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Cold Morning & Music It seems I have quite a lot to say, now that I've decided to end the dormancy of my diary. Unfortunately, much of the last two postings has been overtly political and a bit angry, and I should apologise for that, as it's not really my nature to be either of the above. I have, of late, felt the need to compose my thoughts (in however a scattered state they may remain after I put them on paper -- I don't really edit these things very carefully for composition, so in fact, I do end up writing almost exactly like I talk) and put them somewhere, perhaps in the hopes that someone will read them and feel similarly or be moved, and perhaps just because I want a record of what was going on with me at a particular moment...And that's what this is for, right? At this point, it's not as though anyone else really reads this, so I'm certainly not trying to impress anybody. (By the way, if anybody IS reading this, leave a note, send an e-mail, give me a call...Okay, don't give me a call, 'cause that would just freak me out; the phone always does when it rings, but that's another story. Hmm...Mild agoraphobia, anyone?) Anyway, the point is I'm going to continue to try not to harp on the same topics over and over. Rel (my friend Ariel, who's been a friend since college and is probably one of a very few people who still believe I could be a rockstar; she's in law school in the City and gonna be a bankruptcy attorney; she's also got first call on directing any of my videos, should I, in fact, by some miracle, become a rockstar) says people tend to have about three basic topics on which they fixate/focus, and about which they constantly speak/write. I suppose it's possible for those three topics to change over time, though, because at the time, mine were beauty (i.e., beautiful things, places, people, feelings, and the pursuit/loss thereof), travel, and...well, something else that I can't remember. I'm pretty sure they're not quite the same, now (though beauty, in her many guises, is probably still at the top of the list). I'll be the first to declare how much I love winter, but this morning, it's occurred to me that the cold this year is really pretty brutal. I got up around 6 a.m. so I could go get some exercise before I had to go into the office, and on realising my running shoes were in the car, walked out to the parking lot to get them without a coat on. This was unwise. Now, I know my people in Maine and New Hampshire have got it about 20 degrees worse, but the air was so cold it burned my lungs, immediately inspiring an asthmatic reaction. So I took my medicine, and I put on my (very cold) shoes, and I jogged through the labyrinth that is my apartment complex to the tower (probably about 8 or 9 stories high, by traditional standards, including basement), whose stairs I ran up and down for awhile, then I jogged back through the maze to my apartment, where I played with dumbbells for awhile and did crunches, then decided I was shaky and sweaty enough, so I had some water, rested for a few minutes, then showered and dressed for work. Now, I'm more warmly dressed than usual today (turtleneck, sweater, heavy jeans and super-warm jacket & gloves; at this time of year, I normally don't bother wearing multiple layers, and I usually don't zip up my jacket), but my car was damn cold (leather seats did not help the situation) and did not warm significantly in the fifteen or so minutes it took me to drive to work. In the process of walking the two blocks from the parking lot to my office, my legs, despite the jeans, became very cold indeed, as did my face and neck (time to drag out the scarves). I, of course, attempted to just take my normal mellow yet aggressively long strides and look as nonchalant as possible, convincing myself, "I LOVE this! I am not cold...Whining about the cold is for wusses and people who actually have to be out in it for long stretches of time without appropriate clothing." I'm looking forward to going out to buy the protein bar that will be my lunch in a couple hours. I intended to write entries on Saturday and Sunday, but I failed to do so, so I'm wondering if I should now write them and leave them dated as today, thus wrecking the chronological flow of things, or if I should back-date them to Saturday and Sunday. I suppose ultimately, it will just be one entry, with the thoughts I had on Sunday about Saturday and Sunday, but this is a bit of a dilemma, as if anyone were reading my entries, I'd hope they'd get to read those, but if they've read all the old ones and consequently, believe they only need to read the new ones, they'd miss some, and it would totally not be their fault. You see my quandary. Yesterday, I discovered a new review on salon.com of Alison Moyet's latest album, Hometime, which was released back in autumn. It's a brilliant piece (both the review and the album), located here (I've got to learn HTML, so I can just hyperlink these things; it's unbelievable that I've never bothered.), but the most wonderful part of the review is the following: "If this were her debut, or if she were blond or a teenager or black -- if she just weren't middle-aged, and rather large and "handsome" -- this would be one of those records that everyone talks about. She'd be India Arie. She'd be Angie Stone. She'd be Norah Jones. Even if she remains none of those things, people should still be talking about it." God bless you, Ken Foster, for writing that, for it is so completely true. I must update my profile page to reflect my current listening habits, as they have somewhat changed, as they are wont to do on an almost daily basis. When you're a boy with, at last count, nine hundred and some CDs, it's difficult to decide what to listen to or precisely what your real favourites are. (And apparently, no, it's not enough, for I keep buying more.) So my assignment for you today, gentle reader, if you in fact exist, is to go to www.alisonmoyet.com, check out the samples from her latest disc, and then go buy it (though that will doubtless take some searching, as her label, Sanctuary Records, is a small independent sort of deal, and all the big music stores...Well, I'll skip the tirade I feel coming on about Empty-Vee and Clear Channel and the American recording industry.), as well as any other stuff by quality artists you might desire. (No, you may NOT buy copies of that shite from those American Idol poppy hideous creatures without a brain in their heads and whose vocals have to be recorded, re-recorded, overdubbed and digitally monkeyed with to make them sound something vaguely approaching tuneful. You must listen to poets with real voices. I woke this morning to Norah Jones (She was on TV, unfortunately, not lying beside me), and I thought to myself, "Ahh...How nice. But you know, what the recording industry in America needs right now is a handsome young male counterpart to Ms. Jones & Ms. Amos & Ms. Apple & Ms. Carlton & Ms. McLachlan (Sarah, where ARE you? Are you off returning to your more interesting pre-Surfacing self? I hope so...I long to hear you wail tunes like "Into the Fire" again, like you did when I saw you live and I feared you might rip your guitar to pieces during "Wait".), et al. And I am he. I write lovely lyrics (when they're not utter shite), catchy melodies, am relatively tall, reasonably handsome (Hey, I'd definitely do me before I'd do John Mayer, who's definitely NOT on the David E. Kelley diet like Lara Flynn Boyle, as he's getting chunk-eee, but then, so am I, and thus the running.), can rock out on the piano (and sometimes drums) and can sing the living hell out of most anything...And I'm not talking about that gravelly growling pseudo-singing that's been going on a lot lately with the male rockers, nor am I talking about that girly breathy falsetto thing the boybands do, but honest-to-God clear-voiced stranglehold-on-pitch from-the-gut SINGING...The way it's meant to be done (unless you're into opera, which I don't do). Hey! Somebody sign me! Mass-produce me, wrap me up in cellophane, ship me all over the world, and let's make lots of money...And perhaps touch some people's lives while we're at it? I'm not ego-tripping, I swear I'm not...My self-loathing sense of dissatisfaction has just taken a five-minute break.) I'll write more when I'm back to my normal demure self. NOTE: I typed this entry directly into the computer. You see the difference? (Actually, yes, there's a second difference, too, in that I've switched the template for this thing to one designed by the super-cool person who is dgdesigns. I think it's hot, so it'll stay 'til I get off my ass and learn HTML so I can design my own unique one...Muchas gracias, Max.) r
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