Saturday, March 22, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
I tell myself that in sum it's mostly good news here
The good news is that I have health insurance.
The good news is that I now have a primary care physician.
The good news is that the doctor says that I do not have pneumonia.
The bad news is that there are no pills to take to make this go away.
I have been sick with one thing or another since February 10th. For most of that time I have tried not to let it stop me.
Firstly, there were things to do, messages to be relayed and people who needed information and files that are apparently under my dominion.
Secondly, it seemed a damn shame to be incubating all of these germs and not share them with the world. But this past weekend I encountered a particularly nasty version of what for me has of late been the usual and I was home for the week.
At first, I did nothing but sleep but later I alternated between sleeping and working from home. Not because I am the dedicated sort, rather because all those reminder emails were not going to write themselves.
The good news is that I am starting to feel better.
The bad news is that every couple hours I feel faint and need to lay down.
The bad news is that when I lay me down to sleep the coughing keeps me up or wakes me up unless I fall asleep to the sound of golf on TV.
The good news is that I tried to go to work today.
The bad news is that my work computer has seen fit to die on me, a virus perhaps?
So I could do no work while at work. I came home where is it chilly and I do not control the thermostat, my arms are always cold as ice cubes, and I have a big stack of fleece blankets.
I know it is flammable, pills up easily, and does not breathe or temperature regulate but I still consider the inventor of the fluffy fleece blanket to be my own personal savior.
The good news is that I now have a primary care physician.
The good news is that the doctor says that I do not have pneumonia.
The bad news is that there are no pills to take to make this go away.
I have been sick with one thing or another since February 10th. For most of that time I have tried not to let it stop me.
Firstly, there were things to do, messages to be relayed and people who needed information and files that are apparently under my dominion.
Secondly, it seemed a damn shame to be incubating all of these germs and not share them with the world. But this past weekend I encountered a particularly nasty version of what for me has of late been the usual and I was home for the week.
At first, I did nothing but sleep but later I alternated between sleeping and working from home. Not because I am the dedicated sort, rather because all those reminder emails were not going to write themselves.
The good news is that I am starting to feel better.
The bad news is that every couple hours I feel faint and need to lay down.
The bad news is that when I lay me down to sleep the coughing keeps me up or wakes me up unless I fall asleep to the sound of golf on TV.
The good news is that I tried to go to work today.
The bad news is that my work computer has seen fit to die on me, a virus perhaps?
So I could do no work while at work. I came home where is it chilly and I do not control the thermostat, my arms are always cold as ice cubes, and I have a big stack of fleece blankets.
I know it is flammable, pills up easily, and does not breathe or temperature regulate but I still consider the inventor of the fluffy fleece blanket to be my own personal savior.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
the other day
A staunch republican, catholic, neo-con, true believer emailed me to ask whether I was in the "Old School Sisters United" pro-Hillary Camp or in the "Feel Good New Age-y Yes We Can" pro-Barack camp.
I did not reply because I have been in the throes of dying.
He then wrote me again to apologize for being flippant and to say that he honestly did want to know what I thought.
To which I replied, "I am in the 'Why didn't Senator Russ Feingold run for President?' camp."
He has not replied to my reply. And the more I think about it, the less I expect him to.
I did not reply because I have been in the throes of dying.
He then wrote me again to apologize for being flippant and to say that he honestly did want to know what I thought.
To which I replied, "I am in the 'Why didn't Senator Russ Feingold run for President?' camp."
He has not replied to my reply. And the more I think about it, the less I expect him to.
Friday, March 14, 2008
For the love of Bob Mould
The frequency with which I get to a show has severely lessened. But that does not lessen the degree to which it does a heart good.
Today, I went to see the Bob Mould Band. I will confess that I have not listened to that much Husker Du. But I am an enormous Sugar fan. I bought "File Under Easy Listening" and held on to it for years before falling in love with it. That album and "Copper Blue" were the soundtrack to months and months of grad school. They were catchy and crunchy and delicious. By the time I embraced the album, Sugar was no longer a band and I read that Bob Mould had put down the guitar and was making electronic music.
Which made me all kinds of sad but, y'know, "Copper Blue" came out in 1992 (the year I graduated from college) and "File Under Easy Listening" came out in 1994. People got to move on with their lives, right?
So you cannot imagine my delight to hear that Bob Mould had picked up the guitar again.
There I was. Surrounded by a crowd of mostly my age group with a smattering of youngsters. Someone made a joke that this was a crowd of people who couldn't wait to see an old gay man play the guitar. My reply to this would have to be "Hells yeah!"
He opened with a Sugar song. Yeee! Coming down from my fan girl place I will say that the guitar work was not what it was on the album and the vocals weren't either. But being there in the presence of these beloved songs and their creator was still a thrill. Despite the toll of time, the songs have good bones. They hold up through it all. And he holds up too.
He's a tall man with neatly trimmed beard, bald (shaved?) head. He is composed and somehow unassuming, all things considered. No crazy kicks or windmills. In contrast, his supercute bass player was a powder keg all over the stage.
My favorite songs from the night were not songs that I knew. I fell in love with them right there as he was singing them. They were more downtempo. They were the songs of a person who has lived. Songs that a grown up would write for a grown up to sing. The rasp of his voice weaving the line was vivid and intimate. His voice was not in top condition but he worked around whatever condition and issues he was having to create something musical and beautiful and real. It was rough. It was present. No effects, no gloss, just his voice. It was powerful. And I was awed to be there.
At the end a little mosh pit attempted to happen it consisted of tall older men who couldn't find enough people who wanted to crash back into them. One of them rapped me in the head with his arm. It was on accident, I'm sure. But I wanted to do my part so I shoved him and bumped my shoulder into a few of them, bracing myself to get knocked over. The pit did not happen. Perhaps they should have brought their kids to demonstrate that in these times and this part of the country if you were not ready to just crash into people you needed to start dancing out a circle to signal to others what was about to happen both as warning and invitation.
It was mostly a night to be a fan girl swathed in nostalgia and puppy wriggles. But there were moments of something really really fine and elevating.
It was as Tess Gallager said:
Today, I went to see the Bob Mould Band. I will confess that I have not listened to that much Husker Du. But I am an enormous Sugar fan. I bought "File Under Easy Listening" and held on to it for years before falling in love with it. That album and "Copper Blue" were the soundtrack to months and months of grad school. They were catchy and crunchy and delicious. By the time I embraced the album, Sugar was no longer a band and I read that Bob Mould had put down the guitar and was making electronic music.
Which made me all kinds of sad but, y'know, "Copper Blue" came out in 1992 (the year I graduated from college) and "File Under Easy Listening" came out in 1994. People got to move on with their lives, right?
So you cannot imagine my delight to hear that Bob Mould had picked up the guitar again.
There I was. Surrounded by a crowd of mostly my age group with a smattering of youngsters. Someone made a joke that this was a crowd of people who couldn't wait to see an old gay man play the guitar. My reply to this would have to be "Hells yeah!"
He opened with a Sugar song. Yeee! Coming down from my fan girl place I will say that the guitar work was not what it was on the album and the vocals weren't either. But being there in the presence of these beloved songs and their creator was still a thrill. Despite the toll of time, the songs have good bones. They hold up through it all. And he holds up too.
He's a tall man with neatly trimmed beard, bald (shaved?) head. He is composed and somehow unassuming, all things considered. No crazy kicks or windmills. In contrast, his supercute bass player was a powder keg all over the stage.
My favorite songs from the night were not songs that I knew. I fell in love with them right there as he was singing them. They were more downtempo. They were the songs of a person who has lived. Songs that a grown up would write for a grown up to sing. The rasp of his voice weaving the line was vivid and intimate. His voice was not in top condition but he worked around whatever condition and issues he was having to create something musical and beautiful and real. It was rough. It was present. No effects, no gloss, just his voice. It was powerful. And I was awed to be there.
At the end a little mosh pit attempted to happen it consisted of tall older men who couldn't find enough people who wanted to crash back into them. One of them rapped me in the head with his arm. It was on accident, I'm sure. But I wanted to do my part so I shoved him and bumped my shoulder into a few of them, bracing myself to get knocked over. The pit did not happen. Perhaps they should have brought their kids to demonstrate that in these times and this part of the country if you were not ready to just crash into people you needed to start dancing out a circle to signal to others what was about to happen both as warning and invitation.
It was mostly a night to be a fan girl swathed in nostalgia and puppy wriggles. But there were moments of something really really fine and elevating.
It was as Tess Gallager said:
You can sing sweet
and get the song sung
but to get to the third
dimension you have to sing it
rough, hurt the tune a little. Put
enough strength to it
that the notes slip. Then
something else happens. The song
gets large. (Gallagher, 1986)
Monday, March 10, 2008
Rates of Change
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." -Ferris Bueller's Day Off
The problem with having a favorite little place in New York is that you have no way of knowing how long it will be around. There are some establishments that appear to be here for the long haul. Bloomingdales, the Metropolitan Museum, the Statue of Liberty - I think they are pretty safe for now. It really depends on how desperately Manhattan needs more luxury condos and corporate office space.
But for the charming little places that give a neighborhood character, the ones that make you feel like "you are here" there are no such guarantees. Landlords change their minds. Developers gobble up the land from beneath you. Rents rise. Leases are not renewed.
So, Cafe Palacinka closes and the Moondance Diner does too. Sin-e closes for the second time, who knows where or if it will resurface? 7th Avenue Books and next door neighbor Park Slope Books close as well. And how can I forget to mention Sauce?
It doesn't just happen to the little places. It hits chain stores as well: the Barnes and Noble near Astor Place, the Hollywood Video store three blocks from me.
People take these changes in stride. What else is there to do? The world spins fast and ever faster. It's best that you stay in motion with it, loving what you love but always ready to embrace and seek the new.
The Poet Rumi has a line that I do not precisely recall but paraphrase in this way:
"Look long at the face of the one you love whether approaching or departing."
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
re-entry
This is week four since the bug first hit me. I feel a lot better which is great. But for whatever reason I also feel disoriented, as if the reset button was hit on my life and I am trying to piece together where and what I was before being laid low.
It reminds me of a short story I read in which a virus is going around with symptoms that are cold/flu-like but when people recover their personalities are significantly transformed. Dog lovers become pet averse. People give up careers they love and drop hobbies they used to be obsessed with in favor of different ones. They fall out of love with their partners and become estranged from their friends and family who don't understand what is going on. But they themselves don't realize that anything has changed. And as more and more people are felled by the virus, the healthy people start to feel more and more alienated.
Hmmmmm ... if you start to seeing different things here, you'll know why. The flu altered my brain.
It reminds me of a short story I read in which a virus is going around with symptoms that are cold/flu-like but when people recover their personalities are significantly transformed. Dog lovers become pet averse. People give up careers they love and drop hobbies they used to be obsessed with in favor of different ones. They fall out of love with their partners and become estranged from their friends and family who don't understand what is going on. But they themselves don't realize that anything has changed. And as more and more people are felled by the virus, the healthy people start to feel more and more alienated.
Hmmmmm ... if you start to seeing different things here, you'll know why. The flu altered my brain.
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