the nashville chronicles

Electric Britches

2005-04-29T20:20:00.000-07:00

please consider:

on the dash of my car there sits, resting, a patch of wheatgrass that has been growing patiently for several days now. perhaps in another week or so i can harvest those luscious greens for use in another smoothie, providing me with all my required vitamins and minerals and not a single toxin.

as such:

one might infer that i have begun work in a natural food market. for those making this rather deft inference, i applaud thee. the turnip truck is a privately run, handsome and friendly, natural and organic market standing proudly in historic east nashville. i absolutely love this job; i absolutely love coming to work and being greeted by locally grown leeks, and organic daffodil greens.

jazz:

i am pleased and honored to be part of this history, if only as a spectator. certainly this music and its life has impacted my own.

currently on the chopping block:

the charles lloyd quartet
"dream weaver"
1966

1. autumn sequence
a) autumn prelude
b) autumn leaves
c) autumn echo

11'59"

2. dream weaver
a) meditation
b) dervish dance

11'33"

3. bird flight

9'08"

4. love ship

5'53"

5. sombrero sam

5'13"

charles lloyd, t. sax & flute
keith jarrett, piano
cecil mcbee, bass
jack dejohnette, drums

In the Heavens

2005-04-13T20:15:00.000-07:00

i think that the search for life in outer space, via radio communication, is not only the highest metaphysical activity for this lifetime, but the best reason for the nations and people of this planet to come together in peace and love.

Al Final del Camino

2005-04-08T11:37:00.000-07:00

after thirteen long years, i quietly say, and with a smile, i am getting my first boyz II men album.

it all began last sunday, april third, prior to hearing back from the internship people, more on this anon, when i went out back to take out some trash. once at the trashcans i found two bacardi neon lights: one fully functional, the other busted. while i wasn't interested in holding onto the signs for my own use, i kept them because if my trash days on the streets of boston told me one thing, anything can be traded for something. much to mtb's dismay i hauled the ugly little things into the apt. stashing one in the closet and the other in my room. to keep mtb off my back i wrote a note saying that i would pitch the signs come tuesday, if i couldnt get rid of them first.

on monday i posted an add to give away the broken sign on craigslist, for free. i also received an email from ms morrisson, with the capitol news connection, a division of PRI that tailor makes capitol hill news stories for subscribing local stations. excited that someone finally responded to a job application, i completely forgot about the signs, till late on tuesday. i hadnt heard back from anyone on craigslist, and knowing that these signs were valuable to someone, i posted again, this time in jest, offering to trade the neon signs for "your favorite boyz II men album." i only half heartedly hoped to get a response.

eventually i did hear back from some people who offered to buy me a copy of a particular boyz II men album for me, in exchange for the sign. that was a little much, so i told these folk that i would trade the neon for anything. they never responded...

finally today, the day that was supposed to be marked as a quiet day of preparation for and the occurence of the actual phone interview (unfortunately postponed) i exchanged 19 emails with a belmont student who was willing trade their copy of "cooleyhighharmony (spanish edition)" for both lights.

and there you have it. i am trading space consuming, electricity consuming, and taste consuming advertisements (for super sub standard "rum") in exchange for an album, both in english and spanish, featuring four excellent vocalist, together, as the best selling R&;B act ever, including two version of "end of the road" (al final del camino) a song that spent thirteen weeks as the billboard number one, and subsequently consume no space, no electricity, and will never lack in taste.

by the time that the phone call comes, at 4 pm EST, on monday afternoon, where i will have to prove my worth as a potential intern for a national news program, i will be riding high and confident on the wave of pleasure, which is sure to be, boyz II men,

abc

bbd

the east coast family.

What's That?

2005-03-20T12:57:00.000-08:00

"hey man, what are you listening to?"

"what's that...you don't listen to first wave indian reggae? this is my favorite, babla and kanchan."

"oh."

"it's great, check this out."

Greatest Hits: Babla and Kanchan

side A

Kuchh Gadbad Hai
Ai Ai O
Tiney Winey
Aba Na Jaibay
Kahay Sharma

side B

Kuchh Kuchh Baby
Banie Ray Banie
Aye Bahaar
Aye Mere Dil
Bolo Bolo

produced by: rohit jagessar
composed and arranaged by: babla
sung by: kanchan

rohit international, 1989.

Hey Now

2005-03-16T18:56:00.000-08:00

research can
be fun (esp.
over black
caramel tea,

lightly sweet-
ened, and jazz
music, "go
red!").

research

that is right, tonight, i have waded knee deep into texts on jazz / books on lester young, and am splashing about, all thanks to the nashville public library, researching for the hopeful radio documentary. in so doing it occurs to me that:

a.) there are those jazz writers, who are critics and musical theorists, who have the very mathematic ability to pick apart, note for note, the solos and compositions of musicians, seeking out the hidden patterns and formula, while also retaining the ability feel for the music itself and therefore connect these two different faces of music (the math and the emotion) into meaning.

b.) there are those other jazz writers, who do little more than what i am currently doing: seeking out every informative bit available, and then tying them up together, into a felt, but often misguided history.

while i am a little embarrassed to fall into this latter category, it does bring me a little hope to know that i must start somewhere (and that somwhere being on par with published authors!). also, in reading these breadthie histories i am coming across a great number of jazz texts that exist not in nashville, and very well may be out of print, that would bring me a large amount of satisfaction to own and read. yes there is more out there, and yes it is human to want.

tea

tonight, from my one dollar tea pot, i am drinking a fine black caramel tea rtb and i purchased on my recent trip to tx. while i am not one to linger in the black tea world, yasemin* has done her best to choose the best teas from around the world to sell, and this flavored tea is no exception. basically unsweet, these black leaves dont go bitter very quickly, slowly releasing their hidden accents and notes, which play nicely off the small cubes of caramel that are included, loosely with the tea. caramel on the aroma, and tea on the taste. quite pleasurable. this evening i lightly sweetened the end of the taste with a few brown rocks of sugar added quietly in the bottom of the white pot.

*yasemin, the mother of a beautiful and healthy point five year old child, runs a burgeoning tea empire from her home in dallas texas. not only is she the purveyor of the finest teas i have ever come across, she is a lecturer and enthusiast, always excited to share a pleasurable pot of tea along side her always welcoming hello. although she recently closed physical shop, on account of wanting to spend time with the newborn, you can find her teas online at http://www.yasemintea.com/ where i plan to do the broad majority of my tea purchasing, to death do us part.

jazz, the music

amidst all the reading and note-taking and tea i pleasured myself with a little red, that is, red garland. a jazz pianist extraordinaire, red is known mostly for his work with miles' quintets, but he truly excels in the trio format. tonight, to tickle the ear, i listened to his album "groovy" a 1957 effort that is among his finest. please consider the following:

Red Garland Trio
"Groovy"

1 C Jam Blues 8:19
2 Gone Again 6:44
3 Will You Still Be Mine? 4:42
4 Willow Weep For Me 9:34
5 What Can I Say
(After I Say I'm Sorry)? 7:13
6 Hey Now 3:41

Red Garland, piano
Paul Chambers, bass
Arthur Taylor, drums

Recorded in New York City; May 24
and August 9, 1957

Recording Engineer, Rudy Van Gelder

Prestige Records.

Chapter LX. Speculations and Conclusions

2005-03-10T10:52:00.000-08:00

"The season being far advanced when we were in New Orleans, the roses and magnolia blossoms were falling; but here in St. Paul it was the snow. In New Orleans we had caught an occasional withering breath from over a crater, apparently; here in St. Paul we caught a frequent benumbing one from over a glacier, apparently.

"I am not trying to astonish by these statistics. No, it is only natural that there should be a sharp difference between climates which lie upon parallels of latitude which are one or two thousand miles apart. I take this position, and I will hold it and maintain it in spite of the newspapers. The newspaper thinks it is n't a natural thing; and once a year, in February, it remarks, with ill-concealed exclamation points, that while we, away up here are fighting snow and ice, folks are having new strawberries and peas down South; callas are blooming out of doors, and the people are complaining of the warm weather. The newspaper never gets done being surprised about it. It is caught regularly every February. There must be a reason for this; and this reason must be change of hands at the editorial desk. You cannot surprise an individual more than twice with the same marvel--not even with the February miracles of the Southern climate; but if you keep putting new hands at the editorial desk every year or two, and forget to vaccinate them against the annual climatic surprise, that same old thing is going to occur right along. Each year one new hand will have the disease, and be safe from its recurrence; but this does not save the newspaper. No, the newspaper is in as bad case as ever; it will forever have its new hand; and so, it will break out with the strawberry surprise every February as long as it lives. The new hand is curable; the newspaper itself is incurable. An act of Congress--no, Congress could not prohibit the strawberry surprise without questionably stretching its powers. An amendment to the Constitution might fix the thing, and that is probably the best and quickest way to get at it. Under authority of such an amendment, Congress could then pass an act inflicting imprisonment for life for the first offence, and some sort of lingering death for subsequent ones; and this, no doubt, would presently give us a rest. At the same time, the amendment and the resulting act and penalties might easily be made to cover various cognate abuses, such as the Annual-Veteran-who-has-Voted-for-Every- President-from-Washington-down,-and-Walked-to-the-Polls- Yesterday-with-as-Bright-an-Eye-and-as-Firm-a-Step-as-Ever, and ten or eleven other weary yearly marvels of that sort, and of the Oldest-Freemason, and Oldest-Printer, and Oldest-Baptist-Preacher, and Oldest-Alumnus sort, and Three-Children-Born-at-a-Birth sort, and so on, and so on. And then England would take it up and a law prohibiting the further use of Sidney Smith's jokes, and appointing a commissioner to construct some new ones. Then life would be a sweet dream of rest and peace, and the nations would cease to long for heaven.

"But I wander from my theme. St. Paul is a wonderful town. . .

-- an excerpt from "Life on the Mississippi," by Mark Twain, 1883.

Southwest

2005-02-22T21:24:00.000-08:00

bright and early tomorrow morning i will rise, and head they way of july johnson and roscoe brown as i travel south and west across the state of arkansas into north eastern texas. unlike messers johnson and brown i am not looking for a runaway wife, nor a sheriff on the hunt, i certainly don't expect to come across any stone throwing pre-pubescent girls, and i won't be bringing along my son. also, i dont intend to die at the hands of blue duck and his men. i do however expect to spend some pleasant time in the arms of rtb, reading, and laughing, and crafting all sorts of arts and walks. we will cap the week off with a three day stay in austin. two of these days will be spent at the hotel san jose*.

if you want a postcard from the road please email me with your address. many thanks.

and now,

mtb's and my first listen to, "woman king".

*http://www.sanjosehotel.com/index.html

Honey, I love

2005-02-14T10:52:00.000-08:00

Way Down in the Music

I get way down in the music
Down inside the music
I let it wake me
take me
Spin me around and make me
Uh-get down

Inside the sound of the Jackson Five
Into the tune of Earth, Wind and Fire
Down in the bass where the beat comes from
Down in the horn and down in the drum
I get down
I get down

I get way in the music
Down inside the music
I let it wake me
take me
Spin me around and shake me
I get down, down
I get down

by Eloise Greenfield
from her collection of poems
"Honey, I Love"

as featured in the
"but you don't have to take my word for it"
segment of the June 25, 1986 episode
of Reading Rainbow*

episode was called "Feelings" and featured
the text by the same name, written by Aliki

Bleachers Fifty Cents, Grandstand One Dollar

2005-02-12T16:01:00.000-08:00

"castro was still in the hills" jim zapp

"football and basketball are just revenue sports" butch mccord

"white beans, pigs feet, and cornbread was our steroids" sidney bunch

"if you can't make it in nashville, you can't make it anywhere" sidney bunch

these are just a few memorable quotes, the few that found their way into my notebook, from today's panel discussion about negro league baseball, at the main branch of nashville's public library. each of the gentlemen quoted above actually played in the negro leagues, and each being from nashville were wearing tremendous smiles at the attention being shown them by their home town. also on the panel, though i have no quotes from him, was chuck meriwether, a major league umpire who stood behind the plate at the historic 2004 world series.

i enjoyed my time at the discussion, and in particular enjoyed hearing senile old men talk passionately about what they love while driving the moderator, a local sports writer, absolutely mad by breaking from the intended path.

the conversation criss-crossed from experiences in the negro leagues to the diminishing numbers of american blacks playing professional baseball, especially compared to football and basketball.

umpire meriwether noted, perhaps touchingly, when asked about 2004 world series, that it wasn't till the second game that the import of the series really hit him. it was before the game, and the other umps and him were circled around home plate, when one observed that, back on the green monster (where during the normal season all the days games scores are displayed) that no other scores were posted. at this moment he found some butterflies.

during the Q & A one person noted that the red sox were the last team to integrate blacks onto the roster and speculated that perhaps this is why it took them so long to win a world series.

also during the Q & A a questioner mentioned that he was at a ball game and butch mccord was being honored with the opportunity to through the first ball. the announcer said, "and to throw out tonight first pitch is baseball great and former negro leaguer, butch mccord." at hearing this, a little white boy standing next to his father asked, "dady, whats a negro?"

i suppose i should say more, or at least offer some more synthesis or criticism. perhaps my duty is to tack more meaning onto these experiences through reflection. i sit here and try and do so, but nothing fills the head. truly, the greatest part of today was shaking the contorted and articulate hands of eighty year old negro league heroes.

there are forty living negro leaguers alive in the world, and i have met three of them, and seen another (buck 'nancy' o'neil) in person, and that makes ten percent. pretty good i'd say.

afterwards i went to the reception where i ate a hot dog. while i dont normally eat dogs, this was the third in twenty-two years, the occasion made it seem appropriate.

The Great Concert of Charles Mingus

2005-02-12T11:05:00.000-08:00

side 1

Introduction and Presentation 1:35
Goodbye Pork Pie Hat (Part 1)* 23.30

side 2

Goodbye Pork Pie Hat (Part 2)* 5:40
Orange Was the Color of Her Dress 14:00

side 3

Parkeriana 23:00

side 4

Meditations on Intergration 27:30

side 5

Fables of Faubus 17:20

side 6

Fables of Faubus (con't) 11:20
Sophisticated Lady 6:00

the players

Charles Mingus - bass
*Johnny Coles - trumpet
Eric Dolphy - alto sax, bass clarinet, flute
Clifford Jordan - tenor sax
Jaki Byard - piano
Dannie Richmond - drums

recorded Sunday April 19th, 1964
Theatre des Champs-Elysees, Paris, France

From LP to Cassette

2005-02-11T19:25:00.000-08:00

another friday night, at home, all alone.

dinner: baked potato, steamed broccoli, maccaroni and cheese, glass of ice water.

activities: pair timeline of lester young's life with outline of my documentary, record some select LPs (including "superwolf", "mind games", "will the circle be unbroken", "bonnie 'prince' billy sings greatest palace", and "viva last blues") onto cassette to listen to in car, watch "ghost dog", drink a small cup of scotch that was distilled before my girlfriend and my brother's were born, clean living space, and watch star trek: enterprise.

for tomorrow: clean kitchen and bed rooms, work on job application for nashville substitute teaching, find a job in DC to apply for, attend panel discussion on negro league baseball at the public library, visit farmer's market, make a stir fry, watch the x-files movie.

and remember: it is in those quiet alone moments that you can hear yourself breath.

"Down," By the River

2005-02-11T15:18:00.000-08:00

hooray! wal*mart is in the business of matchmaking. apparently, according to american public media's "marketplace", the wal*mart chain of stores, in germany, has begun hosting singles nights wth remarkable results. as it turns out, in age groups ranging from late teens to late forties, wal*mart germany's sales go up forty-five or so percent on these singles nights. while its unclear whether or not any wal*mart couples are engaged or have been married, wal*mart america is intrigued by this information, and wal*mart canada is interested in starting a similar program.

*****

a good way to spend time on a quiet sunny friday afternoon:

take advantage of the fifty-five degree weather and head, after work, down to the shelby bottom's park, where one can, if they choose to deviate the set path, find a nice place to sit by the great cumberland river. while the cumberland is not the mississippi river, ergo it is not, "in every way remarkable," its breadth and flow are remarkable in that middle of the country way. its pace is relaxed and its current strong. simply through proximity it has the wonderful tendancy to suggest new and peaceful paths for the human brain to follow. closing your eyes and sitting on the bank you will have a very base understanding of what really went down at the bodhi tree.

*****

somedays, when i choose not to shower in the morning, i find that my beard itches latter in the day.

this was the case today as i was sneaking the hidden paths at shelby bottoms. whilst away from the trail my nose took in a great smell of a winter air that was ready to break on spring. this sensory intake set my mind a reeling.

again, as i stepped over brush and bent for bough, my thoughts were in the future, when i own a nice spot of land on the side of a mountain, near a stream, where i have a little cabin with a comfortable bed and a wood burning cast-iron stove. i imagine heading to this cottage in the autumn, to pick up my favourite fresh pressed apple cider and smell the leaves as they fall, and more sweetly, begin to decay.

i know it, i know it, i know it, and i often forget it. i was meant for the forest.

A Kiss With a Mustache In It. . .

2005-02-03T13:13:00.000-08:00

"I cultivate this beard not for the usual given reasons of skin trouble or pain of shaving, nor for the secreet purpose of covering a weak chin, but as pure unblushing decoration, much as a peeacock finds pleasure in his tail. And finally, in our time a beard is the one thing a woman cannot do better than a man, or if she can her success is assured only in a circus."

--John Steinbeck "Travels with Charley." 1962

Of My Own Invention

2005-01-23T18:22:00.000-08:00

a recipe synthesized all by myself

chai tea ice cream

8 large egg yolks
3/4 cup honey
2 tbs sugar
pinch of salt
1 1/2 cups whole milk
1/2 cup loose chai tea
2 1/2 cups heavy cream

in a large bowl beat the egg yolks with sugar and salt

in a saucepan scald millk, remove from heat and add tea. cover and steep for four minutes, then strain. add heavy cream and bring to a simmer over medium heat. ladle 1/3 of cream mixture into the eggs and whisk well. add all of mixture to pot and cook over low heat, until thick enough to coat back of spoon.

cool for about two hours.

pour into maker, and voila,

chai tea ice cream.

A Master Plan

2005-01-23T13:47:00.000-08:00

a master plan in

one. apply and get hired for the night manager position at mr. whisker's liquor store.

two. cut back hours at starbies while still working enough to remain elligible for health benefits and stock options.

three. apply my ass off at many many jobs in the dc area.

four. get hired at one of those jobs.

five. move to dc.

six. live in a well lit, high ceilinged, wood floored, gas stoved, deep bath tubbed apartment with rtb where we will

seven. through the best damned, literate, dinner parties in all the nation.

A Colossal Waste of Time

2005-01-21T00:07:00.000-08:00

video games.

Re-Contextualizing Vessels

2005-01-20T12:48:00.000-08:00

a simple way to bring a touch of the regal to everyday life.

i have taken up drinking water from old wine bottles, an idea borrowed from a little eating and drinking establishment in new york. next time you are in brooklyn you should check out moto (www.circa1938.com).

Maynard G. Hands

2005-01-19T13:48:00.000-08:00

my hands are dry and rough; they spend their working hours in near constant contact with super-hot liquids and abrasive cleaning products. this is fine for work, i have lotion.

my hands move, in ther lotioned state, ably across many surfaces in both my apartment and car. during these movements i have begun to notice that the hands are growing bored with simply holding things. when i am reading, or driving, i occasionally am surprised to notice one hand has let go the book or steering wheel, and taken upon itself to glide over the sofa's upholstry or the vinyl on the car's door. it is, as if, my hands have reverted to an infant like state where they are begining to understand that world around them through texture.

grown ups, like us, have come to a point where being so used to touching things, we have forgotten to take notice of texture. this is why i am surprised, when my hands take it upon themselves to brush up against a brick wall, triffle through the dirt, or mulch, or even linger longer than necessary on an eggshell when i am so clearly focused on something else.

that something else seems to be, typically, "who am i and how do i relate to the world? where do fit in? am i meant to move here? jobs? why isnt it easier for me to create? etc." perhaps my hands are trying to remind me, through there simple textured wonderings where it is that i am and how in fact i do relate to the world.

Le Petit Meany

2005-01-17T21:46:00.000-08:00

it seems to me that, perhaps, exuprey's little prince was in some fashion a model for john irving's owen meany.

of course irving's creation has been tempered by forty years and the "american i" which might explain his hieghtened self conciousness and his irrefutable humanness.

Possibly, it was not baby time.

2005-01-16T15:41:00.000-08:00

excerpted from the january 16th, 2005 new york times article written by ginia bellafante

"That, at least, is the narrative constructed by magazines like People, Us Weekly and In Touch. They attribute the breakup not to, say, drugs, abuse or reckless indifference to the principles of fidelity, but instead to differences about what makes life meaningful - what could almost be called a philosophical dispute.

"Mr. Pitt has been depicted as the anguished victim of his wife's professional ambitions. Apparently, he has wanted a child - desperately, according to the tabloids - but his wife, acting as a First Wave feminist, was reluctant to abandon her acting career.

"In addition, he is being portrayed as someone hungry for a life of substance. In one of the more peculiar third-party images ever invoked in a celebrity breakup, he is shown in the most recent issues of Us and In Touch clutching the same small African boy during a trip to an orphanage. He has become increasingly involved in good works, the reader is told, consumed by liberal politics and the AIDS crisis in Africa. One is left to assume that his wife remained committed merely to herself.

"In one photo montage, carrying the headline, "Were They Too Different?" Mr. Pitt was effectively cast as the woman wronged. In Touch paired a picture of his wife exiting a store in a tank top and laden with shopping bags, with one of him, his hands on the shoulders of Nelson Mandela.

You Are a Millionaire

2005-01-16T11:45:00.000-08:00

You realize it's time to make a decision. You can't keep piling things up in your closet unless you tell Theresa and your friends about the money--and maybe share it with them. Otherwise, you'll have to hide it, and hide it well. It almost seems like the money is more trouble than it's worth. Maybe you should just bury it. Then when you're older, you can dig it up and figure out what to do with it.

Theresa is still looking at you. "Wait until we get home," you say.

If you tell Theresa about the money, turn to page 23.

If you bury the money instead, turn to page 36.

jay, liebold. "Choose Your Own Adventure, 98: You Are a Millionaire." New York; Bantam Books, 1990.

Knockdown Society

2005-01-15T23:56:00.000-08:00

one. dont expect the bartender to recognize you after a two month absence from his drinking establishment.

two. its important to be reminded, from time to time, that even sloppy musicians can create some entertaining and occasionally brilliant music. the blues where meant for this reckless abandon. only in the wake of wankers like ec do we see the shift to middle age middle class white blues. punk rock died with the eighties.

three. saturday night? home alone? i recommend dipping into donna summer's greatest hits. nothing says i am a lone in a city and loving it like her hit, 'on the radio.'

Life, As Perfection

2005-01-15T17:30:00.000-08:00

i wear denim on my legs and drink makers mark from a class. no water, no ice. its january in nashville and i am listening to a music grown in the metropolitan st. louis soil, watered by nashville's own country and fertilized by new york's punk. i am home alone. mtb is currently on the road playing a glizty and popular variety of nashville country that curdles many stomachs on the coasts.

tonight's whiskey is sweet and my LPs are finding a new order, mostly on their own. "turn up the volume i say," from my dusty place on the floor. there is no response. denim molds as i stand, flip the switch and say "much louder," then, miraculously, it is. the shuffle has moved from the afforementioned brand of alternative country, forged in this incarnation by uncle tupelo in the early nineties, to a branch of the music that is more country and less rock, but noticeably rocking. nashville's own br-549 sing as their chorus, "no matter which way you move / it takes a lifetime to prove to yourself / i could have been more / i got one foor in the door, i just want one more."

thoughts start circling my head. i itch to write, markdown these thoughts, and commit them. by the time i lift myself and crack my nuckles to trace these circles with the keyboard the shuffle has again shifted, away from noticeable country altogether, via hank williams' "jambalaya (on the bayou)", into the dirty southern accordian drive sounds of cajun and then zydeco music. while the musical center has dropped five hundred miles to the south, the circles remain noticeable, and in tact.

zachary richard's , "jolie blon," and buckwheat zydeco's, "hot tamale baby," do not distract me as i type the realization, perhaps the first hint of this round discovery, that i am really glad that i moved to nashville. in part it is noticeable in a strangely superficial way, the music that i listen to, or the food i want to cook. but more than that, life in nashville acts like a megaphone projecting these curiosities and interest, that i have had for a while, in a very natural way.

its ridiculous to imagine that life in boston would have brought me any closer to any appreciation of country music, however cheesy, or pulled pork shoulder, cornbread, or hell, i dunno, tennessee whiskey, than nashville has. perhaps what i am trying to get at is this:

physical space resonnates, and this resonnance is shaped by the physical lyout of the land in addition to its history and countours as it presents itself to those currently living there. this resonnance favors certain frequencies, or at least the remarkable thing about this resonannce is that, because it is different, from one place to another, each place picks up and amplifies different frequencies.

so life in boston peaked an interest in urban yankee living, favoring organic markets, fancy avant classical and jazz musics, and public transportation. life in nashville, while not replacing the previously accrued interests, piqued interest in sweet iced tea (seriously?) and dirty, sad, aptly performed music.

not only is this great realization, because i still have some time to stew in these tenessee juices, but because it makes me hopefuly and curious about the marinade that i will get in future home, washington dc.

i gotsta split and hit up a show at my favorite nashville bar, the radio cafe, where i will see a rocking blues band of the local sort open for one half of the frontmen, for the squirrel nut zippers, perform with his blues rock trio, the knockdown society. i must find money and ballard.

oh nashville. oh joy.

**sorry about the spelling, dont forget that i have been drinking

laundromat (affinity)

2005-01-13T11:14:00.000-08:00

the laundromat is quiet excepting the tumble of the dryers, the cough of the smoking blonde, and the six year old running about, pushing carts. i focus my attentions into my quiet reading. mrs. wheelwright had her wedding and funeral in the hurd chapel, with the space of only one year in between. in both instances the place was packed.

choosing to avoid the smoking female and uncomofortable bus station style chairs i placed myself high up on one of the folding tables near my dryer. i turn the pages quickly absorbing the weathered terrain and people of fictional gravesend, new hampshire, and at some point prior to mr chickering's sobbing the little boy i want to call jason has abandoned his laundry cart and is sitting next to me.

i hold my hand up, "up high," the boy smacks and i lower my hand, "down low." again a smack. now, "in the middle," i move my hand to the median and the boy fearlessly swipes at my hand, however he misses, and i respond, "too slow." he laughs, stands up on the folding table and climbs onto the 35 lbs washers behind me. he jumps down and as his feet hit the floor his mother yells, from across the flourescent room, "johnny, dont jump down from there."

his name is john, but i still want to call him jason, and watch him climb back onto the folding table to sit next to me. "where is your wife?" he asks. perhaps in east nashville rings, like the one i am not wearing, dont signify marriage, and similar to cultures ranging from israel to northern india, beards do, like the one i am wearing.

"she is in dallas." i lie.

"whats she doin' there?" we make near eye contact.

"spending some time with her family."

"do you live alone here?" bringing his hands together, without a steeple.

"yes." another lie.

"you dont have any kids?"

his little black head drops, as i respond, "no," and in the same motion he rolls off the table landing next to a cart. without missing a beat he launches the cart into motion, halfway to the finish line before i am able to read more about owen meany, sitting on eight hymnals to see over uncle alfred's head.

A New Start?

2005-01-07T17:48:00.000-08:00

two poems in under three days.

thats hot. in fact, its incredible.

this is the closest i have been to a streak in a long while, and it feels good. and better yet i feel another poem coming on. guss i know what i'll be doing tonight.

Eve

2005-01-05T19:21:00.000-08:00

Eve Oh Eve

by Taslima Nasrin

Why won'tEve eat of the fruit?
Didn't Eve have a hand to reach out with,
fingers with which to make a fist;
didn't Eve have a stomach to feel hunger with,
a tongue to feel thirst,
a heart with which to love?

But then why won't Eve eat of the fruit?

Why would Eve merely suppress her wishes,
regulate her steps?
Subdue her thirst?
Why would Eve be so compelled
to keep Adam moving around in the Garden of Eden
all their lives?

Because Eve has eaten of the fruit
there are sky and earth,
because she has eaten
there are moon, sun, rivers and seas.
Because she has eaten, trees, plants and vines,
because she has eaten of the fruit
there is joy, because she has eaten there is joy,

joy, joy--
Eating of the fruit, Eve made a heaven of the earth.

Eve, if you get hold of the fruit
don't ever refrain from eating.

translated from the Bengali by Carolyne Wright and Mohammad Nurul Huda

commentary:

these days i am inclined to be like, eve, you've eaten the fruit once, please do me a favor and lay off. i don't think i can take anymore of that sweetness, that sky, that earth, those vines, this heaven and its joy.

perhaps these days i am stuck with my white male anglo friend mr milton who has lucifer say:

To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Hean'n.

methinks this is founded in a little uncertainty. when i am away from this place of confusion, and instead in the realm of confidence, perhaps i will sing along with taslima and eat along with eve.

We've Got Music, Yes We Do...

2005-01-05T16:05:00.000-08:00

within our nashville apartment one can find, at a casual glance:

a double bass
a five string electric bass
a fretless accoustic bass
a banjo
two mandolins
an organ
an accoustic guitar
a drum set
three harmonicas
and a kazoo

four microphones
a coffee can microphone
a four track tape recorder
a motu 896hd, digital interface

audio desk
logic

fender champion 110
ampeg b2r
peavey 410sx
and possibly a trace elliot 715s

g5
two monitors

cassette deck
cd player
record player
minidisc deck
two portable mini disc recorders

approximately two-thousand compact discs
two hundred LPs
three or four armfuls of audio cassettes

A Prime Example: Today

2005-01-03T19:06:00.000-08:00

ah hum.
any of you, hmmm, notice, perhaps,
today's date?

january third, two thousand-five. right?
also written 01.03.05, or even 1.3.5.

notice anything? anything at all?

ah. yes. mmmm. you see it now, dont you?

that is right! today's date, in shorthand, is full of prime numbers*.

1*,3,5

* DILEMMA

is one a prime number? i dunno, but in some places that i have looked a prime number is defined as:
a number that is only divisible by one and itself, which means that one is a prime number;

however, in other places a prime number is defined as:
a number larger than one that is divisble only by one and itself, which means that one is not prime.

perhaps my base intimacy with math prevents me from knowledgably qualifying the question, "is one a prime number," and therefore preventing me from ever learning the truth.

I've Just Seen a Face

2004-12-23T20:44:00.000-08:00

let me tell you a little story about how my holiday season got started.

this last week or so i have been feeling a little uneven, perhaps depressed. the approaching holiday season, distance from my love and close friends, frustrations at work and frustrations with myself all contributed to this ba-humbug sorta feeling.

to try and cheer myself up i listened to, on my way to work, a cd that i recently made. the gem on the disc is an old beatles tune, originally from the 'help!' album, called 'i've just seen a face.' hearing this song brightened my day considerably, and as i worked i played it over and over in my head, singing along, and mimicing the guitar. imagine it went a little something like this:

b: big beard, green apron, black shirt, standing in front of a big steely beast.

(guitar gesture)

I've just seen a face,
I can't forget the time or place
That we'd just met, she's just the girl for me
And I want all the world to see we've met
Mn nm mn mn mn mn

(grap grande cup, three pumps vanilla)

Had it been another day
I might have looked the other way
But I had never been aware
And as it is I'll dream of her tonight
Na na na na na na

(pull shot)

Falling, yes I am falling
And she keeps calling me back again

(fill cup with steamed whole milk, top with the foam)

I have never known
The like of this, I've been alone
And I have missed things and kept out of sight
But other girls were never quite like this
Na na na na na na

(mark the foam with two shots esspesso)

Falling, yes I am falling
And she keeps calling me back again

(shake caramel as i play air guitar, during solo)

Falling, yes I am falling
And she keeps calling me back again

(circle caramel twice around, cross hatch)

I've just seen a face
I can t forget the time or place
And we'd just met, she's just the girl for me
And I want all the world to see we've met
Na na na na na na

(put lid on, then sleeve)

Falling, yes I am falling
And she keeps calling me back again

"grande caramel macchiato"

so there you have it.

Winter Wunder, Kind

2004-12-23T09:40:00.000-08:00

the city is quiet today, in reflection, and in patience, as cars slowly make their way across the icy nashvillian streets.

after cleaning the dishes, and packing for the trip back home, i decided to give the hot water heater some time to revive before i bathe, and take a walk.

the slickness of the streets makes this a challenge, but eager eyes and chilled ears pushed me forward.

along this walk, the most notable things included a child's toy motorcycle, missing its front wheel, yellow and frozen fimly to the ground, and all the green undergrowth, grass, ivy, clovers, frozen still, in time. little frosted trees for the miniature people in our minds and hearts, read borrowers, to wonder at in the mid-day's white glow.

i always make it a priority to walk in the wintery weather. it is one of my preferred modes of reflection. the stillness, and preferably falling snow, remind me of the fantastic, opening up the mental doors to visions of both past, present, and future.

if given the choice to time travel, to one particular moment, or stretch of time, before and beyond all others, these days, i know exactly where i would travel to. a wintery night in boston, december, 2001, where i took a glorious walk with a young college friend of mine, up from texas, and experiencing her first glimpse of full blown wintery goodness. see, it doesnt hurt when you fall. i havent seen such a perfect snow since, and i question whether i ever will again.

Ice, Not Snow

2004-12-23T07:58:00.000-08:00

in a panic nashville closed down late last night anticipating the worst: multiple inches of snow, coupled with ice, and temps dropping below 20. in fine ostrich style nashville pulled its head out of the frozen earth this morning to find two things: weather that feels like 6 degrees, and ice, lots of ice. every exterior surface in nashville is covered with at least a quarter inch of white ice, slick slippery, and trying on one's patience. it seems to me that the worst didnt happen, but it got pretty bad. i certainly am thankful that i dont have to travel through this mess. mtb headed back to the lou, last eve, prior to the freezing, and after two point five hours of driving he only made it to clarksville, just a normal forty-minutes drive away. fortunately he tucked himself into a roadside motel and mystic river, to keep himself warm and off the road.

two points on tchaikovsky:

one. it seems to me that most any cd of his includes a performance of the 1812 overture, or at least some portion of the nutcracker suite.

two. to an untrained ear, like mine, tchaikovsky's fourth symphony is very gestural; and by gestural i dont mean the franz kline, jackson pollock sort of gestural, i mean the gestural that you stumble upon as you watch acting students improv. the sort of gesture that wears itself on the sleeve and wears itself thin for lack of ambiguity, for lack of the gray.

if you are wanting to take your friend out on a date to the symphony, and have an opportunity see tchaikovsky's fourth, i say pass, and wait till his sixth rolls around. a much more brooding and lulling piece, tchaikovsky masterfully weaves depression into triumph, in his sixth, giving us westerners, perhaps, an idea what it would have been like to travel from siberia, to moscow, by coach. moving from cold and misery to the glorious, yet dying days, of tsarist russia.

on a strictly personal note, i find, that sometimes it is better to just not say anything.

Clarinet Concerto in A Major K.622

2004-12-21T17:46:00.000-08:00

three things:

1. new blue jeans
2. is concerti the plural of concerto?
3. making a little fudge

1. to celebrate my birth and my new life in nashville, this evening i purchased a brand new pair of blue blue jeans. sure enough as i type the newly purchased denim is forming to my lower body. they are a good fit, which is comforting, because while i feel pretty damn hot wearing them, that hottness is undermined by awkwardness. you have to realize that it has been over a decade since i have worn any denim on my body, and it will certainly take a little time to adjust to a clothing item that much of america takes for granted.

brought mtb to the mall with me, for the purchasing session, since the other day he voiced interested in dipping into the fasionable world. surely, i thought, j.crew couldnt do him much harm. while i know that malls make him squeamish, i didnt think that he would high tail it out of there twenty-six seconds after entering the crew, and a minute and a half more after entering the mail. i used to be just like him, but it took a very special someone to break me in.

2. upon arriving back at the house mtb uncharacteristically suggested we listen to a little mozart. "sha'nuff," i said, "whad'ya wanna hear?"

"how about the clarinet concerto?"

"the one in 'a mjor'? sounds good to me." i went into m's room, squatted, uncoverd his mozart box, and felt the blue blue denim molding to my rear as i stood back up. walking out of the dark quarters i wondered aloud, "the plural of concerto is concerti, right?"

"i think so."

3. after dropping the proverbial needle on the cd i strutted my new pants into the kitchen, carried by mozart's clarinet, where mtb had already begun work on what would be the evenings first of two batches of fudge. who knew four point five cups of sugar, a can of evaporated milk, and two and a half cups of chocolate could go so far? who knew making fudge could be so easy? who knew that more than a spoonful of fudge was more than enough? not i.

A Little Mental Archaeology

2004-12-20T11:28:00.000-08:00

tomorrow, the twenty first of december, is both the first day of winter and the shortest day of the year.

on wednesday one very special rtb is making her move from the glorious city of boston to the dusty one of dallas.

as my girlfriend is about to undergo a transition similar to the one that i recently experienced, leaving boston, i have been taking healthy chunks out of the last few days to reflect on our time spent together, in boston, our first shared home.

i call this little experiment mental archaeology, as time seems to have dusted over many many memories. the more focused my efforts to recollect become, the more i feel that i am truly dusting away the fossilized edges of bone, the memories, and the harder i work at it the more distinct the figure becomes, and i get a more wholistic image of rtb's and my three or so years spent together in boston.

its easy to go to the museum and look up at the framed image of the time that we first met, september first, two-thousand one. i was on my way back to the dorm, one-thirty-two / thirty-four beacon street, afte a day of work, socializing with the homeless, and my first instance of trash prospecting on beacon hill. she had just returned from dinner with her parents, and was sitting on the stoop. we met, and talked for the first time, and i guess the rest is history, hence the museum. also in the museum you can see the keystone moments and observe their progression from our newly formed friendship, as we became closer, molding each other in mind and action, and eventually when we sealed the deal with a kiss. these images and moments leave few questions for the bphhrtb historian.

in these last few days, all in the field have been seeking out those smaller moments that dont necessarily indicate paradigm shifts, rather those instancese that colored our development and tempered the world we share. of course there is the risk, in looking back, amongst the dust, that we might not brush carefully enough, and end up revealing, our own version of the recently discovered "indonesian hobbit." in otherwords, when eagerly searching your memory it is very easy to piece together disperate memories, or even imaginations, into very pleasant rememberances that ultimately never happened. this caution being noted, let us take a look down the the less traveled and the more nuanced halls in our museum, displaying some of the more recent finds.

in december, 2001, i was working at borders on friday night, taking advantage of the forty percent holiday discount i endulged in two jazz box sets. charles mingus, passions of a man, and and keith jarrett's complete blue note recordings from 1994. upon arriving back in the dorm i gathered up cdr and rtb and perhaps djg (i dont recall about the later). we crammed ourselves into my dorm room, and we drank wine and listened to jazz, in awe and a little intoxicated. i remember the way r sat on my bed, small hands around mug, quiet in posture and dumbfounded in eye that her perceptions of college might actually have come true.

saturday, august thirty first, 2002, the day that r returned to boston, from a summer spent in dallas, to live at the palatial thirty-five revere. picked up at the airport by cdr, she turned up, in blue dress, standing behing a large bag, and holding close to her bossom a fresh and eager rosemary plant as if it were her heart.

july, 2003. r and i spent the early portion of the week camping on bumpkin island. it was a hot, sandy, hungry event filled with great big breaths of fresh air and sighs of life. i recall, coming home, weighed down by heavy gear and bags of shells, to an empty, sunny apartment. the silence did penetrate and settled us into a stillness. this was a moment of quiet contentment comfortable in the afternoon light as the dust particles that reflected and floated as we sat on the couch.

finally, the freshest of these uncoverings, dated may, 2004. it is the morning of commencement. djg, dl, an, and myself where robed up and ready to hit the streets of boston in finest graduation style. the only one among us who was not to graduate that day was r. i remember her being dressed softly, and bowed, like tiny package too precious to open. as the four graduates perpared to leave thirty-five i can distinctly see, in the way r held her head, the way she let the sun hit her face, her brown eyes, that she was internally anxious. excited that her some of her closest emerson friends were about to graduate, but that excitement was brushed with the tenderest of sorrows, for she could not be one of us.

this last memory is the most relevant, today, as r has finished college, and she did it all on her own. i couldnt be prouder.

anyway, these are just a few of the discoveries i have made playing archaeologist in my own head-yard. there are certainly many more, mostly fragments of berries at breakfast, or tucked in to read before sleep, or other isolated glances and postures, and still more too delicate to share with ya'll.

as the current of life continues to change our situations and locations, some new memories will certainly be uncovered, as others are created, while others get barried again. the sport of mental archaeology never ends, though some days the body and spirit are too exhausted for such undertakings, and in other times the stillness of life makes them more than necessary.

Weather Man, part II

2004-12-20T11:22:00.000-08:00

it only goes to show what a judgemental fool i can be sometimes. after denegrating the starbucks customer for offering me, what seemed at the time, based on internet research, bogus weather info, it turns out that he was more or less correct. temperatures have in fact dropped to twenty-five and below, these last few days. truly, after four winters in boston i must say that this tenessee chill give new england a run for its money. and dont you begin to say, but hey, what about the wind b, surely nashville isnt as windy as beantown. my response is, you are correct, excepting these last few days, when it seems that my new home is offering me the gift of a replicated boston chill.

all apologies to mr. triple grande sugar free vanilla non-fat latte.

the Weather Man

2004-12-18T09:44:00.000-08:00

it only goes to show, you cant trust that man, who comes into your work place to purchase a triple grande sugar free vanilla non-fat latte, and in casual conversation mentions that it is going to get extremely cold this weekend, peaking, or i guess in this instance bottoming out, at a low of twenty-five with a strong chance of snow. this monring i did a little research, checked my online sources, only to learn that this man's weather was in fact very dubious. as such, consider this an addendum to last night's edition of my life.

mike and i went to bed with a smile on our faces and slightly intoxicated knowing that tomorrow, now today, we would be cleaning many dishes, about to begin, and facing colder temperatures, which in fact wont be colder but actually more of the same.

four mour years.

Tippecanoe and Tyler Too

2004-12-17T23:36:00.000-08:00

mtb has taken it upon himself to memorize all the presidents names and the order in which they served. in order to do this he takes several minutes out of every work day and reads a few presidential bios, on the white houses official webpage, www.whitehouse.gov. thus far he knows them from george washington through ulysses s. grant.

this evening mtb and i went to the regal theater in green hills, just outside nashville, and saw the film "sideways." a truly enjoyable flick, "sideways," follows a couple of old thirty-something college budies as they explore cali's wine country the week prior to one of their marriages. its a pretty simple set up, where one of the bodies, played by the actor who played wade on nbc's "wings", is an actor in the film and about to be married. the protagonist is a middle school english teacher and an aspiring novelist with an almost obsessive knowledge of wine. the former is all about having a good time while the later is depressed still trying to come to terms with his divorce, which occurred two years prior.

regardless of this weak film synopsis, or what have you, the film was very successful in a variety of areas, the most pertinent to this post is that it very successfully discusses the finer aspects of wine appreciation with a generally ignorant audience. anyway, upon arriving home, well after one a.m., mtb and i decided to crack open a pinot noir that i had saved and live up a little wine tasting life as we listen to some fine jazz and some even finer mandolin compositions.

i think tonight both of us will retire with a smile on our faces and slightly intoxicated knowing that tomorrow we must clean up the millions of dishes left from the dinner party and face increasingly frigid temps...a high on monday of 25!

nonetheless wine drinking prospects are up as mtb is interested in exploring that world and i am eager to share my one last fine bottle of wine, saved from my charles st. liqour days, with mtb and r when she visits in april.

just four more months!

Charles Bixby, 2198-2274

2004-12-17T18:35:00.001-08:00

There is a brush that eternally paints the surface of the earth. It brings power and opulence to those who are strong enough to grab hold of its bristles, while others in our global community are helpless to watch as it brings death and destruction.

For me the breeze is always a reminder of life. It is a breath that resembles my own, calm at one moment and erratic and deep at others. Its movements constantly suggest physical love: a hand pressing up the spine of a tree or running its fingers through the tall grass’s hair.

Walking at sunset the breeze fills me with a near biblical faith, hope, and love as it wraps around my limbs in an empathetic embrace.

Along with our component particles, the breeze is another gift from the stars, in our instance, the Sun. It takes eight minutes for the Sun to pours its nuclear energy onto earth from 150 million kilometers away. This energy unevenly heats the planet. Areas of great heat, or high pressure, move into cooler low-pressure areas. In the air’s movement from high to low pressure the breeze is created.

--Charles Bixby 2198

an excerpt from a science fiction story that i am writing. so little written, so far still to go, but this is my tangible start.

Three Cool Cats, and Variations

2004-12-17T14:54:00.000-08:00

so the dinner party. it was a surprising success.

to start with we had marinated tofu. then we moved on to make your own spring rolls with rice noodles, carrots, cucumber, mung bean sprouts, bok choy, and cilantro. for dessert we had lotus flower pastires topped with green tea ice cream, coconut cream, and mango. everyone seemed to enjoy these asian-ish offerings.

the people.

andy was the first to show up. mr. foote is thirty three and owns a custom built drum shop here in nashville. a quiet, four eyed man, and was good for conversation and politeness. definately a fellow that i would have over for dinner again.

susan once owned and was an acrobat in a small treveling circus. i dont know if i should believe this. i also don't know whether or not i should believe that she just purchased a four acre house with a barn, especially because she was so insistent on not having a job, or any money, but i suppose the lack of money can be written up to being a home owner. she was polite and also a friendly conversationalist.

quincy was the quiet one. a black man from birmingham he seemed to be a great guy, who works with homeless substance abusers and the metnally insane, trying to keep the off the street and healthy, so they don't end up dead or in the hospital.

i guess you have read it twice now, but everyone was polite and eager to converse. the talk circled the personal, of the get to know each other variety. there were no offenses, casual drinking, and never a lull in the conversation.

coming away from the evening i feel confident that i can through a successful dinner party, preparing food that all enjoy, and providing for a friendly environment. also, in the social realm, i see that i can compitently discuss music, film, current events, history, art, and a variety of other subjects that can be summed up as life experiences and general knowledge.

i am not inept.

Mustafa

2004-12-15T14:40:00.000-08:00

Local opinion held Mr. Underwood to be an intense profane little man, whose father in a fey fit of humor christened him Braxton Bragg, a name Mr. Underwood had done his best to live down. Atticus said naming people after Confederate generals made slow steady drinkers.

--from "to kill a mockingbird," page 158, 1962.

Friends, Romans, Country Men

2004-12-14T23:57:00.000-08:00

My loving people, we have been persuaded by some, that are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes, for fear of treachery; but I assure you, I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear; I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good will of my subjects. And therefore I am come amongst you at this time, not as for my recreation or sport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live or die amongst you all; to lay down, for my God, and for my kingdom, and for my people, my honor and my blood, even the dust. I know I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart of a king, and of a king of England, too; and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realms: to which, rather than any dishonor should grow by me, I myself will take up arms; I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I know already, by your forwardness, that you have deserved rewards and crowns; and we do assure you, on the word of a prince, they shall be duly paid you. In the mean my lieutenant general shall be in my stead, than whom never prince commanded a more noble and worthy subject; not doubting by your obedience to my general, by your concord in the camp, and by your valor in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over the enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and of my people.

Elizabeth I of England - 1588

One Time, Listen

2004-12-14T21:33:00.000-08:00

december the fifteenth is my birthday. today, the fourteenth, i got a really lovely package mailed all the way from boston, at the will of my girlfriend. as usual r put all sorts of time and grace into this postal. the package included: a much needed wooden spoon, a handful of aged corks, a mixed tape, horseradish mustard, a soft stone, and an as of yet un-opened book like package. this posting is about the audio cassette.

this evening, mtb, currrently reading "the plague," was growing frustrated with my need to communicate with another physical being. after threatening to "sock" me, i decided that the man did in fact need his peace. i decided to lay on the floor, put on my silver sony head phones, and listen to "A / B (december)." i fired up the reciever, my father's old cassette deck, and popped in the tape that r made.

i listened to the first song, feeling that i had heard it before and guessing as to who / what it was. perhaps the most endearing aspect of this song, for me, is that the cd it was dubbed from skips, so as i listened to this cassette i was hearing the imperfections on a carbon based disc 2,200 miles away, in my love's apartment. as you can imagine the second song came rolling around when, all of the sudden, it sort of stuttered, then the right channel dropped out. i half expected this was part of the production when m shouted, "b. i think the machine is eating your tape." sure enough the old sanyo had sallowed up a few bars of mississippi blues.

dissapointed, but not discouraged, i worked my wonders and tried to get the tape out of the machine unharmed. my wonders didnt work and i was forced to attempt an emergency operation. using the finest scotch tape and a box cutter from office max i attempted the complicated splice. it didn't work. i tried it again, and again it didnt work. i left the floor and moved my joint to the kitchen where, using an old tortilla as a cutting board, i attempted the splice again. the problem each time was that every time i tape the ends together, somehow, even against my best efforts, there is always a twist, and the wrong sides were facing each other.

conjuring my deepest, slowest breathes, and my rarely used silver still hands, i was finally able to fix the solution. i was glad, and returned to the living room, sat / laid on the floor, and finished the mississippi blues and the following song.

i sat down to write this post, and as the song's smoothes grooves ended so did my fortune. again the tape broke, and this time, i just tied that fucker up. one little knot and back into the beast. some more luck faded away as the ymsb song deteriorated into the mountain goats and then the tape died.

it wound itself more thoroughly around the sprockets and refused to come out. after some delicate tugging and screaming i got it all out and sat down.

this was originally going to be written as an allegory. look: bryan got this great tape, it broke, he fixed and got to listen to half of it, however, his repair rendered the tape useless after the first listen. you know, kinda like life, a one shot deal. anyway, this allegory fell apart as the tape kept breaking. i suppose therein lies a new allegory, about the never ending struggle of life and what not, and about how otss, only the strong survive, except that isn't always the case, is it ? cause, and feel free to correct me if i am wrong, but doesnt the environment have more to say about who survives than not? i mean while strength in a steady environment will often win, in an unstable and ever changing environment, strength may not prevail, and what was once considered a weakness will be the saving grace. just ask those moths in early industrial england.

News, From a Closer Kingdom

2004-12-12T18:48:00.000-08:00

the day begins with hot water, soap, and cold hands.

grind it, brew it, bag the rest, banna b.fast, mocha on shoe, sorry, here is your change, this is my markout, "when i was younger, so much younger than today," 65 / 40 south to 40 / 24 east, off at shelby, "when you sigh, my inside just dries, butterflies," how you doing, sacred places, ladakh, wall map, syria, quesadilla, dreams of rum cake, dizzy rolls out, bed and confusion, not tv, no internet, 24 west, 65 south, "i told her i didn't and crawled off to sleep in the bath," off at wedgewood, left, "sitting in his nowhere land," red light, rain ave, ray charles, camera shy, chicken terryaki, foccacia, coca~cola, email, stand up straight, new shoes, recoil, clapton's guitar fest, can i have a two shot camera two, tape on five, four, three, wonton smores, journal, break in ten, ed sullivan, greatest hits, "your voice is soothing, but the words aren't clear," back to shelby, brush those teeth.

the day ends with hot body and moo-cow under cold covers.

Falling From 50 K

2004-12-12T17:03:00.000-08:00

yesterday, saturday the eleventh of december, was an exciting day around 808 fatherland. the living space got a face lift, groceries were purchased for the remainder of 2004, and i bought a new pair of shoes. mtb and i were also able to dip into the fifth installment of the beatles anthology and share a meal of sweet potato fries, cornbread, and steamed green beans.

Far From Kingdoms

2004-12-11T16:45:00.000-08:00

Far from kingdoms
how steady is the room!
Come, breathe close with me
so I may discover the sweetness
of many imperfections, some missing
tooth, some extra wrinkle, and your body
worn our slightly by carelessness.

by Patrizia Cavali b. 1947
translated from the Italian by Judith Baumel

And He Sang as He Watched and Waited Till His Billy Boiled

2004-12-10T21:52:00.000-08:00

realizations, december 10, 2004

1. george w. bush's term as president has not reached its mid-point
2. after ten faithful months my bonsai is dead
3. mtb and i will increase the quality of our lives by cancelling cable

4. i miss the late summer afternoon sun and the light it sheds on beacon hill
5. i know very little about world geography

6. gold bond foot powder

7. hang nails
8. sore neck and back
9. dissonance

10. impermenance

11. missing her hands
12. feedback

13. frontline: is wal*mart good for america?
14. bill frissell: ghost town

15. the way richard clarke says, "financier."

More Power More Pep

2004-12-09T21:03:00.000-08:00

Zorn is a one-man music industry. In the five and a half years sincehe founded Masada, he has written two hundred and five compositions for the group. He has also written dozens of very different sorts of pieces--for string trios and quartets, solo piano, woodwind ensemble, electronic grunge bands, and sumphonic orchestras. Eleven new recordings of his music were released in 1998--seven ofthem on his own label, Tzadik, which, in Hebrew, means a charismatic leader who performs righteous deeds. In Tzadik's four years of existence, it has issued a hundred and forty-two albums, most of which are by other musicians, some of whom would have no other outlet were it not for Zorn.

Kaplan, Fred. "Horn of Plenty." The New Yorker (June 14, 1999):84-90.

Greene, Brian. "The Fabric of the Cosmos". New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2004

2004-12-09T19:21:00.000-08:00

When I was growing up, I used to play a game with my father as we walked down the streets of Manhattan. One of us would look around, secretly fix on something that was happening -- a bus rushing by, a pigeon landing on a windowsill, a man accidentally dropping a coin -- and describe how it would look from an unusual perspective such as the wheel of the bus, the pigeon in flight, or the quarter falling earthward. The challange was to take an unfamiliar description like"I'm walking on a dark, cylindrical surface surrounded by low, textured walls, and an unruly bunch of thick white tendrils is descending from the sky," and figure out that it was the view of an ant walking on a hot dog that a street vendor was garnishing with sauerkraut. Although we stopped playing years before I took my first physics course, the game is at least partly to blame for my having a fair amount of distress when I encountered Newton's laws.

--Brian Greene, "The Fabric of the Cosmos," page 31

of course to fully understand how distressing newton's laws were, and have been for four hundred plus years, you need to have a basic understanding of relative motion as newton applied it to a spinning bucket, full of water, and tied to the ceiling by a string. newton observed that as the bucket began to spin, the water remained motionless, until some time passed and it began to become concave. newton was puzzled, as are scientist to this day, why the water doesn't begin to move at the moment the bucket moves. even more troubling is the fact that there is a point when the bucket temporarily stops moving, and the water continues to spin, prior to the bucket starting up again in the opposite direction. what newton wanted to know was if the bucket is moving in relation to the room, what was the water moving in relation to? ultimately newton answered this with a vague concept of "absolute space," which would undergo some heavey fire by a man named mach*. the above quote ties into this all as an introduction to mach and how difficult it can be for one to imagine a perspective that could be useful in solving physical problems. certainly if this is of any interest pick up the book. its a simple read and makes my writing seem like the london fog in comparison.

nonetheless, i think that this is the type of game i will play with my children. sounds fun and surely develops some strong mental muscles. otss.

* philosopher leibniz also objected to newton's idea of "absolute space," instead believing that things can only exist in relation to something else.

Would You Like a Little Lando with that Calrissian?

2004-12-09T17:22:00.000-08:00

soggy pizza with riccotta cheese, a shared coke, and yawn inducing television. certainly i am tired after a long days work and that dinner didnt do much to reenergize me.

i want to go to bed, but eight pm is still a little too early.

********

last night mtb and i were invited to a dinner party by a stranger.

a little background. mtb and i were heading home from the grocery store a few weeks ago and got to talking about how fun it would be to have a dinner party, but a sad truth slowly dawned upon us. we dont have any friends in nashville. we decided to invite strangers, from craigslist, over to eat a meal. to make things a little more fun we will make an audio recording of the evening. their have been at least fifteen responders, one of which was a journalist with the "nashville scene" interested in writing a story about the evening. yesterday we got an email from someone inviting us to their dinner party.

it was a pretty strange event. firstly, when i walked through the door i was accosted by a women. "i know you, you work at starbucks."

"yeah."

"you probably dont remember me but last week i bought a cd and questioned you about why my total was so expensive.

"yeah i remember."

" well," saying to the congregation in general, still addressing me, "you politely informed me that my total was eighteen bucks because the cd was priced at 16.99. anyway we were both pretty stressed and i felt really bad afterwards."

"thats cool, no hard feelings."

from there the party filled with more people, graduate neuroscientist from vanderbilt and school empolyees. eventually a birthday girl rolled in. the only person who really was interested in talking to us was the man, tommy, who invited us over. we were seated at the counter, in front of the open wine bottle, trying to talk to him as he attempted to cook a meal. unfortunately he kept running into the living room, to either turn on or off the music, depending on whether or not the girl's on "coyote ugly" were dancing or not.

dinner consisted of a nest of asparagus with undercooked store bought polenta, overcooked shrimp, and garlic in the form of red sauce, pasta sauce, and riccotta spinach dip. due to his elaborate "nest" arrangement the entire congregation was required to come up to the counter two by two, and eat only for two minutes. as someone observed, "its like noah."

shortly after eating mtb and i left the party to listen to some jazz at our apartmetnt while cleaning a weeks worth of dirty dirty dishes.

********

while i am ejoying my job at, as mtb calls it, "starbies," i am growing weary of the thirty-five hour a week work schedule. i really do believe that my true nashville calling is to become a bartender.

once a tender i plan to keep my eyes and ears open, and the second mister billie dee williams comes waltzing into my drinking establishment, i'll give my favorite star wars actor a holler and say, "billy dee, what'll it be?"

Eric Dolphy at the Five Spot, Vol. 2

2004-12-08T13:42:00.000-08:00

1. Aggression 16.34
2. Like Someone in Love 19.27

Eric Dolphy - flute, bass clarinet
Booker Little - trumpet
Mal Waldron - piano
Richard Davis - bass
Eddie Blackwell - drums

Recorded at the Five Spot, New York City: July 16, 1961.
Recording Engineer - Rudy Van Gelder

today, december eighth, is a wednesday. my first day off in weeks. it was a good day, mostly sunny and sixty degrees. my hopes were up this morning as i left my home and headed downtown.

as a side, i would like to say, that i am currently interning at nashville public television, the PBS affiliate, and my main duties of late, outside working camera on live TV during the pledge drive, have been oriented around a documentary called, "memories of downtown nashville." the last week or so i transcribed over seven hours of interview with native nashvillians who recall downtown's glory days, from the 1930s-70s.

anyway, so after hearing these seniors talk enthusiastically about nashville's downtown i just had to see those few remaining sights and buildings.

began my walk, up the hill and 4th ave, away from broadway. the first stop on my list was the arcade. an indoor / outdoor mall, based on a florentinian design, and one of the first arcades in the country. its about one hundred years old. today the business folk were eating chinese, mexc=ican, pizza, hotdogs, burgers, and greek next to the pigeons and homeless. it is sort of like an unglorified quincy market. i had a polish sausage, some cold potato wedges, and a soda. something tells me that the mall isnt as tastey as it once was.

ex-mayor and current u.s. representative, richard fulton, has this to say about the arcade:

The Arcade was, uh, at that time was, ah real novelty. There were not many Arcades in the country, I'm not sure whether this, the local Arcade, was the fourth or fifth or the tenth, but there were very few of them in the country and, hmm, I do, um, the Arcade had Flight Brothers Shoes was in the Arcade, uh, there was a post office there, uh there, the uh Planters Peanuts had a store there. They, uh, had a gentleman that would walk up and down the Arcade with a, uh, peanut uh costume on and he would hand out roasted peanuts by a spoon. Uh, I do, uh, remember quite a few people that would just, well, they'd get a number of peanuts as a result of walking back and forth, and each time they'd walk, walk by the peanut man he'd put a spoon full of peanuts in their hand.

But, uh, Flight Brothers was there, there was also a small grocery store, uh, in the Arcade at that time and then there were offices above the first floor. The stree…street level of retail, there were offices on the second floor, uh, I think there was a tailor shop there, and I don’t remember, I never made it up to the second floor very often but, uh, there were a number of businesses that were on the second floor, but the main activity was, was on the street level and the Arcade, uh, of course, uh, was, uh, one of the main assets people would come to Nashville just to see the Arcade.

after walking through the mall i caugh left, and south, onto fifth avenue, to make my way to church street. church street used to be the heart, the life of the town. the department stores caine and sloan and harvey's were there, as well as the loew's and paramount theaters. the candyland and b&w as well as krystals were also on church street. it was at one of these places, or a similar cafeteria style lunch bar where the first sit-ins of the civil rights movements occurred. you may not know this, but people life dr. martin luther king, jr. came to these early nashville sit-ins to learn about non-violent protest. dr king says, "i came to nashville not to bring inspiration, but to gain inspiration from the great movement that has taken place in this community." anyway all those old great attractions on church street have been destoyed.

once on church street i stopped by the hermitage hotel, a historical building dating back to the civil war, and the only one of nashville's three great hotel's that remain standing. richard fulton once has campaign offices in the hermitage, back when "local politcal campaigns had headquarters in hotels," and amelia edwards was waiting in the lobby of the hermitage for a frat meeting to adjourn so that she could go on a date on a sunday afternoon when she learned that pearl harbor had been bombed. needless to say this is a beautiful building, with a elegant lobby, exceptional first floor restrooms, and nice hallways on the fifth floor. i do say that this would be a great place, to uh, spend the night with r should she come to town.

following the hermitage i made my way to sixth avenue. while nothing of note remains there now, i took pride in the fact that i was the only person on that street that knew that 6th was once called, "smart sixth avenue," because of all the high class shopping that occurred there.

i ended my downtown adventure at the new library which is simply gorgeous, even if they have more shelf space than books. at the library i checked out a czech film about trains, criterion, and four or five jazz cds, most of which were eric dolphy discs that i hadnt heard.

after downtown i went to the burbs to find some new work shoes, and along the way, i sampled the dolphy discs and was ecstatic in driving. these cds, all different in shade and texture, reminded me what a joy listening to jazz music can be, and how much jazz i have not heard.

edemame

To the Laundromat Lester Young (Grateful Dead)

2004-12-07T20:38:00.000-08:00

Gosh Golly George.

i decided, while at this evenings laundromat, that the place is simply too digusting and underkept to be worthy of my clothes. as such i decided to take my business elsewhere, and by elsewhere i mean every other laundromat in east nashville. thats right, i am packing up the '93 accord and hitting the road, with some laundry and a book, to find east nashville's finest coin operated clothes cleaning machine.

while waiting for my clothes to get only moderately clean tonight i began some research into the radio documentary that mtb and i are putting together, hopefully to be aired on st. louis KDHX (88.1 fm). it is a short one hour piece on the life and music of america and jazz's very own lester young. ultimately this project will be easy enough to do in one's sleep. once you trim ten minutes for id's and station breaks, the program only needs to be fifty minutes long. roughly haalf of that time will be dedicated to music, and the other half to narration. i know, i know, its stupid, but it is the format the station requires.

anyway i begin research for this piece tonight. read a little from the "lester young reader" edited by lewis porter. the article i read was quite informative and written by the one and only john hammond. for those of you ignorant towards american musical heritage, john hammond is the man who "discovered" not only lester young and billie holiday in the '30s but bob dylan, in the '60s, and the boss himself, bruce springsteen in the '70s.

upon finishing at the 'mat i came home, put away those easily foldable clothes, and ironed six button down shirts while listening, in dolby 5.0 surround, the grateful dead dvd mr djg gave me for last year's birthday / graduation.

speaking of djg it appears he has high cholesteral and as such must drink his coffee black and consume no more than two egg yolks in one week. oh my.

A Magic Flute

2004-12-06T20:31:00.000-08:00

when was the last time you enjoyed opera so much? that is what i thought. man, this is the first operatic work, and the first time, that i ever really emotionally connected with an opera: die zauberflote, the magic flute. perhaps it is the early december nashville weather of a sevety degree day and near steaming rain. perhaps it is having an apartment to myself. perhaps it is mtb's aging but fine stereo components. regardless it is comforting to connect a little with mr. mozart, even if the language is not my own, as i write science fiction and sample a poor beer.

A Mighty Fine River

2004-12-05T22:57:00.000-08:00

The Mississippi is well worth reading about. It is not a commonplace river, but on the contrary is in all ways remarkable. Considering the Missouri its main branch, it is the longest river in the world--four thousand three hundred miles. It seems safe to say that it is also the crookedest river in the world, since in one part of its journey it uses up one thousand three hundred miles to cover the same ground that the crow would fly over in six hundred and seventy-five. It discharges three times as much water as the St. Lawrence, twenty-five times as much as the Rhine, and three hundred and thirty-eight times as much as the Thames. No other river has so vast a drainage-basin: it draws its water supply from twenty-eight States and Territories; from Delaware, on the Atlantic seaboard, and from all the country between that and Idaho on the Pacific slope--a spread of forty-five degrees of longitude. The Mississippi receives and carries to the Gulf water from fifty-four subordinate rivers that are navigable by steamboats, and from some hundreds that are navigable by flats and keels. The area of its drainage-basin is as great as the combined areas of England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, France, Spain, Portugal, Germany, Austria, Italy, and Turkey; and almost all this wide region is fertile; the Mississippi valley, proper, is exceptionally so.

-- an excerpt from "Life on the Mississippi," by Mark Twain, 1883.

fables of faubus

2004-12-05T22:35:00.000-08:00

Oh, Lord, don't let 'em shoot us!
Oh, Lord, don't let 'em stab us!
Oh, Lord, don't let 'em tar and feather us!
Oh, Lord, no more swastikas!
Oh, Lord, no more Ku Klux Klan!

Name me someone who's ridiculous, Dannie.
Governor Faubus!
Why is he so sick and ridiculous?
He won't permit integrated schools.

Then he's a fool! Boo! Nazi Fascist supremists!
Boo! Ku Klux Klan (with your Jim Crow plan)

Name me a handful that's ridiculous, Dannie Richmond.
Faubus, Rockefeller, Eisenhower
Why are they so sick and ridiculous?

Two, four, six, eight:
They brainwash and teach you hate.
H-E-L-L-O, Hello.

village of the damned

2004-12-05T22:03:00.000-08:00

a long day for one b.

time at work, some more at the television station, topped with brisk conversation, and the horror film classic, village of the damned.

who else can feel some fiction coming on?

welcome, to the the nashville chronicles

2004-12-05T21:29:00.000-08:00

i live in nashville, tennessee. come see me now.