Dispatches from the Culture War
Life is busy with lots of good stuff. Big piece of this comes in multiple opportunities to make music noise.
Last week, RoboCromp (The Band That Refuses to Die, Even If You Beat it With a Stick) enjoyed a two night tour of the RR Square/Gaines district of Tallahassee. Jeff and I first played together 27 years ago in a band I put together called The Hundredth Monkey.
Really, do I need to say anything more? OK, this:
Andy Warhol shops at the Gristedes near his 47th Street Factory in 1965. (Photo by Bob Adelman/Magnum Photos. Brett Fechheimer and the “Manhattan Before 1990” FB Group)
My Favorite World.
It’s graduation week for Röbsdöttïr, which means Memory Lane has been a road far more traveled by.
Who is this kid? I’ll let a slightly altered quote from My Dinner with Andre suffice:
I mean, you know, people hold on to these images: father, mother, husband, wife, again for the same reason: ’cause they seem to provide some firm ground. But there’s no wife there. What does that mean, a wife? A husband? A daughter? A baby holds your hands, and then suddenly, there’s this beautiful young woman waving goodbye, and then she’s gone. Where’s that daughter?
The A/C is busted and it’s fking hot; the dryer repairman is making his third visit in 2 weeks; I’m working under deadline on a story that just won’t gel. This post is a day late, and the grass still needs cutting. I know the rent is in arrears, the dog has not been fed in years. It’s even worse than it appears.
