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Utopian Turtletop. Monsieur Croche's Bête Noire. Contact: turtletop [at] hotmail [dot] com
Thursday, July 12, 2007
If you dislike blogposts about blogangst, forgive me, I can't help myself.
Tuesday night we got back from 10 days of vacation, mostly away from internet access. And in the days before leaving, I was so busy that I didn't have time to blog -- that hadn't happened before. Work was inordinately busy, and friends from out of town came to stay, and between the two events I had three nights in the week before leaving with 4 hours or less of sleep, which made blogging infeasible for me. Meanwhile all sorts of things were happening that I wanted to tell you all about, dear public diary, and now the many moments have passed and with them the urgency to tell of them. For instance, that afternoon I took off five and a half weeks ago -- it was my birthday -- and my beloved spouse and our son and I took a ferry to the peninsula just for the heck of it, walking up and down a beach, running around the ferry -- a lovely afternoon and evening, but the moment is so far gone that I remember nothing of the detail, only a general impression of happiness and our son's particular delight in running around the ferry.
Much to tell of vacation, and of my friends' visit, and of much else, which I may or may not get to. For instance, today -- Wednesday -- yesterday actually now -- I got home from work after 8:30, a 10 and a half hour day, and ate dinner, and gave the kid a bath, and put him to bed, and went grocery shopping, and cleaned the kitchen (my beloved spouse cooked and attended to other tasks the whole time) and it's only now that I have time to sit down. And that's fine, but it means much has to wait.
I didn't miss blogging, and I certainly didn't miss the endless bad news of the world while on vacation, and it struck me that since I didn't miss it maybe it was time to pack it in. The idea of posting some opinion or other about some aesthetic matter or other fairly well repulsed me earlier today -- I'm still not sure about it now -- and besides I have a gig in several weeks which I should begin preparing for now, plus unfinished songs, and various recording ideas. And maybe blogging should take a back seat.
But when I checked back into the internet Wednesday, I saw that something that hooked me back into Blogville. A friendly correspondent, a writer of whom I was a fan for many years before I started blogging, Kyle Gann, responded to an email I had sent him some weeks ago by changing his conception of a piano concerto he was commissioned to write by a group in Amsterdam.
I had been eager to hear the piece anyway . . . now if Kyle could swing me a ticket to Amsterdam for the premiere . . .
The idea of which is a startling and nice back-from-vacation-welcome-hello.
* * *
Vacation was mostly glorious. Breathed deep the smell and dirt and heat of summer -- summer in the lungs, summer in my hair, summer in my shoes. Went swimming every day.
* * *
Probably very light posting for the next week at least. Good summer to you.
Tuesday night we got back from 10 days of vacation, mostly away from internet access. And in the days before leaving, I was so busy that I didn't have time to blog -- that hadn't happened before. Work was inordinately busy, and friends from out of town came to stay, and between the two events I had three nights in the week before leaving with 4 hours or less of sleep, which made blogging infeasible for me. Meanwhile all sorts of things were happening that I wanted to tell you all about, dear public diary, and now the many moments have passed and with them the urgency to tell of them. For instance, that afternoon I took off five and a half weeks ago -- it was my birthday -- and my beloved spouse and our son and I took a ferry to the peninsula just for the heck of it, walking up and down a beach, running around the ferry -- a lovely afternoon and evening, but the moment is so far gone that I remember nothing of the detail, only a general impression of happiness and our son's particular delight in running around the ferry.
Much to tell of vacation, and of my friends' visit, and of much else, which I may or may not get to. For instance, today -- Wednesday -- yesterday actually now -- I got home from work after 8:30, a 10 and a half hour day, and ate dinner, and gave the kid a bath, and put him to bed, and went grocery shopping, and cleaned the kitchen (my beloved spouse cooked and attended to other tasks the whole time) and it's only now that I have time to sit down. And that's fine, but it means much has to wait.
I didn't miss blogging, and I certainly didn't miss the endless bad news of the world while on vacation, and it struck me that since I didn't miss it maybe it was time to pack it in. The idea of posting some opinion or other about some aesthetic matter or other fairly well repulsed me earlier today -- I'm still not sure about it now -- and besides I have a gig in several weeks which I should begin preparing for now, plus unfinished songs, and various recording ideas. And maybe blogging should take a back seat.
But when I checked back into the internet Wednesday, I saw that something that hooked me back into Blogville. A friendly correspondent, a writer of whom I was a fan for many years before I started blogging, Kyle Gann, responded to an email I had sent him some weeks ago by changing his conception of a piano concerto he was commissioned to write by a group in Amsterdam.
I had been eager to hear the piece anyway . . . now if Kyle could swing me a ticket to Amsterdam for the premiere . . .
The idea of which is a startling and nice back-from-vacation-welcome-hello.
* * *
Vacation was mostly glorious. Breathed deep the smell and dirt and heat of summer -- summer in the lungs, summer in my hair, summer in my shoes. Went swimming every day.
* * *
Probably very light posting for the next week at least. Good summer to you.
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