into the thirties

The temperature has dipped down into the thirties, but after stepping outside to get the paper, I let the cats go. I'm checking on them often.

Another good sleep by the way. Practically eight hours with only two bathroom runs.

Pop is chipper

Pop is chipper, almost bouncy, this morning, coming out of his room, waltzing into the big room, remarking on the absence of forecasted rain. I answer that at least they got the temperature right, as we are still in the mid-thirties yet.

Lorie came in yesterday for drinks and TV yesterday in the early evening, and I imagine that it is this little social accomplishment that has bucked up the old man’s spirit. Which is all to the good. Our life can go on as it has, only so long as he remains healthy and a little vibrant. That he should even have a bit of a bounce in his step is added security. A grumpy, peevish father would also be getting on my case about cleaning my toilet or tub or microwave oven, or whatever his malcontent fixes on, perhaps even the kitty litter.

Neighbor Dog

Neighbor Dog was left outside in his little pen overnight in this mid-thirties weather. I was regretting this morning that I couldn't go over and give the dog some hugs, and it is only in the last ten minutes that I remembered that I can hug the dog because of that one loose plank in the fence. So, I grabbed a slice of cheese and went out.

I was happy to discover that the pen was open, and that the dog is nowhere in sight. Maybe the neighbors found their heart and let the dog inside to give it a respite fom the biting cold. Maybe they didn't realize that it was going to get so cold, near freezing, overnight. Let's hope, because that is terribly callous.

"Yes, siree, buddy!"

"Yes, siree, buddy!" Pop says on the phone. I think he's talking to Vic. He says he is making his homemade soup since it is so cold today.

Whitney Houston

Whitney Houston died yesterday at 48. She lived longer than Elvis by about six years. Misuse of prescription medication seems to the proximate cause here, too. The early reports also had her dying in the bathroom, but instead of being on the toilet (poor E.), she may have been in the tub, and she may have become unconscious and drowned. But it’s hazy.

I wasn’t a big fan. I was awed by her vocals, the power, but her song selection generally left me cold. I mostly click with the woman because of her one hit movie with Kevin Costner, “The Bodyguard”.

In these early reports, it was noted that she had not recorded anything in years because her drug use had rendered her voice “raspy and hoarse”. Elvis’s golden voice stayed with him until the very end. I had not realized that she had been so quiet on the musical scene. Like I said, I wasn’t much of a fan.

(Source: ONTD)

“The Sopranos”

I started watching “The Sopranos” today. I felt an urge to blog it, you know, quoting extensively from the show and describing it to readers, rewinding and rewinding to get it down in the way I want, giving it my little personal touch with my commentary. If I do it, however, I think I will do a movie instead. It would have to be something I love, and it would probably have to have rich dialogue, something with a little philosophical depth, but no movie comes strongly to mind.

Write

“Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.”

-- Alan Watts, British philosopher (1915-1973)

I love the romanticism of this, and I used to think of myself as being like this. If there is one ill effect of the Internet, it is that it has made me more of a copy & paste kind of guy, making me more of a reader than a writer, but maybe this is what I really am and I have only become truer to myself, because just about all my old writing is such laughable posing, an ignorant naif trying to sound educated and sophisticated. It reads more like nose-picking and endless whining. Oh, I like to think that I have gotten a little better over the years, with the settling of middle-age and after a lot more serious reading, but I am still more of a reader and admirer than a writer and a thinker, and I am okay with that, most of the time.