And if I should become

The Patriots lost in the Super Bowl, and I recalled the consoling words shared last year when they lost in the AFC Championship Game: "Pitchers and catchers report in 14 days."

Last year I was rather interested in baseball, at least early on and here and there. This year so far I feel the same way, going so far as to actually listen to the MLB on XM channel that comes with my satellite radio subscription.

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A woman from one of my meetup groups sent me a Christmas card and added that if I was around and wanted some company sometime, I should let her know. So I did, and we've been dating for about a month I think. Her name is Shawna.

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I've discovered it's not as much fun to get runk with liquor as it is with beer. Why? With beer you get the complete loss of body control that makes you stand up from the couch and say, "Man, I'm wasted!" With liquor you get wasted but it's more strictly cerebral. And, uh, the next morning, it's uh, also "mostly cerebral."

Elizabeth Part III

I have not mentioned her very much, but an ex of mine from 2005 is a frequent focus of my anxieties and thoughts. I had not seen her since then, although I've emailed her and she replied that I was a "creep" and to never contact her again. I don't know why closure meant so much to me, but it really upset me emotionally that she wouldn't participate in closure in the degree I wanted.

Last night, I had a dinner planned with my book group. I arrived and there was one person already there, seated at our reserved assemblage of tables. I shook his hand, sat down, and then noticed her sitting at a nearby table. I had often wondered what her reaction would be - a quick ignore, a half-sad smile, walking away briskly.

I was sturck by her present and she turned her head, said "Hi," and waved.

As my guests arrived, I kept watch. when her and her (male) companion got up to leave, I also rose and followed them to the door. "Elizabeth!" I called.

"What?!" She was in the doorway, holding the door open, half-turned to me.

A pause. "Merry Christmas."

"Thanks." Her face changed almost imperceptibly, from a mistrustful glare to a soft happy smile, and then away. I watched her cross the street and thought, she's lost weight.

Full of emotions right now. Some people have an obsessive personality for hoarding objects, or drawing, or playing card games. Me, I can't shake out the old dreams of a short romance that once made me interested. I wasn't going to replay the encounter too much last night, and I didn't, but today, I find I am.

Wow, that sounds depressing. I'm going to sign off now, and go eat lunch. Something makes me feel it's not so depressing though...Oh right, it's Christmas soon. And I'm flying home for a week to be with my family.

See you in the spaces.

The news

Recent changes in my life:

Feelings of success in various areas and on various fronts.

Comfortability in my own skin.

Shrinking violet-ism strikes occasionally.

Romance is both stale and has activity - who can figure out women and what they want?

Work is odd.

Brooklyn is a wonderful place to live.

I should buy a car.

Various health issues (two rashes - ouch!).

Looking forward to the holiday; to various Saturdays in December. Looking forward to Sundays in general (guess why).

No editing when I type; I thin and it gets typed. That's all.

See you in the spaces.

Small town hipsters

There's a radio program I listen to most weeks called "American Routes." It's a show about Americana music, country, blues, folk, and rockabilly. It's usually very good and has a soothing aspect to it that always makes me feel better when listening.

One show they had recently was called "Small Town Hipsters." It was about people living in small towns and into Americana or into the same style of music you more easily find in cities. They played "Driver 8" as an example, and they interviewed various local musicians, who are used to playing to 10 people in a small barroom. It was enchanting - the small town life is something I always instinctively get and love, although now I live in the city.

You see small town hipsters easily enough, if you go to arthouse cinema on weeknights and then go to the bar next door for a beer afterward. You'd be surprised how many there are, and how easy to find they are. You yourself may just be one - I hope? Whoever you are, o reader of this blog, I'm glad to have you around.

Peace.

List of Grievances

A week or so ago I had one of those collossally awful days. Parts in my apartment fell off, the train was late, not there, and no one knew why, I had laryngitis to a horrible degree, various other things. I was walking home and the phrase "list of grievances" popped into my head. I fel like going home to blog about them, and to list them all, in one annoyed cry at the Universe.

I did not do that, as you can see. Somehow, my own sheer will and my own motivation solved many of these problems. My basic easy-going nature resolved others. And Time itself, the great healer, did the rest.

There has been bad news since (I often term entries here "The news" but never have highlighted too much bad news yet), but the need to tell how miserable I was that day passed. No List of Grievances, no moping, not any of it.

Peace.

Snow in October

Some year and a half ago, I met a woman who sent me a photograph of herself playing outside in the snow. She also gave me, when next we met, a CD of songs she had made just for me. It was only the second time a woman has done that (friends have repeatedly done it). I hesitated just now about telling about the first time, but it is past now and doesn't feel essential.

One of the songs on the CD is Jens Lekman's "Maple Leaves." I quote some lyrics for you now:

"I think you're beautiful
but it's impossible
to make you understand
that if you don't take my hand
I lose my mind completely
Madness will finally defeat me

She said it was all make-believe
but I thought you said maple leaves
and when she talked about a fall
I thought she talked about a season
I never understood at all

I thought she said maple leaves
and when she talked about the fall
I thought she talked about Mark E Smith
I never understood at all."

Mark E Smith is the lead singer of The Fall, a band that once played in Southpaw which is near my apartment.

Last night I listened to this song perhaps 7 or 8 times. I sang it slightly incorrectly, I sang, "And when you talked about the fall, I thought you talked about a sea-sonnn!...I never understood at alllll."

It's one of those songs that makes you feel like a secret member of some quiet society, existing among lone travelers on subway cars and paused on streetcorners. I've been humming the song all day.

And yesterday was really the inspiration, a song called "The Death of Ferdinand de Saussure":

"But this is for Holland Dozier
Holland! His last words were-

You don't know anything
You don't know anything
about love."

Holland-Dozier-Holland were a songwriting team that wrote for Motown, apparently. How obscure and amazingly fantastic are songs like these? And how much effort is it to stay abreast of them?

Peace.

Dance, dance, wherever you may be...

Last Saturday, I went to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in Morningside Heights for an early music concert. Morningside Heights is a slightly Gothic neighborhood near Columbia University, an area I've been to a few times but not seen much of really. I got there slightly late. After going up the darkened wide stone steps I entered and walked along a long passageway, and a few security guards were there to direct me. I came out into a gigantic room with a huge nave at the end, where 100 or so people were seated in chairs but it looked like they were a mile away. There was seating all in the open floorplan of the room, for perhaps 500 people, and three ushers at the very front, so I sat there until the piece ended and then they took me to my seat. It was a concert of early music, one of my favorite kinds.

At one point, they began to play a piece that used to be played when I was a freshman in college and attended a medieval dance troupe every Friday night. The people there were universally those sci-fi types I find both interesting up to a point and horrificaly childish. In fact, they kind of make me mad! Anyway, hearing this piece made me sit up abruptly form my already enraptured pose. They only played the first few rounds (find me in real life and I'll explain what that means) but wow...what a moment someone like me would appreciate.

It was over in an hour and a half, and so I went to Starbucks at 106th and Broadway and then walked down Broadway until my feet ached and my people-watching itch had been opned into a wound, then jumped on the subway and headed for Brooklyn. All in all, a fun night.

The only parade ("An insubstantial pageant faded")

The only parade I go to every year is the Veteran’s Day Parade. Unlike the St. Patrick’s parade, held during comparable weather, with its stacks of people, in November there are always many empty spaces along the barricades. I always stand near 40th Street, near where the grandstand is set up so I can hear the various contingents announced as they come by. The politicians march at the front. I remember one year as they passed Bloomberg, Pataki, and Schumer were applauded politely, but when Hillary walked past people began to boo. The master of ceremonies, reading his lectern notes, looked up and then pointed at her, saying into the mike, “Senator Clinton – a friend to veterans.” Watching him say that, I thought, that sure shut them up. Later some veterans groups devoted to antiwar activism came past, and the applause stopped, the crowd unsure of what to do. The MC spoke again, saying, “Only the veteran truly loves peace, for only the veteran has known war.” With that, people clapped.
I remember once when I was a teenager, my twin brother and I were sitting around my room listening to music and talking. He was going through my bookshelf which had a collection of Bible literature that my sister had used in college and left to me. As he thumbed through it, he said, “There’s one line in the Bible, it goes, ‘And I hated life.’” We both silently nodded in acknowledgement of this obvious and profound statement.
What do these reminiscences have in common? Two things. The first is the power of words. Each of us has a private vocabulary of phrases that have retained their spell long after we first heard them. I often find myself murmuring a few lines of some verse or reading when thinking over certain events I’ve witnessed. Each autumn landscape, the kind with dead trees and sere skies, to me is the time of “bare ruined choirs.” You’d have to have a hard heart not to be moved by the starkness of the season, and the following glow of the holidays. Which makes me think of a line from Dante: “I wept not, so to stone within I grew.”
The second thing they have in common is a reminder that even in happy times, it’s important to remember how tenuous things are. My alumni magazine came recently and I was amazed to learn of the early deaths of some people in my class. In an ACE class we recently spent a lot of time talking about the Wisdom books, and especially Ecclesiastes, whose author pointed out the universal fate for both fools and wise, and the unfairness of much of life. His final message was that only faith makes life meaningful.
It is infinitely reassuring to look upon the vast body of Christian literature to see how those who have gone before us have grappled with these issues, and to draw encouragement from their examples. In this holiday time, in the midst of all the parties, I want to remember the spiritual deaths from which I have been spared through my faith.

Random memory

One day when I was a kid my brother and I were engaged in an epic wrestling match on the living room carpet. The TV was on, and as we exchanged headlocks, the announcer came on and saud, "Next up, Boston Red Sox versus New York Yankees." My brother stopped in mid-grapple and said, "Oh, I've always wanted to watch one of these games." So we stopped, went to the kitchen and fixed ourselves a snack, and sat down to watch.

The news

Each morning for the last few months or so, I wake up and roll over to turn on the Opie and anthony show on XM. 6 a.m. they come on - talking, joking around, commenting on the previous day's events and random news stories. It's basically the kind of conversation that goes on in your office kitchen/break room during the downtimes, but with a bit of edge. I'm fairly addicted, to boot.

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So, there you have it. The radio...full of things to learn about, to talk about, etc. I'm pretty happy with it, overall.

The news

I went outside this morning and there were police lined up along the street, blocking each intersection, all the way down the block, for at least 6 blocks. I looked to my left and saw a van that appeared to have crashed into the curb and the mailbox nearby it, but as to why the whole length of the avenue was blocked off, I'm not sure. I'll have to look into it.

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I just joined a gym, for one year. I've been a member of gyms twice before, and both times I got into the whole protein-smoothie thing, drinking shakes full of creatine and etc. I read recently a piece about how being a short and skinny male, a short and skinny man, was not most women's idea of attractive. I need to build up my shoulders and upper back. I'm going to essentially have to start eating a whole hell of a lot! Okay, I can do that, I guess.

Bagels and everything for breakfast? Not sure about that. If I truly put on a lot of weight anywhere but my upper body, I'm going to need new pants! My shirts would be fine, I'd just expand inside them. Really, its the shoulders that are too small and scrawny-looking. I hate bieng called skinny.

Um...this post is getting outof hand. Bye.

Days off

On days off, I slip back into the routine I perfected when I was in Maine and it was summertime, between school years at the high school were I used to work. A leisurely breakfast, several papers to read in a cafe, an hour Interneting and blogging, and then a night of reading.

I'm actually going out tonight for dinner with some friends, but the day so far has played out like that.


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I'm listening to Sufjan Stevens right now, a song called "For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti." The words to it:

I have called you children, I have called you son.
What is there to answer if I'm the only one?
Morning comes in Paradise, morning comes in light.
Still I must obey, still I must invite.
If there's anything to say, if there's anything to do,
If there's any other way, I'll do anything for you.

I was dressed embarrassment. I was dressed in wine.
If you had a part of me, will you take you're time?
Even if I come back, even if I die
Is there some idea to replace my life?
Like a father to impress; Like a mother's mourning dress,
If you ever make a mess, I'll do anything for you
I have called you preacher; I have called you son.
If you have a father or if you haven't one,
I'll do anything for you. I did everything for you.

Hypnotic to say the least. This is the singer who plans to write 50 albums, one about each of the states. So far, he's done Michigan and Illinois.

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New York is rather grand, wouldn't you say?

Peace.

Make me fall in love with you

A CD you should burn:

Nina Simone - I Can't See Nobody (DJ remix)
Dougie McLean - Caledonia
My Morning Jacket - Gideon (Live)
Kings of Convenience - Surprise Ice
Nouvelle Vague - Pride (In the Name of Love)
Pipas - Mental
Archer Prewitt - Judy, Judy
Battlefield Band - Heave Ya Ho


No particular order, though.

Super Bowl IV

I always wait and watch after the Super Bowl has ended for the part when they interview the losing coach. Usually it is simply him and the reporter standing in some anonymous hallway. there is no noise like there is in the winning locker room or in the stadium. In fact, it's very quiet. The reporter asks what went wrong; the coach gives some sportsmanlike answers.

There's something about this moment which I find particluarly captivating. The Super Bowl is an exercise in ritual, in many ways: the slow filling up of the stadium, the moments when it's after 5:30 Eastern time and the pre-game hosts have to yell into their microphones to be hear above the crowd which is getting anxious; and other moments.

This year, that moment is the one I will look forward to the most. Strange, I know, but it's how I feel.

For if I should become a stranger

This weekend, and last weekend, there have been four NFL games on in all, all playoff games. Two on Saturday, and two on Sunday. In a sport that encourages long amounts of time spent watching TV, these two weekends encourage nearly an excessive amount. But what ends up happening is that after it ends, you kind of miss having so much to watch. Ah well.


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I am in Manhattan right now, in Midtown. I have a fair amount of work to do this wekend, which is a long weekend. So I'm doing some research about Facebook and blogging (that'll be tough, huh?) and Web 2.0. It's okay. Lots of reading.

I planned to get up early today and have a leisurely breakfast and then head over here. Instead I lay comatose and delerious with sleep until 11 am, the radio on in the background. I am listening to my radio, as usual, and on the subway over I listened to this song I'd recorded last night - I listened to it over and over.

Dougie MacLean, "Caledonia"
"Let me tell you that I love you
that I think about you all the time
Caledonia you're calling me and now I'm going home
For if should become a stranger
You know it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had."

John Prine talked in an interview I recently heard about how he just loved a really sad song. I'm sure he loves that one.