Monday… second only to Sunday at the bottom of the Days I Love ranking. Back to school, back to work- even though I manage to avoid having to go to either anymore, so many other people do that the whole air vibrates with it. Drivers are grumpy, rightly so, and I can feel them from Broadway. And as I found out to my horror, having children does sort of mean having to go back to school. Bill’s doing all of the heavy lifting now, as planned, but even so the academic schedules and academic performance of others command me from afar; I am responsible at whatever level. Of course I am. I care.
I dream about slipping through a hole in the floor and landing in another world, one in which I have no name, no possessions, and can live on air. Because I really don’t want to go to the brightly lit air conditioned store in the gas-burning car and buy food.
I’d be happy as hell to pick up a woven basket and walk down a cobbled street filled with civilised people also walking about and beautiful old buildings and houses and stop at an open-air market and have an espresso, and pet a dog, and buy fresh, real food from the people who grew it or made it.
I always feel this way at this point in the year… summer is so glorious that it opens all of the ports in my mind and suddenly I remember that I badly want to go to Paris, or Rome, or Barcelona, or London, or Madrid, or Manhattan. It’s funny how it just hits me, like a rock falling out of the sky.
I’m awfully glad I have plans to do so fairly soon. England, Bryan Ferry and Spain, I am pointed at you. Make ready.
The audio on the clip above is atrocious, I know, but will you just look at the people backing him? Luther Vandross, for one, and a young David Sanborn on the sax. Goddamn 1974! I was so young, I couldn’t go see ANY of it! I think I was ten when this show aired, when Roxy was rocking, when Zeppelin was huge. Sigh. I caught up later, but at this time… I was just catching edges of it, subscribing to Creem Magazine, ordering posters through the mail.
The birds and I had a meeting in the yard this weekend about the nectar feeders. I came prepared, and I showed them a photo of Wilford Brimley, and we talked about diahbeetus, and the danger of horking down sugar water all day long.
They seemed attentive but I could tell halfway through my presentation that we all look like Wilfred Brimley to them and the point about “you don’t want this to happen to YOU” was lost.