Thursday, Nov. 19

There’s a vase with a flower in a niche on the bathroom wall. Or rather there was. Spun around this morning getting out of the shower, the robe caught the flower, the vase went down. Glass everywhere in the room of bare feet. I thought: the day’s either off to a horrible start, or this is as bad as it gets.

That all depends on one’s self, doesn’t it? As I said yesterday: adapt, adopt, improve, DESTROY. Or something like that.

Just a few notes here; exhausting day. Get this: we had the first musical concert. For the TV channel. At the newspaper. In the morning I was Ted Baxter with the news, doing a sports interview of all things, and then we hosted a remarkable group of musicians.
The guitarist was Billy McLaughlin, with his group “Simple Gifts.” Oy. Lovely beyond compare, this; go to the site and listen to the samples. Billy had a big career in the 90s with the Narada label before he came down with a rare condition that just happened to cripple his left hand. For a guitarist, that’s the end of the career. He taught himself to play with the other in a new style, and this new group is part of his renaissance. Sweet guy, kind and generous, and the band was equally talented. The violinist was playing some old tunes, and I asked her not to play “Nearer My God to Thee,” because, well, around here in the newspaper business we’re sorta gunshy about Titanic references. She laughed and played it, and it was lovely.

I have the best job I’ve ever had.

Somewhere in between the morning news and the afternoon concert I posted to the Strib blog, the Bleat, the Hughniverse, and wrote most of Friday’s column. Wasn’t home to get my daughter from the bus, which made for a double-bad day. Miss breakfast with her, even though she’s as owly in the AM as I was as a kid. She’s about four, five years away from asking if she can have coffee.

She already asked why I drink coffee, and I say “because I like it.” Which is true. Not the most ethical answer, I suppose. “Because Daddy needs a jolt, and gets pounding headaches if he doesn’t regularly dose his system with the hot, nourishing power of caffeine” would be honest, but then you’re setting the groundwork for saying that drugs are okay.

Of course, drugs are okay, depending on the drug. I know this guy who’s absolutely brilliant – one of those free-ranging intellects that can fasten on the particulars of a scientific discipline for a career and engage in wide-ranging conceptual debate for the joy of the argument. On coffee, it was like arguing with a supercomputer with buzzsaw arms and laser-beam for eyes; on the spleef, he walked into every logical trap like a sleepwalker in a rake store. And he was smart enough under the influence to know he’d been smoked on account of the smoke, too. That’s the thing with weed: you’re so boring. The ones who get out in time are the ones who get tired of boring themselves.

They’re also the one who realize, early on, that (fill in the blank with the name of an artist) was probably not high when he did that. Even though everything just FITS so AMAZINGLY and seems aimed with obvious intent at other people who were high.

Anyway. I miss my daughter in the morning. But work is good, and I still have freedom and challenges. After today I went home, fell asleep in my shirt and tie, woke, then went to dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Giant Swede at a local restaurant. There are so many. Every commercial district in the neighborhood has a new little cafe, and they’re all great, and they’re all packed. We do this every fortnight now; last time it was a Spanish joint, this time a carb-heavy wine-bar famous for homemade spicy tater tots and sandwich fare.

The bathroom:

I have to laugh, because 40 years ago I don’t think people were pulling out Instamatics to snap a shot of light fixtures in a bistro can. They could have, but when you were given an allotment of 12 or 24 shots, you took care.

It had an interesting effect, though – when you went to camp, you rationed your shots, mindful you had two dozen, no more. You ended up shooting half of them the last day just to burn off the roll. The entire concept of “burning off the roll” is probably lost, and it’s a pity; it was gone before anyone thought to devote a big expensive coffee table book to the 24th shot taken by people who were heading to the drugstore to drop off the film, and realize they had one more picture left to take.

Wonder what that book would be like. Lots of dogs? Drug store parking lots?

As for yesterday – interesting response. Heard from a few people in the same situation. People in The Business. This was something of an open secret, but apparently I’m the first to talk about it. I have to admit I worried about breaching the matter; gosh, what if they get mad and do something legal? Then I remembered: they have my money. They took my money and did not give me my money. So, there’s that. I appreciate all the well-wishing and sympathetic outrage, guys – why, it’s prompted me to set up a PayPal for donations to the Bleat, just for spit ‘n’ skittles, as they say. I’ve never charged for this or run ads, because that’s always seemed like sitting someone down, making them listen to a monologue, then asking them to pick up the check for coffee.

But, what the hell.

I will say this: it’s been a hell of a task to keep this thing Popping and Vibrant this year, because I’ve been lashed to the wheel since I was reassigned to the digital / video division. (These terms are relative, of course – it’s not real work in the sense that my father works, as in “lifting things” or “Driving all night” or “sitting in the bottom of a Navy vessel listening to the watertight doors close because there are Japanese subs about.” I’m not that deluded. Making your living with your tongue and fingertips is still cakewalk city compared to making your living with your back and your arms.)

Anyway: it’s not over. I learned a great deal today, and having shaken the tree, let’s see what drops down. If I don’t hear anything from the other parties in 48 hours, I’ll post a few links which will speak for themselves.

Later today: First Day Covers, oh boy. Gosh, can’t wait. But then it’s Sears 1934 around noon, if I remember to post it.

Thanks for your patronage & support. You’re swell. You just are.