was stuck in the boonies
, as I was. Nothing to do. He pulled out a small plastic bag of homegrown cannabis
, saying how he had to smoke about five bags to get high last night. I congratulated him on the fact that he'd spent his boonie-time doing something productive, growing the plants. I looked at the weed a little, but we never got around to smoking it.
I was trying to explain to someone the trajectory of Wayne Shorter
's life, from the late 60s
to now, his handicapped son (Iska?), his divorce and remarriage, his chanting
, and how all that had an effect on his music over the years. My explanation was going nowhere.
I was trying to ask the real estate
agent to describe the apartment again; it sounded like it was a studio apartment
, twelve feet by four feet. I tried to imagine these dimensions and decide if that would be enough living space.
I could hear Coleman Hawkins
playing, and people discussing him. A documentary
? I sat back and enjoyed...
...as it turned out, IRL it was the clock radio, tuned to WKCR and its all-day Hawkins programming (it's Bean's birthday), and rather than hop out of bed to get ready for work, I overslept by a half-hour. But I guess that should go in my day log :)