This blog be gettin' moldy, aye? HCR passed, Financial Reform passed GOP "filibust out of these jeans," too. Jason showed up to surprise me for my 40th birthday. Brenna's sitting up, smiling, cooing. We've passed the year mark in our house, got the $8000 tax credit, all's stabilized on the work front, but Livie's troublemaker twos. That about sums it up.
On the subject of turning 40, I don't feel a thing. My "freakout" years were 27 and 35. I suspect 27 because of all the rockers who died at 27 (Cobain, Morrison, Hendrix, Joplin, too, right? Even that Buckley kid...too lazy to look that up). 35 for God knows why. Post Beulah blahs, maybe? Never say never, but I doubt any crises from here are gonna be of the midlife variety, if anything it will probably be an external event of some kind, not me wallowing in my own sorrow about growing old. As my peers (and some younger than me, up to 10 years in fact) start showing their grays or start shaving that shit off, I have, like, two above my left ear. Getting a little light in the front/top, and I've gotta watch those glucose levels, but I'm happy to report I had a physical and all the pipes seem to be working. Even my blood pressure, which had been a "scare" was corrected by my doctor taking it the old fashioned way (as opposed to those machines). So...the machine said 139/85, but then the Doc took it and it was 117/72? Who am I to argue? I'm gonna go with the doc's reading, that's who.
For some reason I decided that my birthday wish was to have a bunch of people over for a BBQ and I'd be at the grill with a beer in my hand. Little did I know we'd be preparing food for 50+! Poor K, she's up to her armpits in work preparing for this thing as I write this from the comfort of my desk, responding to customer issues via email on the other monitor in between keystrokes here. I did manage to do two loads of laundry, water the flowers, do the dishes and get my car ready to pick up some rental chairs...all before 7:30, so that accounts for something, right?
Still, the smalltown world at large continues its Foxification and I'm dreading the inevitable political arguments to come with certain family members this summer when we go to WI. I promise to keep my mouth shut, I keep telling myself. But then it happens. Someone either gets drunk (usually me), someone else runs his mouth off in a willfully ignorant way (usually my brother or maybe an uncle), and even if I make a succinct rebuttal the floodgates open. Hopefully not this year. The sky has not, in fact, fallen, despite the best efforts of the previous administration and their cronies to take all they can, while they could, hoping the timing of the inevitable crash would be beyond their watch. Anyway, if you're taking Social Security, Medicare or FEMA money, you have an obligation to shut the fuck up about your anti-government claptrap. So to those who can't understand the irony or are unwilling to fess up to it, I'll get my "fuck offs" off my chest now. Did I mention fuck off?
Did a recording just before Brenna was born with the old Beulahs (see here), and then showed up for Miles' BOTH gig earlier this month to play some horn and some ad hoc, semi-stupored (in my case) encores of the old Beulah songs. Both were a blast. Sometimes I really do miss playing, but not the gear-lugging, late night practicing, job-hopping, family missing grind of it. Those days are behind. Give me an outlet every once in a while and I'm fine. The world is full of fine, talented players. Less is more from yours truly.
Ah, I think that about covers it. Stream of consciousness rant complete.
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