They're heeere

I was reading today on the internet about alien abductions. Not a very well-known fact, but I used to date the daughter of possibly the top UFOlogist in the world, swear to god, back at Hampshire. This girl, her dad specialized in helping abductees cope with . . . you know, with being abductees and stuff. She used to say, with an eerie seriousness, that her dad knew so much about the aliens that the aliens definitely knew all about her dad, and that they probably knew about her, too. I asked her if that meant that the aliens knew about me as well because, you know, with her being my girlfriend and everything, but she didn't answer.

But I didn't start out meaning to read about alien abductions on the internet, honest. I was on Wikipedia, just sort of browsing amongst the shelves, when all of a sudden I found myself accidentally reading about aliens. Or alien abductions, really.

So if I were to tell you that I saw a UFO, would you hold it against me? Would I lose what meager measure of credibility I have with you? I ask because whenever I find myself telling people that I've seen a UFO (which, thankfully, is not frequently), they all, almost to a person, look at me like what I really said was that I'd seen the WMDs. What. Ever.

So I wrote a short play about it. I've even given you a part. Not the leading role, but I don't think you should be complaining about that right now. If you do a good job, maybe I'll write you a better part next time. Anyway, here's how it goes, with you playing the interrogator . . .

Sabitathica: I saw a UFO once.
You: That's ridiculous. Don't say that again.
Sabitathica: Okay. But which part of 'I saw a UFO' are you having difficulty with? That what I saw was unidentified, that it was flying, or that it was an object?
You: Oh.

See, wasn't that fun? And now that we've had this little chat, and I've dazzled you with my unassailable logic, and we've been in a play together and stuff, I feel like we're closer, like I can open up to you more. So in this exciting newfound spirit of forthcomingness, transparency and trust, I've decided to tell you a little more about the UFO I saw.

It was on Martha's Vineyard in 1988, on the coast, as you look north or north-east across Nantucket Sound. It was dark out, well after sunset, maybe 11 or 11:30 PM and I was standing on the beach. I was living on the Vineyard that summer. I looked up into the sky and saw a bright white-blue light, about the same shape and size as the average streetlight appears to be from maybe 100 feet away.

It was moving, not terribly fast, downward, earthward, and tacking north. And then the strange thing happened. Without decelerating, it completely changed direction and moved, still northward, but now suddenly and with great velocity up, away from the ground. It was gone from my sight very quickly, in less than two seconds, maybe less than one.


~~~~~~~

Anyway, segueing gracelessly into other things that're out of this world, I'm listening to Paul's piano on Drive My Car right now.

My last serious girlfriend didn't know all that much about the Beatles. In fact, there was one time when we were talking about them, and the phrase 'All Five Beatles' came out of her mouth. And no, she wasn't counting any of the people that you sometimes hear referred to as the Fifth Beatle, like George Martin or Billy Preston or, inappropriately, Pete Best. No. She really thought, and granted it may have only been for a moment, but still, that there were five boys in the band. It was all I could do to remain civil. I think I made her sleep on the couch that night.

Brrr

All right. I don't care who you are, or what you do, or what you wear. I don't care how luminous you are. I don't even care what music you sing along to when you're alone inside your car. The truth is, wherever you may be right now, whatever temperature it is there, it's colder here. A lot colder.

As we discussed earlier, I have a low threshold for any sort of heat-recession or heat-starvation. Atlanta's like what, only 35 degrees latitude? And it's officially uninhabitable today. Like Mars, but you know, with plumbing and air. Cold plumbing and air.

I think I read somewhere that science was going to build a giant dome over the earth, so the whole planet can finally be indoors and we can control the weather. In the future you can rotate a dial on your bedroom wall and North America will get a couple degrees warmer.

Reigning cats on blogs

The Nunnery
7:28 PM

Listening to a record Jennifer just burned (if you're from the RIAA, substitute 'bought') for me. Several Arrows Later by a band called Matt Pond PA. A singer-songwriter with a likeable, tight, understated band, good song structures, and his voice is growing on me. It reminds me of the record Steve McQueen by Prefab Sprout from 1985. High praise, that.

Here's some photographs for all you shy, beautiful people out there in radioland. Cheer up, freaks! If you don't start looking like you're having fun, there will be serious repercussions! Or else!


This was Sunday afternoon during the rain squall, facing south.




This is Minnie, the neighborhood cat I said about earlier. This was maybe a half-hour ago. She wanted to come in after I returned from sloughing the garbage/recycling to the curb. It's been a while since she's graced the Nunnery and it's good to have her back.




And here she is again on my lap.




Good kitty.

Viva Le Vlin!

Take a moment, if you will, and check out the clip that someone posted a link to in a recent comment. The clip is a succinct but chilly statement on mortality and sea-worship featuring none other than Vlindinhauer Haverhast himself! Quite literally in the flesh. Keep in mind that this was recorded in the middle of the month of January, north of Cape Cod. Sabitathica's favorite part: the barely audible 'Hail Poseidon!' before communing with the deeps.

She is really a foreigner, though a cute one, to absolute honesty of conversation.

I'm reading Hapworth 16, 1924, J.D. Salinger's last published story. After The Catcher in the Rye, after Franny and Zooey, and after both Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: an Introduction, it was published only in The New Yorker in June of 1965, and never collected into a book. I knew someone who had a copy of that issue of The New Yorker, a close friend, now dead by his own hand. We were both Salinger-crazy together. He let me borrow it, the New Yorker, so I was able to read the story in it's original context.

Hapworth takes the form of a long letter, written by a 7-year old Seymour Glass. He's at a summer camp and he's injured his leg. He's using one afternoon of his convalescence to write a letter to his family back in New York City. If you've read some Salinger, you might know that Seymour is a genius. He's enlightened, or he's getting very close. Reading it is resonating with lots of good memories from the early nineties.

Anyway, fuck all that. I went to Guitar Center this morning to information-gather and possibly purchase a firewire mixer. Why do I ever go there? I've never been in there without having to witness terrible guitarists playing loudly and looking around to see who's impressed. God dammit, go get laid buddy. Today it was a bassist, which is better becuase with the lower frequencies, the jarring, misplaced, meaningless notes are less arrow-like and piercing, but it's also worse, because bass was my principle instrument for twelve years and I'm sensitive to lack of care in that area.

It was a real pleasure over winter holiday to get a chance to play guitar with two bassists I can relate to, though in very different ways, Vlindinhauer and Josh.

The guy at Guitar Center, the salesman who attached himself to me when I walked in, barely knew what he was talking about. He had to ask the internet whether the mixer I was looking at sent audio pre- or post- effects and faders. He got so involved with the website he was on that he began talking to me less and less, until eventually he stopped talking to me altogether.

He asked first one, and then another of his fellow salesmen to stand next to him and stare at the internet with him. Together, the three Zombified merchant-peddlers stood close to each other and did nothing but look at the screen. I wandered away after two minutes of this and left the store after ten. Not one of the three looked up from the monitor long enough to see their customer leaving. That place is bizarre.

It is a pure fact that you are utterly haunting persons in simple retrospect. . .

The Nunnery
6:01 PM

First, my back still hurts. Thanks for thinking of me.

And yes, I went to a chiropractor and got adjusted, but it didn't work, not completely. Some of the pain is gone, but not all of it. Here's a snippet of conversation from my time with the chiropractor:

Chiropractor: You look good.
Sabitathica: Yeah, thanks.
Chiropractor: You look like you've been taking care of yourself.
Sabitathica: Yeah, I have. Thanks.
Chiropractor: So, how's your daughter?
Sabitathica: What?

He must have me confused with someone else.

In other news that has nothing to do with my back, I saw Pan's Labyrinth last night. Official status: recommended.


-------

My Guitar Craft friend Jonathan B. visited Atlanta a few months back and stayed here at the Nunnery. While here, he told me about a video project he was working on. It sounded interestingso I told him to send me a copy on DVD. Well, it just arrived a few days ago and I've checked it out and I have to say, this shit is seriously fucked up, like I can't tell you. Official status: Not recommended for epileptics or other human beings. But if you're adventurous and don't fall into either of the two previously mentioned categories, let me know and I'll ask him if it's okay if I send out a few copies. It's brilliant. You'll hate it.

You've got tombs in your eyes, but the songs you punched are dreamy. . .

The Nunnery
4:00 PM

Just got in from a 1:10 showing of Night at the Museum with Michelle, sans her husband. Sabitathica's official review: 'It was kind of like Doctor Zhivago, only different'.

I injured my back yesterday, doing absurdly little. Around T4 or T5, so it's hard for me to get to. A few years ago I was both a) dating my chiropractor and b) living with a massage therapist. Sweet, huh? Through osmosis alone, I learned much about how my spine works. Plus the fact that I was studying to be a teacher of the Alexander Technique before I accepted my current job. The problem is though, I can't reach T4/T5 with enough leverage to adjust myself. Anybody who knows something about how to fix backs is welcome to give it a shot.

Last night I was over at Rashid's. We ordered a pizza and watched the first two hours of the new season of 24. It was okay. Kind of like Belle de Jour, only different. After it was over, I asked R to follow my instructions and try to adjust my back. He did a very good job, but it wasn't ready yet. I'm still in discomfort.

Oh, and a tree hit my house this afternoon. Swear to god. It's mostly on my neighbor's house, but it's a little bit on the Nunnery. I saw it when I got home just now. It's leaning against the roof of my porch, nothing broken that I could see. I suppose I should go try to lift it off the porch roof but, have you heard? I injured my back.


~~~~~~~

4:42 PM

I'm going outside now to have a look at that uprooted tree, so I'm going to love you and leave you with this photograph. I took it at Vlindinhauer's months ago, at sunup.

See the marketplace in old Algiers, send me photographs and souvenirs

Dr. Bombay's
11:25 AM

The rest of yesterday was spent low key. Taking it easy, not drinking. I talked to my sister, K. She was at home, her home, waiting for her daughter, my goddaughter, to get back from visiting with her daddy. K and I talked for about an hour, on two topics, mostly: 1) her job and 2) our family, with no lack of material on either front.

I had planned on using that phone call to straighten out a problem that came up with the Bath and Body Works gift certificate I sent her via email. The problem? Apparently I had it sent to the wrong email address. An old one, one she doesn't use anymore. As I say, I was going to straighten it out, but I got interrupted by a phone call from Regina, an old friend/girlfriend I haven't heard from in about a year and a half. We caught up for a little while, then I returned to 'taking it easy, not drinking'.


~~~~~~~

12:12 PM

Just got a phone call from my parents. They seemed happy. Which reminds me, I was reading about a 10-year study where these researchers from U Washington developed a mathematical model which predicts (with 94% accuracy!) which marriages will survive and which will end in divorce. The URL is http://marriage.about.com/cs/longlasting/a/math.htm.

A key finding: 'Couples with the best chance for long lasting marriages are couples who have a sense of humor, are affectionate, able to lovingly tease, and take interest in one another.' Wow, thanks science!

Now playing over the in-house system: You Belong to Me. Which is a coincidence, because I woke up with this song in my head this morning, I was singing it in the shower, and I haven't been able to shake it all day.

I woke up twice today

Dr. Bombay's
3:45 PM

It's January 13th, traditionally an important day. I drank too much last night. Went to Sidebar after work. It was the regular crew, meaning Jason, Rashid and Sabitathica. And Michelle joined us for a little while before she had to get back to her husband. She and I made loose plans for the three of us to take in a movie this weekend. We wanted Pan's Labyrinth, but apparently it's not been released yet, aside from an advanced screening. Then, a pleasant surprise, Spengler and Redmond joined us as well. We left Sidebar to go for margaritas at the La Fonda in my hood, Candler Park. There we were joined by Sheila E. and her friend Sarah. Rashid held court over tostones on one of his favorite topics: the relationship of the created to it's creator and how that relationship evolves with time. If you've never heard Rashid riff on this subject, you really should. He pulls in cybernetics, the future of mankind, procreation, and artificial intelligence, both the scientific field of study and the Spielberg film, which I always have to remind him, sucked.

From there we went back to the Nunnery, where we were joined by Jason C., a guy I've always liked, but've never had over to the Nunnery before. There was much rejoicing. So much, in fact, that I didn't get to bed until, what, 5:00? It was a night of many statistically improbable events, including Redmond and myself smoking cigars in the kitchen, something I haven't done in, if I had to guess, at least four years, maybe more.

The Nunnery was a mess, by the way, in case you were wondering. For instance, there's rather large locks of my hair still on the floor of the bathroom from when I misguidedly (pronounced 'drunkenly') tried to cut my own hair before the winter holiday. Luckily, and as I've posted before, Vlindinhauer was able to cut my hair properly in Boston. Everyone was too polite to mention the state my bathroom floor is in.

I woke up twice today. The first time, about 10:30 AM, prematurely. We drank Patron tequila last night after we got back to the Nunnery, and Sweetwater 420. I'm sure I'm the first person in the history of, you know, stuff, to not realize until the next morning how far things went the night before. I tried to wake up at 10:30, tried to get it together, sit, etc., but it was all in vain. I don't usually let my body do whatever it wants, but this morning I did. I went back to bed until about 3:30 PM. But first, and apropos of cybernetics and the future of mankind and stuff, I watched the pilot episode of Futurama. Rashid would be proud.

Suzanne W., an old friend and colleague, called this morning. We're playing phone tag. She's back in Atlanta with her husband John and their son after having lived elsewhere for a few years.

Moving chronologically widdershins, work yesterday was the culmination of a damn busy week. I won't bore you, but suffice to say the music school kiddies are as charming and adorably high maintenance as ever. My day began with a meeting at which I had to advise a student that she wouldn't be allowed to continue her studies in the school of music, due to poor grades. Things picked up momentum from there. In one nice moment, I went to Slice for lunch and bumped into Jason and Heather J. Heather said something about the 'cornflower blue tie' I was wearing, which, I'm sure you know, is a reference to Fight Club. Three cheers for Fight Club! Huzzah!

Nel blu, dipinto di blu

Let's see. A grown man crying in my office. My computer still on the fritz. Students buzzing everywhere. My assistant off god knows where. Yep, it must be Thursday. In Microsoft Word today, every time I tried to open a document, my email would open instead. Swear to god.

Dean Martin is singing. Have you noticed how he gets a little saccharine at times? His trills showboaty, some of his choices questionable? He doesn't have the artistry that Frank had, but that's usually not a problem, because his charm comes through loud and clear. And his version of Volare is the one I remember from my boyhood, spent so far away in the Italian countryside (read: Boston).

I took this photograph when I got home today, from the back porch. Nel blu, dipinto di blu.

Sooner or later, you'll reach Portugal

Here's another photograph for you. I took it outside Vlindinhauer's, just after sunrise, facing east across the Atlantic. Vlindinhauer likes to point out that if you wade out far enough and begin swimming, sooner or later you'll reach Portugal.




On my last flight into Logan, I was able to pick out V's house from the air, through a starboard window. I picked up my camera because I thought it would be nice to send him a picture of his house from the air. I picked it up, and learned that its battery had died. I'd been taking pictures earlier in the flight and used up the last of it's precious lifejuice. Maybe next time.

Frank and Ava

7:24 PM
The Nunnery

You're going to tell me it's stupid to write about the same record over and over and I'm going to tell you to fuck off. That's right. It's Astral Weeks.

Your argument is based on a false premise anyway, because Astral Weeks is not so much a record as it is a religion encoded in sound; or a secret handshake used by initiates to recognize each other. The bass player on this album alone is worthy of your whole attention. And how to describe the quality of Van's voice? Beside You? Ballerina? He's a natural philosopher, an alchemist. There's a month's worth of wandering in the woods in his voice.

It doesn't matter if you don't believe me. I'm still going to show you a picture I took of a butterfly last summer on my birthday.




Work today was something else. Welcoming all the kiddies back after their long winter naps. It was good to see them.


~~~~~~~

10:55 PM

Now playing: In the Wee Small Hours by Sinatra. The song is Glad to Be Unhappy.

Unrequited love's a bore
And I've got it pretty bad
But for someone you adore
it's a pleasure to be sad

As I remember reading, he made this record after separating from Ava Gardner. I don't know if there's any truth to that, but it's pretty fucking melancholy music. Feeling sad? Broken up? Depressed? Don't listen to this. Walk on by.

More photographs

11:30
Dr. Bombay's Magic Secret Hideaway

Now Playing (in earphones): Greek Song by Rufus Wainwright. All the pearls of China fade astride a Volta...

That music here is again, the same as yesterday, from that same withering mix. As much as I love Billie and Louis, they sometimes seem like they're from a past life, anachronistically knocking on the door of the present. Well, Rufus can hear them knocking too. He's sitting on the couch, and he's telling me not to answer the fucking door. Okay, Rufus. You got it, bro.

Here's a picture I took of a little poison frog at the Dorothy Chapman Fuqua Conservatory at the Atlanta Botanical Gardens.



(S)he was tiny. The size, maybe, of the first knuckle of your thumb. And behind glass because, again, poison.


And since I'm on about photographs of poisonous animals, here's two more I took of Vlindinhauer's (ex-)cat, Aleister.




Okay, so Aleister wasn't poisonous, not in the strict sense of the word. But that doesn't matter, because he's gone, replaced (I know, not possible) by Willow, cat-wonder.

Aleister was very much his own cat. He was tolerant, but you knew not to push your luck. He'll be missed.

In other news, I've been in Fight Club mode again recently. I saw the Fight Club DVD commentary the other day with Fincher, Ed Norton, Brad Pitt, and HBC. HBC gets left out, in the boys' club atmosphere created by the other three.

I need to be careful because the last time I was in Fight Club mode, maybe two years ago, after I finished the book, I almost got myself into trouble. I was in my office, advising a student into the school of music, someone I'd never met before, when I decided to follow a sudden impulse and said to him 'I want you to hit me. As hard as you can.' Young kid. He looked at me like I was an insane person, then left.


~~~~~~~

4:47 PM

Did I mention about my flight back to Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson from Logan? It was rough. I thought the pilots were going to lose control of the plane and that we were going to plummet to our fiery doom, unidentifiable and charred, bones burned to cinders.

Of course, that's what I always think. But this time the captain came over the in-cabin speakers and told us we were going through 'heavy turbulence'. I actually swore to myself that I'd never fly again.

You want to know what's weird? Nobody else on the plane reacted while it was happening. The guy next to me was reading a book called 'Assassin'. Didn't take his eyes off the page. The kid diagonally up from me was playing solitaire on his iPod. While I'm in a blind white panic, trying to remember that it's stupid to make bargains with fate.

Some photographs

Some photographs for your viewing pleasure.

This is my neighborhood cat, Minnie. On my front porch last summer, just hanging around.



Minnie again, in the flowerpot outside my door.

'I weep for you,' the Walrus said. 'I deeply sympathize.'

9:14 AM
Dr. Bombay's

The music here is questionable. Not bad, just tired. It comes from this mix that repeats over and over, so that I've heard it all several times by now. So I'm listening to Low's The Great Destroyer on earphones. And the sky is threatening to let go, which is fine by me.

I haven't written anything in the past week and I'll tell you why. I haven't had internet at the Nunnery since The Great Best Buy Debacle of 2006. Like three months.

But last night I was out at, what's it called, Sidebar, with Rashid, Jason and Josh. I had 'just one' and then R and I went back to the Nunnery where he got me back online. Huzzah! R gifted me a modem he bought for $1.50 at a yard sale.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, 'But Sabitathica, why didn't you just post from work? Or anyplace else? Just because you have no internet at home (a tragedy, to be sure) doesn't mean you can't post at all, does it? I thought you were serious about this blog. What are you, a loser? Get it together! Loser.'

Okay. Everybody just relax. Chill out and I'll explain.

I work at a music school in Atlanta, where my job is, in a nutshell, to make sure that everything runs smoothly. Meaning, whenever students have problems, I fix them. And if you've ever known any music students, adorable, shiny things that they are, you know that they have problems *at least* as often as regular, non-music students. And since classes begin this coming Monday, this week was busy. Too busy to post. On top of which, someone hacked into my work computer yesterday, so IS&T cut me off from the network. So I wasn't able to get online (or do anything else, really) from 10:00 AM on.

So relax, cowboy. The important thing is, we're together now. Let's just try to enjoy it, what do you say?


~~~~~~~

9:46 AM

What I said about the sky earlier? About it being menacing and such? Not anymore. Now it's a sweet lazy blue, no clouds at all.

Inside the earphones is When I Go Deaf by Low. Outside the earphones, vying for a piece of my aural real estate, is Ray Charles, Georgia On My Mind.

Rashid and I were drinking Armagnac (hors d'age) last night after we got back to the Nunnery, a bottle I keep here for good friends.

The time had come (the walrus said) to talk of many things. Mostly about maximizing personal potential. R is writing a paper documenting his current situation, identifying his goals, and outlining his plan for attaining them. Rashid is one of the people who consistently make me feel more internally organized just from spending time with him.

Norah Jones is on the house system but she's being drowned out by London Calling, loud in my earphones.

New Year's Eve

2:30 am
South Shore

Once more into the breach at dear Vlindinhauer's. This time celebrating the (Gregorian) completion of 2006 and commencement of 2007.

There was a wonderful dinner, prepared by M, Vlindinhauer's wife, with help from Vlindinhauer himself. There were musical selections, including music made up on the spot, and karaoke.

After midnight, we sang Auld Lang Syne, toasted the New Year, and set off firecrackers on the other side of the sea wall. We read the grounds from our Turkish coffees. And we read the fortunes and wise sayings written on the gift-scrolls we each received with our entres.

Much, but not all of this, was documented. And there was a wonderful dinner.

This was my first time being present in a place where karaoke was occurring.

Lots of fun...


Resolutions for 2007:

Cease all current uranium enrichment.
Forgive those who enrich uranium against me.
Be less autistic.
Be kind.

Happy New Year!