A Pleasant Day 17 October 1998

Well, that was nice. I spent the night and day camped out in the front room on the couch by the window, listening to jazz on the radio and reading. Re-reading, The Way of the Pilgrim by Gordon Dickson. An OK book, interesting aliens, but ending up with a burst of the kind of racial-destiny quasispiritual whatever that he does seem prone to. Deus ex genetica, eh.

But it served its purpose, and that's all right. The point was more to be out where I could see the sunrise by the light on the needles of the giant pine tree that's outside the window here. The couch isn't quite as comfortable as would be ideal - too much crap around and under it, and anyway it's one of those bad fold-out foam couches that futon shops sell. After a few hours, the foam compresses down to about 1/4 of its original height, and getting up becomes a tricky exercise. That's easily solved, though, just don't get up.

I just like being able to see the day pass by. I like hearing the scratchy voice of the old fellow that does a show on KCSM in the afternoon. I'm jealous of him in advance, I think it would be pretty damn neat to grow up to be a 72-year-old jazz DJ. Which reminds me: it's been some months now, but it wasn't until I was some hours out here, with a nice cuppa and my tatty blanket, listening to them play "Kind of Blue" for the 2nd time in the late late hours of the morning, the way I used to all the time, that I realized that Jazzbeaux Collins really was gone. No more Purple Grotto, no more "Hey hey hey!". Another sad hole in the world, something I guess I should start getting used to.

There was some kind of event going on in the neighborhood today, why I don't know. But some fools with a very loud PA system seemed to be holding a dance contest, or something like that: all I could tell was that the guy with the mike kept giving out with these phony-sincere "Yeaahh! All right!" remarks, while playing such obscure dance hits as "Super Freak" and saying things like "Next up, NaTAsha! Let's give it up for her! Yeaaah! All right!" With his voice echoing in and around the houses. Then later, someone else seemed to be trying to do a rap over records. I couldn't quite make out what he said, but he was getting a lot of his rhymes by ending his phrase in "Hey", lame. Not to mention using "The Breaks" as backing music at one point, shades of 1890 or 1980 or however long ago that was. I used to hear that song about 300 times a night when I lived on 2nd & B in Manhattan, from the abandoned building behind me that served as a neighborhood hangout. It doesn't exactly provoke warm memories.

I did kind of like it when they played "Atomic Dog", though.

I would make vague plans now and then to get up and go have breakfast, but then the sun would come through the window, and it would get warm and my eyes would start skipping over the same paragraphs two and three times, and did I mention how hard it is to get off the couch after it's valleyed out the way it does? Like a cat, I felt. Mmmmm, kill mice, mrrrrrrowww - streeeeetch - mmm, later. Zzzzzz.

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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All names are fake, most places are real, the author is definitely unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep. © 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne.