May 7, 2016 Saturday
Quiet New Haven night. I continue to break in my second collection of songs, in an echo of Navy and Edwardsville self-made CDs that came to soundtrack the months and seasons. No road construction in the Lyme district of coastal Connecticut tonight, and little rain. But as I was saying, enjoyed my latest Spotify samplings.
The new playlist being created for April and May is called For the Time We Have Left, full of light dance floor flair and new-wave, soul 60’s/80’s retro-melding. If Feb/March’s playlist earns an ‘A,’ then For the Time so far garners a B-. Lots of songs that could win me over, with future listens.
Best of For the Time We Have Left So Far:
- “Girl That You Love”—Panic at the Disco, 2013
- “I Hope”—Har Mar Superstar, 2016
- “Stupid Goodbye”—Zefereli, 2016
- “In Bloom”—Sturgil Simpson, 2016
- “Lady You Shot Me”—Har Mar Superstar, 2016
- “Guillotine”—Jon Bellion, 2016
My hope, as it was in the past, is that the songs lastingly seep into Now, and will serve as an audible future callback.
Now back to all the “hard work” I put in on the far side of the Nutmeg State:
Fortified with Rockstar Pure Zero (no calories, no sugar, so whatever I’m ingesting hasn’t been quantified yet, but on sale 2/$4. What a steal.) As I entered the century-old-plus Whitney house and did my customary, quick look-over of the ground floor, there were no fires to put out, but a full buffet tray of beef stroganoff was sitting on the small dining room counter, the noodles just started to turn brown. I deposited it all in the trash, asking the question I ask every Friday night to friendly, forever-stoner staff member Kody Morris, slightly smiling with half-closed eyes: “How long has this been out?”
“Oh, yeah. That can be put in the fridge. Still good.”
“Perhaps,” I say, not mentioning it’s now all at the bottom of a Hefty bag. “But how long would you say it’s been sitting there?”
“Since dinner about five.”
Besides a few common chores and hourly bed checks, I have written journal drafts about The Force Awakens, the 2016 Cubs, trying to stitch together this latest journal’s compendium.
I see maintenance has been to the house, working to plaster over and repaint scarred walls, and dismantled the damaged, splintered doors for repair, leaving a draped bed sheet for a one bedroom’s entrance. Besides this I have been watching on surveillance cameras a client walk around the back driveway rather aimlessly, talking on his phone for two hours, starting at 4 am. The sun is rising now in the windows and video feeds, so it is time to wrap up to the last to-dos. I thought I might struggle a bit after only a few hours sleep before work, but it has been a brisk night to lined paper scrawling, trying to remember how this journal thing is supposed to go. I ran across a few pieces from late 2012 that on a different level, that I hope to work back to soon.
May wants me to take tomorrow night off, but I locked myself into financial need ever since I happily over-reached on Paul Simon and Bob Dylan tickets last Monday morning. When I sent a message with each singer’s image, her response was “Speechless.” So Paul and Bob are pulling me to Turning Point’s $80-a shift payout.
What is that kid talking about for over two hours—seriously!
No One Will Believe You 