Good morning. Hello. How are you? #895
Aug visiting, home improvement financing stress, the lost art of corporate writing, Yellow Dog was once lost but now is found
Good morning! Hello! I did not oversleep today are you proud of me? Back in the saddle. Wooo! Let’s do this. Only two meetings today, too. And one of them is an interview. Those always stress me out, job interviews. I am not good at them. I mean, I’m good at having conversations, so that is what I do in job interviews, have a nice conversation. And the process of job interviews is solid at our little company, so others make up for my weaknesses. Generally I try to make sure the people are competent, kind, and we’ve answered any outstanding questions they may have.
I used to ask them if they could write, because no one can write anymore, because Republicans are killing off English departments, but everyone just says yes, they can write, and 90% of them are lying, so there’s no point asking them. I just stopped. And then for a brief while I sort of tried to test their writing by asking for samples or something, but that just generally went catastrophically. Most people couldn’t produce a sample, and in any case, most people I was hiring for a job that was not writing, so I just sucked it up and stopped expecting employees to write and do it all myself. Which, you may have noticed, is a thing I enjoy. This way is better. Occasionally I am pleasantly surprised that someone can write, rather than being constantly disappointed that I thought I just hired someone who can write only to learn that they cannot, in fact, write.
Also when I do all the writing it is useful to the company because there’s no disconnect between the writer and the “official company vision” that causes a bunch of confusion. Honestly, most corporate executives should probably write more.
Here is an amazing sculture Jane made out of Play-Doh, a bunch of plastic kitties, paint and a marker. Like a whole marker as part of the sculpture.
My old friend Aug is staying with us for the next few days as he does a mini east coast book tour, it is lovely to have him back. He is good with kids, Jane likes him. We talk about obscure bands and had a long talk about Martin Amis. Twenty years ago he loaned a copy of Yellow Dog to another friend of ours, and he had just texted her, hours early, semi-serious but semi-jokingly, asking if she still had his copy of Yellow Dog. Then he got to my house and settled into the guest bedroom only to find his copy of Yellow Dog on my shelf because the other friend had been completely responsible, read Yellow Dog in a few weeks and then gave it to me to give back to Aug. Only I wanted to read it too, so I didn’t give it back to him right away and then apparently I just forgot about it or decided to keep it or something. And so twenty years later, hours after inquiring about it, Aug was reunited with his copy of Yellow Dog, which has been on my bookshelves in Cambridge, Soho, Brooklyn and North Carolina since then.
Also Aug participated in Daddy Jane Dance Party, at Jane’s instruction. “You have to dance,” she said. Aug danced. You don’t see Aug dance a lot these days. It was satisfying. He also introduced me to the post-Rancid life of Rancid/Op Ivy lead singer Tim Armstrong, who has an incredibly successful solo and producing career, well outside of punk, that I knew nothing about? He has won two Grammys, for producing Pink and Jimmy Cliff? Weird word, weird world.
Aug and I also talked about our mutual relentless consumption of new music, which of course is a rarity in middle-aged men. Aug basically adds stuff to a playlist to check out until it hits like six-eight hours, and then he starts a new one. He now has like eight of these. I, on the other hand, just keep piling it all into a single “to investigate” playlist, which is currently at 909 songs and 64 hours (it is linked here if you want to check it out but I do not recommend tying yourself to that albatross wait is that a mixed metaphor don’t you tie yourself to masts or something).
Honestly this new music thing is getting exhausting. I mean, I listen to old music too, but on shuffle in the car. It is really rare that I listen to a complete old album, which is a thing I used to do all the time. I really want to re-listen to The Pink Opaque by the Cocteau Twins, which I used to consider a weak release but am suddenly convinced is probably a masterpiece. I really want to listen to In Utero in its entirety it’s been like ten years. That is sad.
Speaking of old music I had an epiphany and am now actively plotting to get to Silver Spring weekend after next for Love and Rockets so if you are in the hood and considering such a move, drop a line.
Oh and one more thing about music: My friend Jussi has a, um, complex, I guess you could say (sorry Jussi). Or had. Back in “the old days” her boyfriend Sean and I would really like some band — say, Simple Minds — and Jussi would say she didn’t like them because that was “parent music.” Because her parents, when she was growing up, had pretty good taste in music! But Jussi wanted to blaze her own trail. And I was thinking about this the other night when Jane was absorbing a live Spiritualized performance and how she might not like any of this music when she’s older, cuz it’s “parent music.” That’ll be sad and funny.
I wonder if Jussi likes Simple Minds these days.
In the middle of a barrage of estimates happening over at the new house. Three different HVAC companies and three different plumbers and two spray foam companies and a roofer and our own contracting firm pricing out the excavating and I am slowly coming to the very sad conclusion I won’t be able to magically get everything done immediately. This is an unpleasant feeling and not one that I’m used to, since prior to purchasing this house I had plenty of money and very inexpensive needs and now both of those have changed and every bid comes in like twice as much as I want it to and I am very sad. So I am trying to figure out which parts to do first and which parts to postpone and I just do not like it one bit nope no siree. It is especially frustrating because I priced out this awesome, hugely generating, new integrated solar roof and I want it so bad and I want it right now and the evil Republican power company is changing how they price net metering on solar in North Carolina and the deadline do get in under the old pricing regime is in the middle of next month and it’ll add like $30 to the bill a month and that sucks but also it is not enough to offset the absurd interest rate incurred by dipping into the HELOC to pay for it.
So I think I’m going to do the greenhouse first, and a few infrastructural things to the attic, pending not completely insane quotes from the three HVAC companies. Then I will spend a year or so doing all the incremental, tedious, manual labor that I can do myself in the attic – insulation, floating a subfloor, paneling, etc. This is going to take a long time. But I think that’ll be okay in the end. It’s good to have a to-do list longer than your life. Never get bored.
Okay, well, I think that’s about it. Before Aug arrived yesterday, we had a great walk in the hood. Super perfect weather, and lots of neighbors out on their walks. I love love love it so much when we run into many different neighbors on their walks. I feel like those society people in New York in the 1700’s promenading up and down Broadway in lower Manhattan or something. “Good day to you sir.” Sometimes I talk way too much to them and think I’m keeping them, sometimes I don’t have much to say, but I am always happy to run into them. It is so fun. Being neighborly. Good shit.
Justa mix for you today, about half old, half new. That new Lemon Twigs album is really good. I’d say don’t sleep on it but I know how hard it is to keep up on this stuff. Thank you to Vicky for alerting me to the Ekphrastics I quite enjoyed them. And actually, Chamber Strings and Clem Snide, too, though she alerted me to those bands twenty years ago. God. More. I was still working at Prophet then. Probably 1997. Jesus. And I can’t convey to you my endless love for Tombstones In Their Eyes. Drone goth with a 50’s pop bent? I mean what could be better.
Until tomorrow, fair friends.