Cloister Commentary, Day 178: Grogginess Redeemed

I awakened at 3:45 a.m. from dreaming about my dear friends Janet and David and couldn’t get back to sleep. Nicole was already awake (Sunday Night / Monday Morning Educator Syndrome), so we caught up on reading, meditated and went on a long neighborhood walk–we’d alllllllmost gone back to sleep at 5.

Going into work, I was groggier than if I’d just had a colonoscopy (sorry–hey, I’m due…grrrrreart!), but after having my temperature taken by the executive assistant to the school president, who is very kind, and working my way Get Smart-style into my office, I settled in for work. And I had some: a paper challenging left brain -right brain theory to proofread and comment on, a Zoom conference with one of my outstanding summer school students and her academic advisor, then a Success Center staff check-in (also on Zoom). I also went for 15-minute campus walk during my lunch break–it was a gorgeous day. As I left, I stopped at the library counter to talk NBA and politics with my colleague Dan Kammer, a conversation I was grateful was not on Zoom.

Culture Report:

Books: We always try to read Columbia’s annual One Read. I was skeptical when I perused a few descriptions of this year’s choice, A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles. Books about aristocrats are not normally my cuppa. However, Towles’ wit and style immediately won me over, and it’s more relevant to this project than I could ever have imagined.

Music: The new EP by the band The Human Hearts, Day of the Tiles, really hits me where I currently live (in a world on fire). It’s really smart and passionate; in fact, it’s veins are open. It apparently has a connection to Mountain Goats, a band I admire without quickened pulse but about which I am not a adept.

Shows: Unlike seemingly the series’ entire audience, we are not won over by the HBO adaptation of Matt Ruff’s terrific tome Lovecraft Country. We have not given up on it–we are big fans of the source–but continue to feel it’s a little dumbed down, suffers from kitchen sink disease, and lacks even a modicum of subtlety. Last night’s episode had its moments, as they all have, but was more jarring against the tone of the original narrative. And, believe me: I was down for this series. Seriously down.

Food: I can eat 50 stuffed poblano peppers.

Streaming for Strivers:

Currently residing (unfairly) in the where-are-they-now file.

Cloister Commentary, Day 177: Draggy Magic

More from Albert Camus’ The Plague (1948 Stuart Gilbert translation):

“The evil that is in the world always comes from ignorance, and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence, if they lack understanding. On the whole, men are more good than bad; that, however, is not the real point. But they are more or less ignorant, and it is this that we call vice or virtue; the most incorrigible vice being that of an ignorance that fancies it knows everything and therefore claims for itself the right to kill. The soul of the murderer is blind; and there can be no true goodness nor true love without the utmost clear-sightedness.”

Other exciting news?

*We halfsie-splitsied some bagels from the downtown B&B Bagel Bakery (asiago cheese v. everything, with scallion cream cheese).
*We Zoomed with family and friends.
*We happily revisited Ron Howard’s Beatle documentary Eight Days a Week (did Nicole and I originally see at Ragtag, or did George and I see it there, or did we all see it there?), and enjoyed it even more than we did the first time. What a time, what a band; I’m thinking Nicole may need to read Rob Sheffield’s Dreaming the Beatles.

Streaming for Survivors:
The draggy magic of this album fits my Monday morning.

Cloister Commentary, Day 170: Crackle and Zoom

We took a nice hour-long neighborhood walk, discussed some small-scale home improvement plans, snagged some items at Westlake (including his-and-hers “crackle candles”), finally tracked down the September issue of Vanity Fair, toasted a fine Sunday with “tomato time” (a Bloody Mary, a tomato-and-mayo sandwich, and Zapp’s), then did our respective things for most of the afternoon. My respective thing was studying up (via reference books and streaming) on the inimitable jazz singer and pianist Shirley Horn. I tell ya: I cannot get enough of her and Carmen McRae’s music. Am I wearing you down yet?

We also Zoomed with our friends Rex, Jill (accompanied by her wonderful Mississippi beau John Roy), and Isaac (now dubbed, due to his unexpected appearance, “SurprIsaac”). Nicole brought her big monitor home and figured out how to link it with her laptop, so this Zoom felt almost like we’d moved from a mini-TV to a cinema screen. My highlight from the Zoom was expounding with John Roy about Natchez history and Richard Grant’s relevant new book The Deepest South. We also sang the praises of Bobby Rush and his excellent new album.

After our Zoom, we dined on a vegan variant on Brazilian black bean stew that Nicole prepared. I had two helpings–I especially liked the chard she cooked up in it.

Streaming for Strivers:

It’s Celebrate Sonny Rollins Day.

Cloister Commentary, Day 168: Trip to Typhoon Island

By surprise, in these locked-down days, I was able to take a trip to Typhoon Island yesterday. I was not planning on a tropical vacation, but I did not turn it down. I paid for the Ultimate Package, and when I arrived, I put the chair back, got out a great book, and relaxed to the sounds of splashing waves.

Unfortunately, Typhoon Island is a car wash, and I thought that, since I paid for the Ultimate ($11.99), I’d be chilling in my mom’s vehicle for about 10-15 minutes. I was snapped out of my reading reverie seeming seconds later by the car wash proprietor knocking on the window.

“Sir, did you get a wash at all? Just wondering because you’re still sitting here!” she asked–with genuine concern.

I replied, “I guess I was dug in for the long haul.”

Some vacation.

Earlier in the day, Mom and I had a great visit with two of her and Dad’s long-time best friends, George and Virginia Terry, who were on their way to antique in Branson. George (besides being on old rascal) is a craftsman–I once wrote a research paper about his “folk art” for Dr. Bob Cochran at the University of Arkansas–and he left us with his recent, characteristically excellent creations.

In the evening, I Zoomed with Nicole and our best friends, Gwen and Kenny Wright. We caught glimpses of their twins and dawg, and rapped about many things of concern and delight. After our Zoom, I watched my new co-favorite NBA team (now that OKC has been vanquished), Miami, crush the hapless Bucks. Milwaukee, you need a couple more pieces, and Giannis? You have to hit threes and frees. My other favorite team is Boston; I’d never have predicted that would be how I’d be ridin’ at this point. Also, Mom overheard Nicole and I raving to the Wrights about Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul, and was curious, so we watched the first episode of the former. I think she liked it!

Finally, I invented what seems like a tacky drink but it works for me: the Monett Margarita Mixer COVID Cocktail. 4/5ths Salvador Top Shelf Margarita Pre-mix, 1/5th Lunazul Agave Tequila, heavy ice and salt on the rim.

Streaming for Survivors:

I forgot to grab this to listen to on my road trip, so I guess I’ll stream it. One of the many great albums Kenny introduced me to.

Cloister Commentary, Day 142: Dread-Treatments

Woke up with a feeling of dread and treated that with a headphone dose of rabble-rousing, stare-down, truth-telling punk rock. Not only did I feel much better afterward, but Nicole got a chance to sleep in!

Some other dread-treatments that worked? NBA basketball (the Pelicans lost but oh well), family ‘n’ friend Zooms (Jane, Brian, Myra, Jill, and Rex), piña coladas (Nicole made me sing that horrific Rupert Holmes song–I tried to sing it like Slim Pickens would have if Slim Pickens had sung, but nothing can redeem lines like “If you have half a brain”), a korma konkoktion, weeding yes weeding.

Nicole and I also took on a new project. A couple New York Times Magazines ago, 23 current writers under the banner of “The Decameron Project” published short pieces in the vein of Boccaccio’s Italian “Black Death” classic. You may know some of their names: Margaret Atwood, Victor LaValle, Tommy Orange, Ewidge Danticat, and David Mitchell are just a few. Entering into a fraught school semester, we thought it would be fun to read one piece a night together and discuss it. Yes, we have strange ideas of fun but we like it that way. Anyhow, we were too pooped last night to talk about the first story (it was really an intro, anyway) by the time we’d both read it–but we will catch up on the walk we’re about to take.

Streaming for Strivers:

More mordant musings.

Cloister Commentary, Day 126: Earthseed Graphics

Took a long early-morning walk into the Monett countryside listening to Rolling Stone writer Joe Levy’s Spotify playlist, “Uprising 2020.” That was better than three shots of espresso, and lasted longer.

Nicole, Mom, and I Zoom every morning for 10 minutes or so before we get on with our days. Yesterday, though, we got pretty engaged in our subject matter and almost talked for an hour. And here I thought I was done with Zoom “classes” for a while. For myself, I think I just miss my wife a wee bit.

Graded the first wave of research papers that arrived from my summer school students: three As and two Bs, plus they had some zip to ’em. They aren’t due til Sunday night, but today’s authors are of the TCB variety.

Started two new books, a so-far nice bio of the contagiously joyful and mischievous jazz master Fats Waller (written by his son) and Duffy & Jennings’ second graphic novel adaptation of an Octavia Butler novel, Parable of the Sower. If any of my readers know that book, well–you’ve probably thought of it once or twice since March. The team has an adaptation of Parable of the Talents on the way.

My mind and body forced me to nap in the afternoon, but I was ready to go for a nice dinner with Mom and my chosen brother Greg Carlin. We spent a good three hours talking about Monett family trees, his health-wrestling, complicated dogs, and oblivious neighbors. As a lineman (not the football kind, the electrical kind), he interacts with a cross-section of the public in their home environments, but when he discusses certains folks’ unusual living habits, he is never mean nor does he consider himself superior to them. That’s the sign of a good man.

Streaming for Strivers:

For this instrumentalist, an album could not be better named. The band’s pretty talented as well.

Cloister Commentary, Day 125: Cat Herding Sheep

Only eight times this many days will be 1,000. February seems over a year in the past, but eight times this many seems like it could happen in a snap. Does that make any sense?

But for the grading of research papers, my Stephens summer school stint is over. I remember neurotically pacing back and forth, wondering if I should take the job on, then if I would like it, then if I would suck at Zoom–and it’s already over, and I’m in for next summer. If there is a next summer: what really sucks is that some valued colleagues at Stephens have lost their jobs so the institution can survive, and the mess we’re all in isn’t going to make continuance a snap.

I have a scarily-bearded cousin who’s more like an uncle named Jim Hague. He is a septuagenarian with the motor of a five-year-old (what age has the highest-running motor?), and yesterday he showed up to finish repairing Dad’s old riding lawnmower. This particular job has been an obsession with him, and he toiled in the ninety degree heat from 1 p.m. to about 7 p.m. He was so desperate to complete the task that he asked me to help him, which is akin to asking a cat to herd sheep. I didn’t break anything, got my hands dirty (it was FUN!), and test-drove the thing without impaling it on the sweetgum tree. Jim and I don’t agree on very much, but no one has been more helpful in the aftermath of my father’s passing. For awhile, I was worried I might have another relative’s demise on my hands, but after Mom hosed him down and he ate some cookies, he was good as new.

I despise few things more than wasting food–I am a plate-cleaner to the manor born–but I was soundly defeated at dinner. I decided to give Mom a break from having to feed me and grabbed some curbside grub at The Southern Standard in Monett, but the delicious four-piece fried catfish plate I ordered was not accurately described on the restaurant’s menu: I double-checked, but nowhere did it read “For two.” Nor did it read “jumbo-sized catfish slabs.” My jaws creaked to a screeching halt at 3.5 slabs, I left a swamp of slaw on the plate, then staggered out of the kitchen to collapse on the couch. Too full to drink a beer or read? I’d not thought it possible, but it is. I am still full right now thumbing this out 12 hours later.

Streaming for Survivors:

One of the greatest alto saxophonists alive was born in Joplin, Missouri, 81 years ago today. Here he is.

Cloister Commentary, Day 124: Settling Dust

I knew the day would be pretty good when, purely by accident, my mom and I watched Buju Banton perform live on TV while we were eating breakfast. In some ways, it was a classic COVID-only moment.

‘Twas the second-to-last day of Stephens’ summer school program. Students are presenting the results of their research for their “final”; their last assignment will be a companion persuasive research essay, due Sunday night at the latest. Topics: trucker safety (that was actually the best and most interesting one!), protections for sex workers, the future of Mount Rushmore, body shaming in the fashion industry, and the effectiveness of masking in a pandemic. You’d think presentation assignments on Zoom would leave a bit to be desired, but I find I’m less distracted, and the presenters seem so as well. To be honest, I enjoyed them, and look forward to Round Two today.

I returned to my hometown of Carthage in the early afternoon to drop in for a few hours on my old friend Kevin Keller. We hadn’t seen each other in 35 years, so we compressed much info into our visit. Kevin could (and clearly still can) always be counted on for thought-provoking conversations, and his reflections on his time in Puerto Rico and Spanish Harlem and at Missouri Southern and Carthage Junior High (as a language and TESOL specialist) were fascinating. He also once did one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen documented on Facebook: he shared photos from the journey he made around the country with his ailing mom, who is currently in a nursing facility which, for reasons I need not explain, he cannot visit. Kevin was a great host, all told; I even got a home-cooked Dominican lunch out of the visit!

With the dust having settled somewhat after my father’s passing, it is now quiet enough that the true coping and processing has begun. We had a few sudden visitations of sadness and yawning absence after I returned, but decided to fight it with Modern Family (which I’d never seen), Key & Peele sketches (Peele had been a hilarious guest in the Modern Family episode), and Little Fires Everywhere, which Mom liked enough for us to binge three episodes. I’ve read the book and already watched it once, and the series really holds up.

For the record, I’m very aware of spiraling COVID cases, spooky federal agents in one of my favorite cities, the grim struggle over school reopenings, the ongoing and necessary fight in our streets for social justice, the specter of vote-suppressing chicanery, and a demagogue thrashing like the shark at the end of JAWS–it may seem I barely acknowledge it, but on my mentor Ken’s advice, in this project I’m simply writing what’s occurring with us. Paralysis is almost a tempting option, but despite churning gut and teeming brain, I’m attending to what’s in front of me. Reader, see, you’re not alone. I’m glad I’m not.

Streaming for Strivers:

One of the biggest, nattiest, most universal dreadlocked youths ever born.

Cloister Commentary, Day 123: COVID Roulette

Once a week with my on-line class, we have an Open Zoom: I make myself available for twice the required time for consultation on classwork and anything else related to writing, lit, or college survival. I screen-share a YouTube playlist so music greets them when they enter, though sometimes they have to chat at me or unmute and yell to alert me to their presence.

One of my three students from California NEVER misses an Open Zoom, which is doubly impressive as it’s 6:30 am to 8:30 am her time. She always has terrific questions, she’s always enthusiastic about her work, she’s taking and aceing all four of our program’s courses for incoming freshmen, she loves writing–and she’s an equine major! Laughing, she told me yesterday that her parents recently asked her, considering all the work she’s been doing, if she was ok, and I’ve thought the same thing. After we dealt with integrating and citing quotes into research papers MLA style, we chatted about the class and the future for about 15 minutes, and I do hope that, sometime when life is less a game of COVID roulette, she comes to see me for writing tutoring. She’s hoping Stephens is opening as it is planning to next month, and, though I don’t perfectly share that hope, she’s already bought her plane tickets. This time reeks to highest heaven and lowest hell, but she’s been a beacon.

In the afternoon, Mom and I and her teacher pal Cathy visited the splendid country home of Madison and Logan Dickens. Madison’s like a granddaughter to Mom and a niece to me; she’s a smart, diligent school nurse and mother of two, and her husband can about build or fix anything. As she cradled her bowling-ball of a newborn Presley in her elbow-nook, she and her agile and avid older daughter Lilly gave us a fascinating tour of the spread.

Like a moth to flame: after months of being relatively painlessly being weaned off sports, can I resist MLB and NBA action?

Streaming for Survivors:

For you and your folks, me and my folks–and for the super stupid…

Cloister Commentary, Day 121: 63 – 54 – 5 – 44 – H

I am spending a week with my mom and yesterday hit the ol’ 63 – 54 – 5 – 44 – H trail that I could drive in my sleep. Broke in the new car stereo with mid-’70s Miles, Beatles, VU (’68 stuff–damn), Gary Stewart (yelled all the songs: I wish I could sing like him), and PE.

Road observations:

Had to stop at the Wal-Mart in Camdenton because I drank a cup of tea before I left. Plusses: all employees were masked, plus IF you are a dude, need to take a leak, and don’t mind sanitizing back in the jalopy, you can enter, do the biz, and exit without touching anything foreign. Minuses: maybe 2 in 10 customers were masked, and the rejiggering of the entrances and exits just seemed to create massive bottlenecks.

On I-44, I once again mourned the impending sale of “The Den of Metal Arts.” I’d always hoped that, one, some former students of mine would form a metal band and use a photo of it as an album cover, and, two, it would someday be converted into a metal recording studio or venue. It’ll probably end up an evangelical church.

As I passed 65, a maroon van merged onto 44 beside me, into a crowd of vehicles we traveled with for several miles. Spray-painted crudely and legibly on its driver side was “Honk if you love Trump!” No one honked.

We had a nice afternoon and evening. Mom and I got caught up, we chatted with my brother Brian on the blower, I Zoomed with my Sunday regz and my sweetie Nicole (who’s minding the feline farm), and we had BLs with fresh Ts. Closed down the day by watching the terse but somewhat trance-inducing Apple + series Defending Jacob.

I read a few pages of Michael Corcoran’s great book on Ghost Notes: Pioneering Spirits in Texas Music. I’m supposed to know a ton about American music, but how come I never knew the great pianists and singers Charles Brown and Amos Milburn were not only likely gay but also a couple? Amazing, cool–and damn difficult for their glory years.

Streaming for Strivers:

Speaking of Texas music…