loose change in my pocket; future in my hand
I’m 32,000 feet above Michigan monitoring progress on my Jet Blue flight tracker, and the corpulent woman across the aisle is quite literally losing it over an episode of the apparently aptly titled “Everybody Loves Raymond.” Another blow for Darwinism – we may be walking upright, but many of us haven’t discerned that wearing headphones doesn’t mean that nobody else can hear us. More relevantly, it’s testament to the well-established fact that I’m not extracting all the available joy life has to offer. Why can’t I derive such unrestrained pleasure from the program? It does have that big guy .. he’s kind of funny.
Maybe it was the captain’s well-chosen remarks before departing a storm-ravaged Northern California. He came out of the cockpit to address the cabin with a reassuring “I’m not going to lie to you..” What bad could possibly follow this? As it turned out, the ride to airport was much more harrowing than the flight, with my brother’s windshield wiper flying off and the remaining arm scratching a deep groove in the glass, making a hellish squealing sound as he attempted to navigate off the freeway in the ensuing deluge. The problem was partially remedied with rag and shoelace, prompting him to dub himself a “regular Macgyver.”
Saw Van Morrison at the Masonic on Nob Hill after catching him at the United Palace in Harlem in October. His tickets are getting a bit pricey, so I might have to consider substituting Ray Romano. I don’t suspect that Van’s the type of guy you’d catch wearing earphones and laughing out loud on a cross country flight. But he can still sing, improvise, blow horn, and turn his back to the audience with the best of them. It’s curious how many still lament this well-established fact, like they’re expecting some kind of miracle Regis Philbin personality transplant. As he put it a few years back “it’s just a job you know, and it’s not Sweet Lorraine..” Thankfully he still does it well. As does Neil Young, whom I also saw at the United Palace in December. He commented on the place being a great venue and an ex movie house with “2001” still loaded up in the projector. Neil continues to play through the rust, and put on a three hour combined acoustic/electric set, pacing the stage like some kind of charged, marauding relic. Some might point to my tendency toward select, repetitive musical acts, but I try and wear different socks each time. When you find something that doesn’t suck, it’s difficult not to stick with it.
I managed my way up to the Sierras as well, seeing enough snow to satisfy my winter quota. (They were getting clobbered again as I returned to mid-sixties temperatures in New York.) While I can debate the relative merits of San Francisco and New York, I’m hard pressed to find anywhere as spectacular as Tahoe. My parents bought the place there in the late sixties and have hung on to it – a wise move among many. It’s a simple A-frame cabin whose mystique and memories exceed its square footage. My dad seemed to give up on the place for a while, but has come back to it in recent years and makes the drive up frequently with Mom. I’ve never brought anyone up there who hasn’t commented on its charms. Wherever bullshit resides, Tahoe always seems far from it. (1/9/08)
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