It was one of those mornings where you wake up feeling hung over, but you didn’t drink anything the night before… is it spiritual malaise, or did I catch a cold from the better half? She is sleepless and allergic and shifting into contageous, no doubt. She is in T.V. and always telling me how messed up BET is (constantly playing the race card looking for guilt advertising and stereotyping their own audiences as people who spend beyond their means… you know the ghetto Cadillac syndrome…. Swing Low Sweet Cadillac). That brings us, however, to BET Jazz which is a really great niche network and the only place (other than Ovation) where you can see some great old Jazz concerts (and lesser new ones). So anyway this morning was Dizzy with his United Nations Band. The nice thing was that Dizzy more or less let Arturo Sandoval and James Moody upstage him. He did it with great class… like everything Dizzy did… may he rest in jazz pieces. Swing Low Sweet Cadillac, in deed ribbit, ribbit.
That Madonna is the very same one at whose feet I left several magic tsochkes on coming home from Basquiat’s bash in D.C. and being locked out of my house by the worser half, finding Bill’s house around the corner to be 567 (birthdate) and feeling like the ghosts were watching over me, or I would be dead already. She is powerfully beautiful, don’t you think?
It may not be a Cadillac, but this old Edsel gets you in mind of all the loser saints of Brooklyn:
In the words of Carl Sandburg: “Lord, let me remember all great losers.” And right across the street is Bishop Ford High School… irony abounds in Windsor Terrace.
So maybe that is what it looks like when you die, or if it is possible that John Paul George Ringo II is a saint, than maybe there are no saints, just Heroes and Sandwich Villains, but I was out of the wire tunnel and into the park and the dog beach where the other day I’d taken Bailey Zuzu swimming and her Kong had sunk like the S.S. Danehower (or Belafonte?) and there in the crystal clear I could see it’s yellow plastic line floating like kelp and the dog dived in and I, inspired by early acoustic Dylan (she’s got everything she needs, she’s an artist, she don’t look back) I waded out into the river and objects seen under water, unlike those in rearview mirrors, are deeper than they appear, but in for a penny, in for a yard and so chest high with the dog swimming around me like a Loch Ness Retriever, I grapped the golden chord and up came the skyblue rubber Kong …. another $15 plucked from the briney depths and I who have swum with dogs have keys with an L.E.D. flash light on them and the water made a short and the keys glowed green all day, like Gatsby’s Light. A good omen I hope…. Authurian…. or Spamalotian! My dog is the lady in the lake? Just my luck, no sword, but a rubber dog toy…. with this he wants to conquer the world?
MP called late the other night to wake me from my sleep and tell me that there were too many neon nail signs in one post. HA. Untill I see a duplicate, you will see all the lovely variations: a sisyphusian task if ever there was one
