famous Pappy Van Winkle line of bourbons, but it’s also about fathers and sons and so much more. I was dazzled and stunned by a passage in which Thompson links Rick Telander, Bruce Springsteen, and Thomas Merton as if that would be as natural as spring water running downhill.

We kicked back in the evening with a Shakespeare’s pizza, a glass, some music, and Christmas gifts. I fiddled with a new Inspire “health watch” as Nicole warned, “Nerd Alert!”

Streaming for Strivers:

I have the cassette.

Cloister Commentary, Day 281: Race and Rear Ends

Nicole and I took another long walk into the Monett country. The sun was out, the temperature was in the 50s, and we covered around three miles. I guess the overall holiday activity had been too much for me, as I went down for a solid nap in the afternoon.

Our good friends Hiedi and Greg Carlin came over for delicious fajitas my brother Brian prepared with fresh local meats, sauces, and tortillas. We gender-segregated out of space concerns and explored many topics. By the end of the evening, the boys had killed the bottle of Overeem Whisky my brother had scored from Tasmania, and the ladies had solved some of the problems of the world. My mom was particularly delighted with the gathering; my favorite part of the night was an honest and insightful discussion of both race and invasive male health procedures.

I knew I would snore, so after convening with Nicole about our regrets, joys, and hopes, I went out to sleep on the couch (I have always been able to sleep on any surface), and dreamed of trying to hug my recently deceased dog, who did not really allow that action.

Streaming for Strivers:

John, I finally got ahold of this. Thanks for the push.

Cloister Commentary, Day 280: A Nearly-Complete Yule

A fine Christmas Day after a frankly terror-ridden calendar year. Our highlights?

Food (of course)! Morning: The family’s famous sausage, cheese and egg breakfast casserole. Afternoon: hot pork tamales. Night: ham loaf, macaroni and cheese, GREEN BEANS! All day: Nicole’s peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies (as I thumb this out, only one remains). Nightcap: egg nog with a dose of Four Roses.

Exercise (two days in a row)! A long park jaunt capped by some meditation by the water.

Entertainment! Nets and Saints victories (Durant! Kamara!), the intense Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, the warming but also unsparing Christmas staple episode from Call The Midwife.

Gifts! My favorite that someone else received? Tie between Jane’s Apple Watch and Nicole’s Bryant Terry cookbook Vegetable Kingdom (yes, that’s my gift, too, and would you be surprised I gave it to her?). My favorite gift I gave (only they might not know it yet so no tag)? A gift subscription to The Week. My favorite gift I received? I’m sorry, I just love gift cards (from Mom, Myra, and Brian), which I used to get vinyl (Belle & Sebastian, X, and Moor Mother/Billy Woods)

My favorite thing was our unit was able to be together safely. My regret: my dad would have enjoyed this Christmas, but his spirit and his ethos were definitely in play.

I hope yesterday made you forget the calendar year, for at least a while.

Streaming for Strivers:

She was real.

Cloister Commentary, Day 278: Beebs Returns!

I had trouble concentrating most of the morning since Beebs, one of the two strays that adopted us several years ago and live on our back deck, hadn’t been around the previous evening and didn’t show up for breakfast. He is a very special cat to us: he first appeared as a phantom, then I very carefully employed my cat whisperer talents and finally, after several weeks of distanced treat offerings, persuaded him to let me pet him. We’ve been buddies ever since. He’s got a near-silent meow, “hurt”-looking eyes, and a playful streak epitomized by his batting at my ankle if I walk away from him before he’s done with me. He climbs everything, and early on he badly injured himself doing so and suffered an infection that threatened his life, and we and some great vets nursed him back to health. Currently, he guards the backyard, but he’s also kind and serves as a Eskimo-kissing big brother to our other deck-stray, Goldie. ANYWAY, I made “lost cat” posts on two social media sites, and since this year has been the straight pits, began preparing myself to accept another loss. Then, after lunch, he showed back up, limping but otherwise looking healthy. Exhale.

Also, Nicole and I started a book by an author one of my former students and very good friends, Regan Schoengarth, insisted I get very familiar with: Wright Thompson. Thompson’s got local connections (right, Steve Weinberg?) and, indeed, writes indelibly, ostensibly about sports, but most powerfully about fathers and sons and the way culture is mutated by time’s changes. He’s special: his sterling collection of features, THE COST OF THESE DREAMS, was the last gift I ever gave my dad (who loved it, but we didn’t get the chance to talk about it in depth–in a way, I gave him the book as a way to talk to him), and his new book, PAPPYLAND, is scintillating even if you’ve never heard of Pappy Van Winkle. We listened to half the audiobook yesterday and might just finish it today. Note: Thompson’s also an unabashed Southern writer, a breed for which I have a weakness.

Streaming for Strivers:

As my friend Ken often says, “Sometimes, nothing else works.”

Cloister Commentary, Day 277: Pressure Drop

I feel like COVID-19 has really sapped my motivation to…dust. One would think since we are inside more, we’d want to keep things super-spiffy. But no. I think I observe dust’s relentlessness more closely, and, of course, we can’t have company, so…why? Nonetheless, I dusted and it felt so good!

One highlight of the day was reading a set of poems written by one of my former students, who is now writing and teaching at the University of Virginia. She was a good poet when she entered my class, and I did nothing other than encourage her a little and stay the hell out of the way. But she has risen to a level of skill, insight, and control that forced me to wonder, “How can I critique this?” I fully expect to order her first collection soon; these were better than a few I’ve bought and read in the past. Mary Clare Agnew: remember the name.

I have to admit, I am stressed. It’s no surprise: it’s deep December, the pandemic is raging (close to 10 deaths in this county in the last week, across a wide age range), it’s the first Christmas without my dad, my mom’s dealing with severe shoulder pain, Nicole’s just had a weird and trying semester that sapped her, it’s going to be frigid here tomorrow and tomorrow night and I worry about outdoor cats (our two have insulated cat crates, we have two more in front for the various neighborhood cats who don’t seem to be being cared for), I have some health concerns I’m putting off til January, political egregiousness is as relentless as the dust, somebody just defecated in the COVID-19 relief package–guess who?–and one day’s worth of mail (including correspondence from friends) and an important package are in limbo. I need to focus on what I do have, I know–and I am not only fortunate but privileged. Still, pressure has done dropped.

Streaming for Strivers:

Yesterday was the 35th anniversary of Minutemen singer, songwriter and guitarist D. Boon. For a small group of friends and me, his was the most painful truncated existence of our lifetime. I’ve come to love this final Minutemen studio album better than the others because it demonstrates their versatility, daring, intelligence, humor, heart and potential so vividly–especially D.’s. You are missed, Mr. Boon.

Cloister Commentary, Day 276: The COVID Holiday Wind is LONG

Holidays, COVID-style…

Nicole and I started the day by picking up curbside groceries, getting precautionary COVID tests, and assembling and distributing at distance “stocking stuffers” to friends (the latter was all Nicole’s imaginative doing).

We also executed a drive-by drop-off gift exchange with our dear friends Janet and David. Turned out we gave each other currently out-of-print: I got Bud Powell, David got one of his favorite speaker’s greatest hits.

My mom was able to see a new doctor–she’s had a rocky road of late–and she’s making the relationship permanent. She’s gotten three different prescriptions for her arthritis- and tendinitis-inflicted shoulders from three different physicians, and the new one seems the most sensible. She sounded truly happy for the first time in a week.

It was a frustrating mail day. I’m well aware the USPS is overwhelmed, undermanned, and criminally undercut, but we didn’t even get our expected regular mail (I’m beginning to think the “Informed Delivery” app just amplifies my anxiety), and an important package’s USPS tracking looked like the flight of a fly at a BBQ. It left a Columbia distribution center at 7:15; this morning, it’s leaning a St. Louis distribution center. I need to chill.

Dinner was Boca burgers with cheese and onions, Springsteen green beans, and Yukon gold taters. Nightcap: Old Fashioneds with Runamok Maple Cocktail Syrup from Vermont. They tasted as great as Bernie Sanders is.

Catch-up: I forgot to mention one of my few pandemic accomplishments–I finished reading The Holy Bible! Well, kind of. Rather, it was Mark Russell’s condensed (no “begats,” for example), laugh-laden, and (accurately) retitled God is Disappointed in You. I’m not a believer, except in the notion that every literate English-speaker needs The Holy Bible, Hamlet, and The Odyssey under their belt for the sake of wrestling with references in traditional lit. Sample of Russell’s work? “If you’re one of these Christians who’s full of faith, but who lets widows and orphans starve to death, you need to either start doing Christ’s work or start calling yourself something else.” From “The Letter of James,” if you’d like to compare with the original.

Streaming for Strivers:

One night back in The Old World, we were vacationing with Janet and David at The Elms in Excelsior Springs, Missouri. We had been having a blast, but everyone but me had slid into a snooze, so I put my headphones on and listened to this. It’s probably my favorite EDM-ish album and it always brings back memories of that trip where nothing really happened but being together. YouTube is making the album a mystery, so you’ll have to click!