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Here In Oakland

Art & Life


January 22, 2013

Let Me Tell You
Tuesday. Ten hours of sleep is the guess, up feeling OK, counting arms and legs, counting the fingers, all seemingly working and in place. A flippant way to say the day has started not badly, maybe even well, but we're being cautious for the while after last night.

I've found, if I've had something to drink the night before, in this case the two shots of Jack Daniels, it can affect the following day, not in any way you'd normally consider when thinking of a morning after, but rather the onset of the fuzzy headed stuff I've been going on and on about. At least that's the thought. Could be wrong. Easy to be wrong when you're trying to sort out something you've had no experience with.

Anyway, no doubt about last night's immediate effect of the two drinks - an express ticket straight into Oz, no need to check in at the airport - little or no chance of error in assigning the blame, so we're not “on the wagon”, we're, well, no longer drinking. Period. At least for the week. Until my birthday in March. And - what the hell - maybe forever.

And so?

And so I've been examining this day closely since it's begun, suspicious of any little glitches and, so far, we're good. I did lie down when I returned from breakfast, but just to lie down for a bit, listen to the news, take a break before finishing the journal. None of the fuzzy stuff or, more accurately, if there was some small whiff of the fuzzy headed stuff, it wasn't noticeable.

We're still thinking any drinking done on the night before often has consequences the next day and so whatever the immediate effect it had last night, it still can come back and screw up the morning. So we're keeping our eyes open, we are: watching, taking notes, babbling on....

Later A good walk, clear headed, the aching sinuses, but they're always aching, a little better perhaps for being damp so the air feels cool as it does after a cold.

A bus downtown to walk through the City Center, nothing I wanted to see or do in the City Center, so on to Washington Street to have a cup of coffee and an almond biscotti at a sidewalk table. Liked the almond biscotti much better than the chocolate coated one I'd had recently at the morning restaurant: nice, dry, crunchy, tasty. If I knew the brand I'd give them a plug.

Anyway, on then over to the Asian Cultural Center, taking a longer route just to walk through an area I haven't walked in a while, to have an ice cream cone (one scoop) sitting out by the fountain before heading off for the bus and on to the morning café. I wasn't hungry, just restless, the sun bright, the air cool, but warmer as the morning progressed. So I had another cup of coffee and a croissant, heated without butter.

Walk and eat, walk and eat. That's it?

Is there better to be found on a late morning in January? Not a sign of fuzzy headed climb a mountain, let's go home and crash about it? Let us be realistic here, we're down to the basics.

Later still. A short walk up the street to the burger drive-in to bring home a steak sandwich (no onions). Hungry, tasted good, we'll see how that works itself out through the evening. I'm still gun shy about, well, everything.

I need to get the Protime blood test along with others for an upcoming annual appointment with the cardiologist, so we'll skip breakfast Thursday morning for the test that requires, drive first to the Honda dealer for an oil change (and whatever else they tell me it needs in order to fill their cash register) while we're at the hospital lab (across the street) for the blood work. So good, the week is falling into place, we're obviously alive and making progress.

A pretty exciting afternoon from the sound of it.

I've spent an hour now on the guitar while listening to the news, making up for the practice I cut short yesterday (you don't think to play when the horizon is melting and the television creatures step out of the screen and scurry about the living room). So good. Yes. It's afternoon headed for evening and yet the horizon is brightening.

Evening. Ah, Tuesday, a Maigret at six, just the thing to watch as I'm playing through my finger picking exercises another mind numbing number of times. Amazing how little progress you make doing it day after day and then - wham! - one day it falls into place and what you've been playing badly suddenly, overnight, becomes something you're playing somewhat better badly (and you find yourself smiling).

I knew I'd seen the Maigret episode not all that long ago, no surprises there, and still had not a clue as to who'd done the deed. I wonder if I really care and just enjoy how they're put together. For me Maigret is a riff on an idea called nineteen fifties France: the unspoken rules, the attitudes, the societal stratification it seems to imply. A look into the culture, true or untrue: doesn't really matter. Even a false parallel offers interesting insights you can use to examine your own culture, insights you'd never otherwise thing to make: some trivial, some profound.

Your eyes are turning brown.

So, clear headed, (blue eyes turned brown), the sinuses playing nice, the evening going well. Not a thought of a shot, though, let me tell you.

The photo up top was taken this morning of a couch that appeared on the sidewalk over the weekend with a Nikon D4 mounted with a 24-120mm f 4.0 G Nikkor lens.