Yesterday, I read 117 pages of Neal Pollock's Anthology of American Literature during two different trips on the subway. After I sneezed for about seven straight minutes this morning, and took my allergy medicine, I settled down after smoking a few bowls and drank a Snapple iced tea before I completed the remainder of his book. Parts are hysterical and Pollock's writing seems effortless as he populates his short stories with historical events and obscure pop culture references. His particular chapter on Teenagers stood out as the best bit in the book. He also had a funny bit about going to Russia to secure a mail order bride. I cannot believe that I got the book for a penny (plus $2.49 shipping fees).
I kept my mind sane this morning by reading a few pages of Alan Watts. I have to alternate between philosophy and literature, and Watts is perfect fodder for my brain to consume during lazy three-day weekends. You cannot read to much of his material in one sitting due to the heaviness of the subject matter. Buddhism isn't something that should be taken lightly and only a few souls totally get it. That's why it's taken so long for me to finish The Book by Alan Watts. I started it a few weeks ago and already completed Klosterman's Killing Yourself to Live and Bukowski's Hollywood, not to mention Pollock's book. I expect to finish it before I go to Bonnaroo. I just wonder how many other books I'll finish in between then? I have an Arthur Nersessian book that I never finished. I started last year and got halfway through before I moved to Las Vegas. I began re-reading from page 1 and got past the first two chapters of Lubricated. Books are like women. I can juggle more than one at a given time.
I wrote for an hour and a half this morning listening to a Sonny Rollins bootleg from a gig he performed in NYC in 1957. That recording is almost 50 years old and it feels as though Rollins is playing his horn just a few steps away from me. If I could go back in time, it would be to see certain musicians jam and catch a few epic sporting events.
When I lived on the fringe of society in Seattle, my buddy Noonan and I used to get high on British Columbia's finest herbs and we'd pontificate about which year and city we'd like to go back and check out. San Francisco in the late 1960s was always a popular choice. I liked 1951 in NYC so I could experience and soak up all the melodies from various Jazz musicians playing on Swing Street. I'd also like to catch some of the art shows from the abstract expressionists like Willem De Kooning and Jackson Pollock. 1951 was also during the golden era of baseball and I'd love to see games at ballparks that are non-existent, like the Polo Grounds in what is now Harlem and Dodger Stadium in Brooklyn which is now a housing complex.
Last night, the Yankees lost to the lowly KC Royals. But in the process, Derek Jeter collected his 2,000th hit. That puts him in an elite group of only seven other Yankees. He has a chance to be the first Yankee to collect 3,000 hits in pinstripes. And he's going to do it. The Yankees suck this year and are seriously hurt. And just a few teams have more wins than them. Let's hope they can get their shit together before the July 4th.
I have to finish up the May issue of Truckin' later today. I have a few more hours of work to go. There will be six stories this issue, including my Waffle House story. I'm already working on the June issue as well. This Memorial Day weekend is dedicated to catching up on sleep, writing, reading, and listening to music. Starting on Tuesday, I have less than two weeks to get all my shit together before I start partying like a rock star for a month straight. I will be pouding out a slew of articles starting in a few days.
By the way, the Fat Guy and I both have an addiction to Dibs. I can eat an entire box inside of three minutes.
And thanks to Sean for dedicating this post to me and AlCantHang!
Recent Writing Music...
1. Sonny Rollins
2. Peter Tosh
4. Widespread Panic
5. Little Feat