Hallowe'en dream

Last night I dreamt I was with Mr. G on an expedition to a place covered with snow and ice. We spent significant time together before I struck out on my own to buy new shoes.

Driving back on a mountain road, I miscalculated and my car slid on the ice and spilled sideways over a cliff. The car turned slowly as it tumbled, allowing me to see how high up I was.


It was a drop of maybe 1500-2000 feet, and I knew I wasn't going to make it. I remember thinking how sometimes small mistakes can lead to severe consequences, cause and effect apparently incommensurate (a defining characteristic of what's known in math as an unstable equilibrium), and I wondered briefly if I would experience any pain on impact.

But I made myself not panic. I took my hands off the wheel and folded my arms across my chest. Everything plummeted, still and calm, and there was no sound. My last moments were spent composing myself and sending good wishes to family and friends.

Boston 2: Marshfield

Seagulls harbinge good tidings overhead:


I arrived in Marshfield with L in tow at midnight, to find the moon full and the tide high. Videlicet:


Some highlights:

* an autumnal gathering at Mr. O's, with Jackie Paper, erstwhile frolicker in the mists of autumn, in attendance. Here I saw Josh for the first time since the Netherlands. Good times.
* several meals with my family, including a brunch featuring my dear sister's now-famous french toast.
* a lovely dinnerparty at Vlindinhauers, where the food was magnificent as usual. Courtesy of Vlindinhauer's wife M, and assisted by the Lady L.
* a viewing of The Now Today Society: The End, a film featuring several persons mention in this very blog and edited together by Josh.
* sundry visits to Dunkin' Donuts, which was more fun than you probably think.
* much chillaxing by the grand Atlantic.
* Private music time with Mr. O.
* the latest installment of the now-traditional trip to Borders with my wonderniece.
* daily pilgrimages to Arthur & Pats, one of my favorite restaurants on the south shore. The bananabread french toast was a big hit.
* s'mores (or, more accurately, a single s'more) made over the fireplace.
* several genuinely creepy readings from The Book of King, aka, The Shining.
* an invigorating and ultimately dangerous walk down the jetty.
* lots of sleeping-in, enjoying each other's company, talking about anything and everything, and temporarily forgetting about our jobs.
* The house itself is beautiful and the view is unbeatable...

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Here's a shoreward view from the jetty as dusk begins to settle:

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And L took this photo out the starboard window on our return flight to Bedlam...


Now playing: Krzysztof Komeda's score to Rosemary's Baby.

Boston 1: Logan

I'm a bit late in posting these, but here are some photographs of my visit to family & friends in Boston earlier this month. Here is what Logan airport looked like upon our arrival:

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Abbey Road

Some thoughts on this -- the 39 year, three week, and six day anniversary of the release of the last record the Beatles made.

* John's star was beginning to fade, or more likely he was distracted. Much of his time was spent disentangling himself from the Beatles, with encouragement (cough) from Yoko.

I Want You (She's So Heavy) sounds like John's saying, "Forget all that cleverness of a few years back, and all the labor I put into, say, I am the Walrus. I can write a first-rate song any time I want, without even breaking a sweat. You watch, I'll write one that's simple and straightforward, and very rock-and-roll. And it won't be anything at all like the syrupy muzak Paul has been bringing to the table."

But John had already done this - and much better - with Come Together, and by comparison I Want You sounds lazy. Of course, the swelling-white-noise ending is edgy, but I never exactly find myself on the edge of my seat marveling over John's genius when I'm listening to it. In fact, I'm much more likely to be thinking about next-tracking it on over to Here Comes the Sun, and moving forward with the good times.

Of course, I Want You (She's So Heavy) is John gushing about Yoko, but not in the way the Beatle-boys typically gushed. He's not demonstrating his love by writing her a great song, he's doing it by saying fuck you to the whole Beatle thing, simultaneously embracing Yoko's dadaist approach (and not for the first time) while distancing himself evermore from Paul. Which is more than John ever gave up for Cynthia.

* Much of the beauty of Because and Sun King is in their arrangements and production as opposed to the songwriting or voices per se, though the voices and songwriting are both lovely.

* Check the tambourine in Mean Mr. Mustard. Speculation: if the Beatles did not exist, the tambourine would long ago have been footnoted into obscurity. Discuss.

* Jules-who-is-not-with-us once said Abbey Road was the only time the Beatles set out to make a record that sounded like the Beatles, which is probably true.

* All you need to tell the unbelievers about Ringo is that he's the only drummer who could have been in the Beatles, and Abbey Road is just more evidence, as if we needed any. George is on a roll here too - two of his best-loved songs appear on Abbey Road.

But at the end of the day it was Paul who provided the blueprint and musical glue which holds the song-suite of side two together, just as it was Paul who was holding the Beatles together as a group, at least this one last time.

Sushi is a cult

I first became aware that sushi was a cult sometime in the late 90s. It's a cult because people are forever trying to get you to join. Sushi-cult members begin to act strange when you tell them you don't like sushi. Watch them. They go into automatic-recruitment mode.

If you didn't like, say, sandwiches, nobody would look at you and say, "What!? You don't like... Oh my god. All right, that's it - I'm making you a pet project of mine. We are going to go out for sandwiches this weekend. You'll see. This Saturday, after bowling we'll go, we'll all go. You'll see." You can picture them shaking their head at you. "Uh," they'd say as they look heavenward, "I can't believe you don't like sandwiches!"

No, they'd probably go, "Really? You don't like sandwiches? Huh, that's weird. Okay, so we won't go out for sandwiches then."

Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allan Poe...

Flying north for a Fall holiday tomorrow.

Maize!

L and I went to the North Georgia Corn Maze on Saturday. The corn maze is some distance from the Nunnery - about an hour and a half by car. We prepared for the trip with some seasonally-appropriate, eerie reading material. Our arrival at the corn maze was welcomed (with open arms!) by a very happy (and terrifying?) orange creature, viz:


This is the entrance to the maze. The stalks I'd guess were about nine feet high, with no way to see over the tops.


L & I were, as far as I could tell, the only people inside the maze using observation, memory, and cleverness to navigate our way around. Everyone else - and I do mean everyone - was looking the whole time at their maps (you get a map before you go inside). They were all looking down at their maps, saying things like "and now we're supposed to go left," and "no, wait, it says to go this way." Like everybody was doing whatever they could to avoid feeling disoriented. In a maze.

Like the primary function of the maze is to give you an opportunity to exercise your map-reading skills.

A view of the north Georgia mountains from the bridge near the exit:


There were seven differently-shaped hole-punches secured to posts throughout the maze. If you hole-punched the paper they gave you with each of the seven, you could register to win a prize in a drawing. We found all seven hole-punches and punched our cards seven times. We did this, again, without resorting to cheating ourselves.

The perimeter of the maze, once you find it, opens out with a view of hills and cows...


cows and hills...


and cows...


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After the maze we walked through a haunted house. This was my first-ever haunted house experience, which probably says something about me and how much I enjoy subjecting myself to abject terror. It was called The House of Burm, and was located a hayride away from the maze. But it was so utterly terrifying that we must agree never to speak of it again.