Don't know much about history . . .
What kind of fuckery is this?
I saw my chiropractor tonight (if you've been following along, you probably know that he traditionally has bizarre memory lapses when it comes to me. But he seems to know me better now. He should - I wrote my name down for him the last time I saw him), and I bumped into Esteban in the waiting room. We talked for a good while, mostly about old guitarists - Django, McLaughlin, etc. Esteban and I have a regular gig, along with a percussionist and a turntablist, playing improvised music for first Thursday art openings at the Rialto. Good times.
I was invited - don't laugh - to a chanting last Friday night, at this yoga place down the street from the Nunnery that I've never seen the inside of in all the years I've lived here. But suddenly, about ten minutes before I was supposed to be there, I was struck by a thought I'd never had a reason to have before: just what does one wear to a chanting, exactly? For the curious, I settled on a burnt-orange long sleeve pullover over a black tee, my laine vierge sports coat, a flaxen scarf, and loose-fitted jeans. With saddle shoes. Funny thing, it turns out that's exactly what you wear to a chanting...
Saturday I went to the Chomp and Stomp in Cabbagetown with Rashid and Jason. Dozens of different varieties of chili, Sweetwater (a local beer), and live bluegrass are a decent way to begin a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning. Later, Mark came by the Nunnery and together we polished off the last of the tequila, listened to some records, and brainstormed about our joint musical process.
Sunday morning I went to a Quaker meeting, something I've done for the past four Sundays. This may initially surprise some who know Sabitathica well. Sabitathica is known to be constitutionally distrustful of organized religion. And while this (natural, healthy) attitude is not at all unusual in the sweet northeast, it is in some short supply down here in Bedlam. Which reminds me of a conversation I had last spring with a girl who was working for me around the office:
Girl: Sabitathica, have you accepted Jesus into your life?
Sabitathica: Um, I'm from Boston.
But Quakers are badasses. I went to one meeting in Amherst twelve years ago with good guy Chris Fitz from Hampshire and I've never forgotten it.
Sunday night I went to La Fonda with Jason for margaritas and general guy stuff before we brought the good times back here.
Lunch today with Rashid and JB at Slice, where the guy sitting next to me at the bar for some reason began talking to me about Ayn Rand of all things. He was just beginning the Fountainhead. Good times, good times.
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Jackknife juggernaut
Things've been busy lately, as busy as they've been in several years. Life is rich and events are rife with meaning. Synchronicity is everywhere.
My dreams are generous, with emotions strong and mixed. People I've known, women mostly, appearing to me in my sleep, negotiating complicated amnesties.
And as an aside, I've got auditions again this week. I could organize auditions in my fucking sleep at this point of my life. One would hope this to be a transferable skill, but I'm not so sure.
