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Post 1918, Day 233 of 2017
- 2,425 days since I started this blog -
- 2,425 days since I started this blog -
A weekend I had been looking forward to turned to shit, as I got hit with bad news over and over again.
On Friday, I wrote in the Daily Comment that an acquaintance had hit me up for some money, which I was glad to give her - even without hearing her tale of woe, which was unsettling. I did not mention the sudden gig cancellation. Weekend off to a bad start, though.
Saturday, I'd been looking forward, for months, to a reunion of friends I had made during my brief time at City College of NY (CCNY). We started getting together annually about fifteen years ago, and I have never missed one. The three-and-a-half hour drive down was pleasant, but the venue this year - a pool - was less so (the regular spot was closed for a private function). There was a large group function happening (Fire Department Clam Bake), which included karaoke, which was just horrible and intrusive on our little gathering.
Which was littler than usual, as with only one exception, the people I most look forward to seeing had had to cancel their plans to attend during the week. So a group that had dwindled from two-to-three-dozen down to about a dozen over the years was only a half-dozen this Saturday.
About an hour-and-a-half in, two of them got into a loud argument (politics). This gave me an excuse to look at my phone. I had a text message from the band leader of Modern Mudd: "Art just died.".
Art Chamberlain was the first Native American I ever befriended. I met him about seven years ago at Mac's Bad Art Bar, where he was a regular in the audience of the Thursday night open mic I regularly played at. After playing one night, he commented on my set, we got to talking. He was funny and terse. I liked him. We became more friendly as we found ourselves at many of the same events. It was more than six months after that that I found out he played drums.
Later, he formed a band, and, while I was unwilling to join up, I did help them rehearse while they looked for a regular bass player. That band was Modern Mudd. Over the years, I subbed a few times with them. Art's brother Charlie became their lead guitarist. I was surprised I hadn't met him before, because once I had, I almost never saw one without seeing the other. Since May, I have been gigging with them (and rehearsing with them) regularly.
Art had heart problems, but we thought they were in the past. I last saw him when he and Charlie came to see my other band, Scuba Gear, last Thursday. RIP, buddy.
The news shook me. I thought about Art for a few minutes. Then I packed up and left. I just wanted to be alone. I called Charlie, said the usual, sincerely, and started my long drive home.
Driving for about an hour, without any warning or change and with no catalyzing event that I could discern, the engine check light on my car came on. I was near Monticello, NY, and although it was five-fifteen on a Saturday, I pretty quickly came on an open garage. The helpful mechanic there didn't have an interface to read the Kia's computer, but he did some quick checks on the engine, and declared he was "90% sure" it was an emissions problem, and that I could continue my drive home safely. I threw him a twenty and the drive, and the rest of Saturday night, went smoothly.
I was making a service appointment with my Kia dealer early Sunday (it will be Tuesday morning), when I got a call from my Sister-in-law Dennie saying my brother Andy had been hospitalized after his defibrillator went off three times in two days. He'd had a heart attack, and they needed to unclog some arteries and put in a stent or two to keep them open. I spoke to him. He seemed fine and in good spirits, and was mostly worried about Dennie. I reassured him.
I get a little crazy when anything happens to my brother or sister. It is not rational, and it comes reflexively, seemingly outside my control. In this case, I felt it happening, but channelled it into some more reflection, and didn't, maybe for the first time in these circumstances, over-react.
I couldn't wait until the open mic at Rooters started. I wanted to play, to lose my grief in music. I'd already done my letting go exercise - a few times - and now wanted to lose myself in music. I got to play a few long sets, and it worked.
Today nothing much happened with me. My brother's surgery went well, and he'll probably get to go home tomorrow or Wednesday. Art's service has been scheduled for Thursday. On the way to a Scuba Gear rehearsal, my car's engine check light turned off. I will be canceling my appointment. It's a bad sensor.
Bad news weekend, but the law of impermanence applies to those, too. I'm still here. Still grateful.
On Friday, I wrote in the Daily Comment that an acquaintance had hit me up for some money, which I was glad to give her - even without hearing her tale of woe, which was unsettling. I did not mention the sudden gig cancellation. Weekend off to a bad start, though.
Saturday, I'd been looking forward, for months, to a reunion of friends I had made during my brief time at City College of NY (CCNY). We started getting together annually about fifteen years ago, and I have never missed one. The three-and-a-half hour drive down was pleasant, but the venue this year - a pool - was less so (the regular spot was closed for a private function). There was a large group function happening (Fire Department Clam Bake), which included karaoke, which was just horrible and intrusive on our little gathering.
Which was littler than usual, as with only one exception, the people I most look forward to seeing had had to cancel their plans to attend during the week. So a group that had dwindled from two-to-three-dozen down to about a dozen over the years was only a half-dozen this Saturday.
About an hour-and-a-half in, two of them got into a loud argument (politics). This gave me an excuse to look at my phone. I had a text message from the band leader of Modern Mudd: "Art just died.".
Art Chamberlain was the first Native American I ever befriended. I met him about seven years ago at Mac's Bad Art Bar, where he was a regular in the audience of the Thursday night open mic I regularly played at. After playing one night, he commented on my set, we got to talking. He was funny and terse. I liked him. We became more friendly as we found ourselves at many of the same events. It was more than six months after that that I found out he played drums.
Later, he formed a band, and, while I was unwilling to join up, I did help them rehearse while they looked for a regular bass player. That band was Modern Mudd. Over the years, I subbed a few times with them. Art's brother Charlie became their lead guitarist. I was surprised I hadn't met him before, because once I had, I almost never saw one without seeing the other. Since May, I have been gigging with them (and rehearsing with them) regularly.
Art had heart problems, but we thought they were in the past. I last saw him when he and Charlie came to see my other band, Scuba Gear, last Thursday. RIP, buddy.
The news shook me. I thought about Art for a few minutes. Then I packed up and left. I just wanted to be alone. I called Charlie, said the usual, sincerely, and started my long drive home.
Driving for about an hour, without any warning or change and with no catalyzing event that I could discern, the engine check light on my car came on. I was near Monticello, NY, and although it was five-fifteen on a Saturday, I pretty quickly came on an open garage. The helpful mechanic there didn't have an interface to read the Kia's computer, but he did some quick checks on the engine, and declared he was "90% sure" it was an emissions problem, and that I could continue my drive home safely. I threw him a twenty and the drive, and the rest of Saturday night, went smoothly.
I was making a service appointment with my Kia dealer early Sunday (it will be Tuesday morning), when I got a call from my Sister-in-law Dennie saying my brother Andy had been hospitalized after his defibrillator went off three times in two days. He'd had a heart attack, and they needed to unclog some arteries and put in a stent or two to keep them open. I spoke to him. He seemed fine and in good spirits, and was mostly worried about Dennie. I reassured him.
I get a little crazy when anything happens to my brother or sister. It is not rational, and it comes reflexively, seemingly outside my control. In this case, I felt it happening, but channelled it into some more reflection, and didn't, maybe for the first time in these circumstances, over-react.
I couldn't wait until the open mic at Rooters started. I wanted to play, to lose my grief in music. I'd already done my letting go exercise - a few times - and now wanted to lose myself in music. I got to play a few long sets, and it worked.
Today nothing much happened with me. My brother's surgery went well, and he'll probably get to go home tomorrow or Wednesday. Art's service has been scheduled for Thursday. On the way to a Scuba Gear rehearsal, my car's engine check light turned off. I will be canceling my appointment. It's a bad sensor.
Bad news weekend, but the law of impermanence applies to those, too. I'm still here. Still grateful.
Food and Diet
Today's Weight: 202.6 lbs.
Today's Weight: 202.6 lbs.
Previous Weight (8/18/17): 200.7 lbs.
Net Loss/Gain: + 1.9 lbs.
Diet Comment
Given the stress-eating I ended up doing this weekend (and the toasts I made Saturday and Sunday night), I consider, once again, that I have gotten away with something, with less than a two-pound gain, which I know will come off speedily.
Food Log
Breakfast
5:05pm:
Lunch
7:25pm: A Quest bar.
Dinner
11:45pm: Sriracha chicken breast, Dubliner cheese, a Quest bar.
Liquid Intake
5:05pm:
 |
| Kale, spinach and cheese omelet (with onions and peppers, chia and hemp seeds) and 2 pieces (not 4) of bacon. |
7:25pm: A Quest bar.
Dinner
11:45pm: Sriracha chicken breast, Dubliner cheese, a Quest bar.
Liquid Intake
Espressos: 0; Coffee: 22 oz.; Tea: 0 oz.; Water: 88+ oz.;
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