Month: February 2017

Today’s Theme Music

When I was young, I sought better sound in my stereos.

Whether from imagination or real ability, I often detected hums and distortion that irritated me. Conducting trail and error set-ups in those pre-Internet days of the mid 1970s, I separated power wires and speaker wires and ensured I had solid connections between everything. I bought gold wires to improve the sound and kept searching for better equipment. Vinyl had the best initial sound IMO but it was a fragile state that would begin deteriorating with play. Cassettes and eight track players always introduced warble and distortion as the tapes stretched. Muddiness would creep in.

I ended up buying an open-reel system. I developed a habit of recording my vinyl on an open reel. Although a cumbersome system, open-reel maintained the best sound quality. I would record the album on open-reel for my home use and cassette for my portable use and store the vinyl to protect it. Once the cassette quality began diminishing, I would record it anew.

But while noticing the sound difference on my systems at home, I also discovered that some albums came out sounding better in the beginning. Their colors were sharper, finer and clearer. A few of those albums mesmerized me with the beauty of their sound. Some combined that with wonderful lyrics and melodies, becoming astonishing, special albums.

The first of these that struck me in such a way was Pink Floyd’s ‘Dark Side of the Moon’, a now classic rock album. But it was only one album, not much of a data set. The second album that established itself as having high production values (as I learned it was called) was ‘Songs In the Key of LIfe,’ by Stevie Wonder. I don’t know much about music production, then or now, but I thought that Stevie’s album was beautiful in and of the ways I mentioned. I was stationed in the Philippines, at Clark Air Base with the 3rd Tactical Fighter Wing, when the album came out. Intent on staying active, reading and saving money, I did a lot of walking.

‘Sir Duke’, from this album, was my favorite walking-around sound for that era’s mental playback system. It’s a good theme song to bring on Friday.

(As an aside, I wince at hearing this digital version; it sounds way too tinny to me. But that’s me.)

 

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The Dream Car

My dream memories are weakening. Perhaps as a subset of aging, we begin forgetting our dreams. Perhaps our dreams are the reality, and we’re forgetting reality. Maybe both are reality and both are dreams. Can we hold those two ideas in our heads?

Either way, I remember dreaming last night but don’t recall much of them. Perhaps that’s because I slept almost seven and a half hours. The dream I remember features an enterprise being conducted in my garage. I was recovering and re-furbishing junk and trash with other people. They were at a loss about what to do with it. But I was like, “Just fix it up and put a price on it. That’s what I do. Don’t overthink it. Just price it and forget it, and people will buy it.”

The garage, a double car space, was well-lit. One of my recovered treasures was a car parked alongside me. The car was an almost mint 1965 Ford Mustang convertible. I’d found it and fixed it. Now it was mine.

I had it in the garage but pulled forward. Behind it, in the garage, I’d spread a large blanket on which I’d collected and worked on items. Working on something small in my hand, cleaning it and putting it back together, I was absently answering questions posed by another. I neither remember the questions nor the questioner, nor my answers. What I recall is that some copper metallic exotic car rolled past with a howl of sound outside. And I paused to watch and identify it. I don’t know what make the car was, only that it was rare and expensive, which I was telling my companion, laughing as I did, wondering why such a car was in this neighborhood.

Then the exotic car returned. Slowing, the unseen driver executed a u-turn in the street but didn’t drive away. “Ah, they’re looking at the car,” I said as I realized it. “They’re impressed with this old Mustang.” As they should be, I thought, looking at the car. White, its top was down. It was rust-free, with clean lines, and waxed and polished.

“I should sell that,” I said, realizing that others would want this car, and then smiled, pleased that I had such a car.

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The Edge of Tomorrow

My wife had her book club last night. This is important in the sequence of events. With her present, I would not have watched ‘The Edge of Tomorrow’. It stars Tom Cruise.

She does not like Tom Cruise.

Tom Cruise is, meh, to me. His acting doesn’t wow me but that means I set my expectations low. When they’re exceeded, I’m pleased. Most of his roles don’t require deep emotions. They’re generally action oriented. He’s required to show bewilderment, determination, and fearless resolve. He handles that fine.

I wanted to see ‘The Edge of Tomorrow’ because it’s a science-fiction film. Besides black humor, British humor, and drama, I enjoy science-fiction the best. It’s great if all of it can be combined in one film. I acknowledge, too, that I’m being redundant, calling out black humor and British humor as though they’re different. Well, they are; some British humor is silly humor.

I never read the original novel the movie was based on (‘All You Need is Kill’). I knew, from exposure, the general premise that Tom, as Major Cage, was trapped into repeating the same day again and again, and it was during a war with alien invaders. I winced when I saw his name was Cage and he was essentially caged by events, but that’s a personal problem for me. I knew, too, that he becomes a better soldier and saves the world through his groundhog day military life. I didn’t know the details.

I won’t share any more, though, so as not to give away further plot. I enjoyed the movie more than anticipated. It had fewer holes that I expected, and I didn’t find myself re-casting it. I particularly enjoyed Tom’s betrayal of Cage in the movie’s opening twenty minutes, as his paradigms are shifted for him.

Anyway, fun film, not too gritty or gory, not really violent as it’s all CGI. It’s worthwhile watching with a glass of wine when your spouse is out.

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Today’s Theme Music

“This is a song Charles Manson stole from the Beatles. We’re stealing it back.”

I was thirteen in 1969. The Tate-LaBianca murders exploded over the news. I remember newspaper headlines, photographs and television news coverage of the Manson Family actions and the subsequent investigations as clearly as I remember the assassinations of RFK, JFK and MLK, the Watts riots, or the Apollo moon landing. Helter Skelter became the symbol of the murders because the words were written in blood at the scene. The murders became books and movies under the name ‘Helter Skelter’.  It wasn’t an accident. Charles Manson believed and taught the Beatles’ ‘White Album’, including ‘Helter Kelter’, contained coded messages for him and his followers.

If you can escape the murderous connection, the lyrics are good to sing as you’re walking around:

When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide
And I stop and I turn and I go for a ride
And I get to the bottom and I see you again

The song, written by Paul McCartney, would never be heard the same for many of us. Here is U2, trying to change it back for us in 1988.

 

 

 

 

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Meep Update

“Do you have a cigar?” my wife asked.

I used to smoke them but haven’t in over ten years. “No. Why?”

“You’re a new father.”

“What?”

“Meep is officially our cat.”

We’ve been feeding Meep, aka the Ginger Prince, for a few years. Finding him huddling outside time and again, we added bringing him in to protect him from inclement and freezing weather to our practices with him a few years ago. What was once in while became every day and night. He’s flourished under the arrangement, gaining weight and improving in every way imaginable.

Another neighbor, Sue, came to tell us the news. I wasn’t home. My wife related it to me: Meep’s people moved away.

I’d always been doubtful they were his people. Meep, by my estimate, spends about eighteen hours a day in our house. The woman who came to tell us told my wife, “They were worried about Meep.”

“Wow,” I said. “They have a strange fucking way of showing it.”

My wife went on, “They were concerned that Meep is an out door cat. I told Sue, ‘You mean the cat that’s asleep on my chair right now?'” She then related that Meep loves being indoors and spends most of his time in our house, really only venturing out two or three times a day. He’s generally back within an hour.

I regret the life he ‘lived’ with them, and wonder about the back story. But it pleases us that he’s officially a member of our household. He has a mite problem we’ve been treating, but we’ve always been a little circumspect, to respect the boundaries of his ‘owners’. Now that’s removed so we can take him to the vet, etc. He’s a little sweetheart with a water fascination, although he is too willing to fight with Tucker and Boo. Tucker and Boo also don’t get along. The fur has flown, let me tell you.

We make it work. It’s not always easy. Tucker is segregated from gen pop, forced into isolation in the snug, where we work, generally read and watch television. We let him out in the yard for a few hours each day. Boo, likewise, is kept in isolation, in the master suite. He’s also authorized outside time. Each have food and water bowls, and kitty litter boxes. Meep is set up in the big room with food, water and a litter box. I play and talk with each several times a day. It’s a little exhausting, with the segregation and isolation. Boo also suffers PTSD, and general anxiety. Tucker, meanwhile, has auto-immune problems and is a grain-free and gluten-free diet.

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Only Quinn, the refugee from another neighbor, is permitted to visit with the rest and wander through whatever room he wants. He, alone, gets along with all.

 

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One of Those Days

This is one of those days when the world is pile-driving my head, pulverizing my soul, and my defenses are breached and falling. I want to hide from my shadow, escape to an isolated beach, or maybe just stay in bed with the covers up to my chin in a dark room.

But I’ll walk. I’ll write. I’ll find moral and emotional sustenance and comfort in these routines. Maybe I’ll go have a beer somewhere, drain the glass by a fire, watch the weather, and enjoy this perk.

That’s for later. There are things to do now. I might go get a haircut. I don’t know how that will change the day’s balance, but I’m overdue by about two weeks.

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The Note

I dreamed, of course, several dreams, but they’re broken today and heap in my head like pieces of broken glass.

One dream fragment is best remembered. It’s dim and busy with the red-black-amber noisy ambiance of a late night club. I’m handed a note. I don’t see who hands it to me but I thank them. The note is folded. My full name is typed in twelve pitch Times New Roman font in black on the front. I’m surprised, pleased, and giddy to be receiving this note. Unfolding it, I read my future history in typewritten paragraphs.

And that thrills me. I’m so excited. But now, I remember none of it. I only remember that I was handed a note with my name typed on it.

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Today’s Theme Music

I enjoy stream-of-consciousness writing. This song, by Suzanne Vega, came out in 1982 but I didn’t become aware of it until the early 1990s, when I was stationed at Onizuka in Sunnyvale, California. Then, after hearing it, I kept trying to learn the name of it, and failed for a long time. People were vaguely aware of it but nobody was certain of who performed it nor its name. Eventually, the Internet came along. A successful search led me to answers: ‘Tom’s Diner’, by Suzanne Vega, and the rest.

‘Seinfeld’ was my favorite show for a long time, and remains my favorite comedy show. I liked Jerry before he was big. When his pilot was first announced, my wife told me, “That comedian you like is getting a television show.” I saw the pilot air on Armed Forces Radio and Television Services through our local channel in Germany. I enjoyed it but didn’t know what happened to it, as we didn’t get the series for a while. Eventually a few episodes of the first half year were shown. Then I returned to America and discovered it was a weekly series.

The connection between the song and the series is Tom’s Diner. Tom’s Diner was a place Vega frequently as a college student and was the setting, as Monk’s, for many ‘Seinfeld’ scenes. Learning that, I thought, This must be a great diner.

BTW, a famous actor is mentioned dying in the song. People figured out from when the song was written and various other clues that the actor was William Holden, someone she’d never heard of. Anyway, after that laborious intro, here’s the song, ‘Tom’s Dinner’. 

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After

After resting, after thinking, after dreaming, rising and eating;

after reading, after meditating, after wondering and sometimes, a little praying;

after driving, after walking, after ordering my coffee and sitting;

after yesterday, after childhood, after last week and last year;

after contemplation of who I am and what I want,

and after reflecting on what I’m doing,

it’s time to write like crazy,

at least one more time.

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A Chair

It begins with the chair. I’ve always preferred a hardback chair. We have none in our house. Sometimes I see old chairs for sale for a few dollars and think that I’ll buy one to have for this purpose.

But our dining room chairs are okay for my meditative purposes. I began meditating while stationed in the Philippines in 1976. I was very regular and disciplined about it for several years before drifting away from the practice. Sometimes, though, the urge to sit quietly in a chair in loose clothing in a silent room and followed the process comes to me. The practices are familiars and comforting. My mantra, established for me by my guru decades ago, still resonates with my core.

Meditating cleanses and focuses me, relaxes and calms me. It lets me listen better and think more clearly. It instills patience and distills my angers and frustrations while reinforcing my will and determination.

I only meditate for twenty minutes any more. Upon emerging, colors are brighter and softer, more vibrant but more separate. I see and hear more clearly. I usually meditate after making my coffee but before drinking it, as I like that smell swirling around me as my breathing deepens.

I’ll sometimes have an out-of-body moment. The first time it happened, six months into meditating, startled me, as I was suddenly looking down on myself from above. More often, my body will do small corrections, and feeling them will bounce me into conscious thoughts and out of the meditative state.

I always end by standing up and stretching. I always feel renewed. It’s not unsurprising to end a session and discover one of my cats contemplating me, just sitting and watching. I feel like the process attracts them.

Or maybe they’re coming over to see why I’m not moving, and are trying to determine if I’m still alive.

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