11h16-12h48, 05-March-2013
On the way back from walking My Missus to the Metro this morning I realized yet again (re-realized? re-re-re-re-re-realized?) that “walking-asleep” is when I am most open to abstract free-flowing creative thought. That said, I cannot offer a reasonable rationale for why I waited 2.5 hours before disconnecting AppleKory from the home net hive in search of today’s perch. Hmm…well, there was the just-released latest-greatest update to the Airmail beta that absolutely demanded installation…and then I just couldn’t fail to finish Steven Brill’s extraordinary article on the U.S. healthcare system in last week’s Time (Bitter Pill: Why Medical Bills Are Killing Us)…Twitter this, Twitter that, and no small amount of while-I-slept Facebooking to catch up on…
The other side of my table today features a guest star in the form of The Boy, whose two week Vacance d’Hiver (Winter Holiday) began yesterday. I won’t spend time or pixels here attempting to describe how passing time is vastly improved by the kid’s presence, but I could, I really could, and the words would flow like water from a busted East 100th Street fire hydrant in a Bruce Davidson photo…
Bouncing in my seat to what has to be a Two-for-Tuesday playlist…Jefferson Airplane’s “Go Ask Alice” led (and had to have been preceded by “Somebody to Love” as there aren’t any others by the band that are worth a spit), followed down the rabbithole by a fantastic 1-2-3-4 Leonard Cohen two-fer/Neil Young two-fer. Now enduring some 2000s-ish acoustic-sticky happy-in-my-angst half-song thing with a two-clicks-past-too-earnest voicing (you know, that RomCom/”Grey’s Anatomy” montage-ready sludge).
Spent some time with The Boy in the neighborhood Virgin Megastore yesterday afternoon. The store opened nearly 10 years ago, bringing with it a gulletful of hope and expectation for dramatic improvement on the oh-so-dilapidated Boulevard Barbes, however it is now in its death throes as evidenced by the diminishing inventory (oh, and by the announcement in January that the chain was filing for bankruptcy). Walking amongst the lightly-populated shop’s sad shelves and tables — and they are sad, helped to that state by far too many “Soldes!” signs and stickers and nicked-up product spread too thin — I found my thoughts settling into nostalgia for a time not-long-enough-ago-to-warrant-nostalgia when music and book stores were my best and favorite places of refuge. Barenaked Ladies captured the heart of my Single Guy existence best in song with Brian Wilson, singing:
“Drove downtown in the rain,
9:30 on a Tuesday night,
just to check out the late-night..record shop.
Call it impulsive.
Call it compulsive.
Call it insane.”
Of course, late-night bookstores sufficed just as well (way way back then?!) and they had the added enticement of coffee on site, though I never did manage to pin down whether there was a specific day each week when the new tomes were let loose upon the thirsty public.
OH. Must stop typing. John Lennon is here, singing about how a working class hero and how they are something to be, and attention must be paid. And now a band has magically appeared, helping John to convey power to the people (right on!).
At this point I might look up and stare a bit — out the window, at someone interesting-looking (or someone doing the same take-a-break stare), deep into and through some tchochke or kinda-neglected piece of hanging art whatnot — in pursuit of an ending, however today when I look up I see The Boy with his headphones earmuffing his head and realize (re-re-realize) that the priority has shifted definitively into procuring lunch feed.