Nostalgia

The Boston Red Socks won the World Series last night for the first time in 86 years. Check out this NPR story for an 8 year-old boy calling his great-grandfather, who was 8 years-old the last time the Socks won the Series. I didn’t get to see a single game. Last year, in Florida, we all watched every American League and National League championship game, while the underdogs–the Chicago Cubs and the Socks–both tried to get into the Series. Neither did. But we were there for them, enjoying a sport all of us had been previously too hip to enjoy in the public and private gatherings of our existence. Those series spoke to us the simplicity and community we longed for.

No one here, that I know of, watched any of the games. Of the two neighborhood bars that I frequent, only one has a TV, and no one watches sports on it. I didn’t hear the World Series mentioned once in my circles here. Too hip for baseball.

Drink is at once more reserved and less safe here.

This post is actually about someone and something I can’t mention. Although there’s no way to know that yet. I have to write those bits in between the lines with an electron microscope. Someone asked me, last time I saw them {I am going to use poor English so as to be more ambiguous}, what I would miss, and then laughed The Laugh; and I said, “That.”

Memories are horribly bottom-up emotions. The films are already buried on the projector-room floor, dirty, trampled, broken. It’s the sounds and tastes and objects with history that heat up the rock, bubble up the lava of those strange things from the past. What? I lived where? I did what?

I enjoy life. It may be hard to see from only the perspective provided by this site, but I do, and I have. And I want to enjoy life some more. And I don’t want to compromise. I know I will compromise, on no day will I be perfect. But.

Anyway…Daniel Miller–demos–Gospel Bar Song (5.1M mp3). Recorded spring 2003. The laughing is in response to someone who came into the room and started doing animated hand motions to the lyrics. (They aren’t hard to figure out–“So I buy you another shot,” etc…and big hand waving for the Yeah-yeah-yeah’s.) You can hear me trying to hold it back, until finally I can’t contain…

So, it was very weird to find this on a digital recorder I hadn’t seen in almost a year.

…and I said, “That.”

…Today I found this picture of Elvis, who produced my EP in Sarajevo. I left telling him I’d see him in 6 weeks. I haven’t had a way to contact him since. He is a good soul. I often wish on him good things. And he is a trickster, a bard, a minstrel, so I know they will find him, or vice versa.