There’s no TV on I want to watch now and what’s more my brain is buzzing too much for TV. Some nice warm vinyl is just the thing for now.

This is my first jacket day of the year. There have been other days that were inviting for a jacket, but I usually need a pretty good talking to by brisk weather before I’m convinced I need a jacket. Today was the day. Rainy, chilly weather. My favorite. And I am not being ironic.

I have never given side two of the Temptations’ All Directions much of a chance. Because, well, what could possibly need heard once you’ve mucked through the sublime funky marsh of “Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone?” As is often the case with ignored music, that’s where the treasure is. Side two of this album is equally sublime as its first side. Which should not surprise me. It’s the Temptations.

Now that play is done, it’s time to hear James P. Johnson, Father of the Stride Piano. My metal detector pops and riots. As it should. Johnson was largely ignored in his own time and in legacy, to the point that musicologist David Schiff has referred to him as “The Invisible Pianist.” Ouch. But listening to this I can grasp his immense influence; he was the bridge dude between ragtime and jazz, and his playing is sublime. One of my new favorite things, this old piece of vinyl I’ve been harboring for years. It is gorgeous.

Today was also the day my current managers had to acknowledge my notice. It is nice and weird to leave a job on such good terms and with good feelings overall. It is nice (and weird) to have done such a thing correctly, to have persevered, to have seen it through. Oh, says I. That’s how it’s done, then. You don’t whittle away your soul at a job you know you should have left long ago until they one morning decide to thud your neck down upon the ol’ butcher block. You put on your secret handy dandy writing’s-on-the-wall deciphering glasses, and you do it often. And meanwhile you work in the shadows to recognize an opportunity when presented, and then you take said opportunity, and you smile and curtsy on your way out. Oh, so that’s how it’s done well.

I might actually pull it off this time.

If I can get myself out of futon at 4 a.m. every business day for two weeks, of course. There’s the real challenge. Worth it, though. I get the job I want and all ya’ll don’t have to listen to me bitch and moan for a little while.

Okay now I’m in the mood for TV. I think Mysteries of Laura is on the Tivo. Bye-bye.

I ducked into my favorite little joint for lunch today. I shouldn’t have. It’s not so much in the budget these days, but there are times when you simply must be surrounded by a building walled with crackling wood, seated on a barstool, and you simply must have an attractive woman serve you comforting food, and you simply must breathe all that in and enjoy the music and emulsify.

I often kid myself, that I will go in there and order a club soda and a cup of soup in order to keep la quenta to a minimum cost. Then I walk in and there’s that white board seated on that old butcher’s block, and there’s the soup listed, but there’s also the beef on weck. And it was Friday. So there’s fish.

As luck would have it, the music queue was in blues mode today, and the song that was rotating the minute I walked in was Stevie Ray Vaughan’s “Crossfire.” I say as luck would have it wryly, I guess, because today is the 23rd anniversary of the day Stevie Ray Vaughn stopped refusing to die. Helicopters, man. Why not just put a rotating umbrella on a smart car and figure yer gonna be okay for flight?

I remember finding out while I was in a newsroom, my first newsroom, well really my second, but my first, the one at the Daily Kent Stater. My friend and colleague Greg, who made a persuasive argument for hating the living shit out of the Beatles, wore black for days, maybe months.

I betcha that Greg wore black today, too.

A little while ago where I work, an apparent former disgruntled employee took one day to pranking our help line. They called us maybe 40 or 50 times, I mean the weed they got hold of that day must have been freaking excellent. When I was fortunate enough to encounter this person, he asked me what I thought of an ongoing hip-hop feud between somebody named “Meek Mill” and somebody named “Drake.” I was relieved, nay, I was proud that I had no idea what in bloody hell he was talking about. But my co-workers, they are youngsters compared to me and a limited few old farts there are where I work, I am certain I can count the folks who are my contemporaries or older on one hand or maybe one of my hands and one of the hands of my middle school shop teacher. And they talk about music I have no idea exists, and they talk about it like it really matters. I think this is why when I was growing up I thought it was weird that my elders would squint so much and complain because I wanted to listen to Chicago. But that’s what happens I reckon. I mean Drake never moved my heart or made me gesture in the air spontaneously.

There’s just something utterly weird about all of that, and I can’t put my finger on it. But it makes me squint and pee a little. Maybe it’s just difficult to dig that you’re actually passing all of this on and eventually nobody’s actually going to give a care one way the other about Led Zeppelin.

Climate change is real.

Me, today, on the Maid of the Mist boat thing. New York side, of course, what, you think any of us haz our passports updated? I had just gotten soaked by Niagra Falls here, soaked in my hair, my face, my goggles, everything. These Falls are an awesome Falls. The boat, I had forgotten, as it’s been decades since I boarded it last, the boat sails right into the mouth of the Horseshoe, even from the Amurkin side. My party chose to be on the upper level, front, so we bore the brunt of the choppy waters and the rainy, thick mist. I can’t help but wonder if you get a better perspective below deck. How nice that the blue in my Bills cap and the blue in my disposable poncho so nicely match the blue on the ol’ 8WK here. How nice. Blue blue blue blue blue blue. So much blue you could barf.

Stalwart sailors. From left, my Uncle Mike and my Dad. Both soaked and awed to the gills. I think in the throng behind them is our token youngin, cousin Jordyn, who was a lovely travel companion.

So yeah, it was exactly like this.

We’d stopped in for lunch at the Pearl Street Grill & Brewery in Buffalo, where I had a lamb burger, which was delicious. After our adventure here, we returned home and watched Silence of the Lambs. So, accidental theme day. FTW.

Uncle Mike would have my hide if I mentioned him in a blog post and did not plug his Web site: Please visit sanders-warren2016.com and learn about candidate Bernie and you can even buy a bumper sticker. It’s one site started by one determined man and it’s become something of a big deal.

“Mr. Burns: your campaign seems to have the momentum of a runaway freight train. Why are you so popular?” (Lisa Simpson to candidate Montgomery Burns at a planned press event, 1990).

“So in June, right before you announced, you were at one percent. In July, after you’ve announced, in the last six weeks, you are in first place with 19 percent. Why do you think you’re resonating so quickly in the Republican field?” (Chuck Todd to candidate Donald Trump on Meet the Press, this morning).

Hooray for NBC for embarking on a bold programming choice in broadcasting live boxing matches last evening and for several Saturdays to come via Premier Boxing Champions. I cannot tell you how much fun it was to sit with my Dad and watch boxing on regular ol’ network television, just like he used to do with his DOD.

As a sport, boxing is faltering. Because the only way to appreciate the sport is to cough up the ridiculous PPV fee. So I only know who Manny Pacquiao is. I had no idea who any of the fine boxers were they had on last night, but they were exceptional pugilists. Who knew there were any Irish boxers left? I do now; Andy Lee held American scrapper Peter Quillin to a decision draw by for 12 rounds. Heck, I assumed all Britons and their neighbors left the sport after Pacquiao destroyed Hatton’s career in two rounds in 2009.

Anyway, that was really fun. More boxing on TV. Yeah yeah yeah.

*

So yeah I don’t write here as often anymore. It’s been a pretty harrowing month, all related to ups and downs at the job. I’ll just say this about that: I have always assumed that if someone got down on their hands and knees and kicked and screamed in a temper tantrum while at work, it would be me.

That was one of the strangest things I’ve seen in my whole entire life.

And friends, I’ve seen some thangs.

*

Bemoan Meghan Trainor all you like: This week in 1976, this was the number one song in the United States.

My Dad and I were reminded of this by a now-discorporated Casey Kasem on satellite radio on the way home from a nice visit to the home country for the weekend. There is nothing like a rainy gloomy weekend in western Pennsylvania. We three, my Dad, my Grandma and I are lazing in the house on Saturday afternoon, the sky looks like Scott the Engineer and the rain is beating down on the deck. My Grandma laments that, back in the day, on a day like this, they’d play cards. Kids don’t play cards these days. Because television.

Meanwhile there are like five 11-year-old boys playing some pretty rough football outside. I mean for hours they’re out in the rain, running, screaming, clearly neither distracted by television nor playing cards. I can’t help but suspect that the reason I never was much of a card player was because that was what the old folks used to always reminisce about what they used to do on gloomy rainy days. For me it wasn’t television of course, nor cards, it was repeated listenings of The Final Cut, complete with headphones. :: GOTTA COMPETE WITH THE WILEY JAPANESE :: That was how I liked to spend a gloomy afternoon when I was a kid.

Dad and I ended up hitting the road, first for the obligatory time spent downtown (and hey, a shout to the Edinboro Hotel for some really good wings) and then a trip outside of town to yet another antique shop, where my Dad scored a great bargain. I won’t detail it, but if you understand Blue Ridge dishware, you’d likely be pulling your hair out.

Nice visit, nice weekend, nice trip. I can always go back to Edinboro.

I haz new pet dragonfly.

Or, I did. Little guy flew in the other night; he was big. He flew around a bunch, probably more frustrated to be in my little apartment than I usually am. Most because I reckon I didn’t have anything available for him to eat.

After a while, I stopped seeing him buzzing around. I hope he managed to backtrack his way to the window.

And, remember: “No, but if you hum a few bars” is perfectly acceptable on first reference.

And now a public service announcement from 8WK.

In Other News
• King of click: the story of the greatest keyboard ever made (The Verge)
• Braising Recipes (Food & Wine)
• Best Crock Pot and Slow Cooker Recipes (Food & Wine)
• 11 Independent Musicians Who Are Making A Name For Themselves (Buzzfeed)
• Stern’s Success (The Lefsetz Letter)
• Why Saturday Night Live Writers Lean on Kenan Thompson (Slate)
• Rise and Shine: What kids around the world eat for breakfast (NYT Magazine)

I’ve been looking for this:

“The advice for those who are throwing out ceremonial first pitches: Get the baseball early, pick at the stitches with your fingers for as many minutes as you can, and then aim at the catcher’s head. The ball should drop dramatically into his glove.” (Keith Olbermann)

I mean, you never know.

In Other News
• The stunning weirdness of Ayn Rand: Why her newfound popularity makes no sense (Salon)
• All The Comments on Every Recipe Blog (The Toast)
• Jerry Seinfeld ripped apart the advertising industry on its biggest night (Quartz)
• Spinach Cooler (Thug Kitchen)

To Do Fryday

~ Take measurements for that little shelf I want to put in the batroom

~ Go to Record Archive and purchase PlectrumElectrum and Art Official Age

~ Get in the car and listen to PlectrumElectrum and Art Official Age

~ Bank

~ Farm. Get barked at by Charlie for 12 minutes straight.

~ Eat things

~ Haircut

~ Lowe’s : Clamp, Shelf

~ BBB: Humidifyer

What’d I forget?

That’s probably about it. Except: Expect some Prince blogging.