Freewrite to start the day. Eyes closed. It’s cold outside but I literally walked out to the car (to collect hat, glasses) singing ‘Oh What a Beautiful Morning,’ just to give you a sense of how grand a man can be.
My voice has returned to normal. For a couple of weeks after we returned from Disneyworld it was ragged — an octave lower than normal when I was quiet. All the ladies loved it. All the Skywalkers instinctively perked up their ears when I spoke. But that’s all over now, I think. When I speak in a low voice now I hear what I used to: the auditory remnants of undiagnosed childhood asthma. The lungs aren’t regenerative. I’ll never be a true tenor again but probably only cancer will turn me into a baritone.
And then only for a short time.
Well this got morbid dinnit. Eyes closed again. Word count. It becomes important to a man to maintain ‘word count.’ I haven’t worried about sperm count in a few years but so it’s nice to have a quantifiable measure of some sort.
My son is up. This doesn’t concern me. ‘Daddy! Come!’ he yells downstairs, but I say I’m writing and he decides to pester my wife for a while instead. One of my resolutions for the new year: play with my son undistractedly more often. I was doing superbly at first but the last few days have been, for reasons I can no longer recall, trying. Pendulum swings.
Been listening to NewToMe old music. Camel case, see? That’s how you know I once studied computer science, though a man — a real man — would have lowercased that first letter. And verbed the word ‘lowercase.’ Thank god this text editor has the dignity and taste to mark the word ‘verbed’ as a typo.
I couldn’t watch the debate last night. I often find it hard to watch those things. I don’t derive pleasure from seeing stupid people behave stupidly, nor do I particularly enjoy watching sociopaths insult each other, nor am I able to keep a cool head while wealthy predators lie outright about their victims. The Dem debates are harder than the GOP clownshow. I still haven’t decided which candidate I’ll back (I’m a registered independent and likely won’t vote in the primary), but while Sanders is the only candidate driven by principle — not counting Trump’s devotion to Likes and Faves, which I don’t think are technically principles — his answers to foreign policy questions have been oddly weak, and in a perverse way he’s too ideologically focused for me to be confident about his ability to balance governing priorities.
Milt Jackson playing, beautiful. Discovered yesterday an amazing jazz/funk fusion project called Cortex — a French band. Never heard of them. Later today, some John Klemmer, Paul Bley, and another try at Skip Spence’s Oar, which comes highly recommended but which I haven’t made it through yet.
In the new year I’ve listened to entire albums by Fleetwood Mac and David Bowie for the first time. Of course you’ve heard all the music before. Everyone has. But listening hard over a day I finally started to hear what everyone else did. I still find Bowie convincing only part of the time, but that part’s divine, anyway.
Time to get up for realsies.