Thursday, June 21, 2018


Walking west through the cathedral-like tunnel under the 7 train, cars streaming by on either side, looking like rivers of fire in the sun. But it's delightfully cool here in the shade, a light breeze carrying the intoxicating smell of Bounce fabric softener, floral & chemical. I am listening in my airwalks and grooving to the Sun Records singles compilation, the single best singles compilation ever made, probably, (it's all about the perfect inspired mistake, the feel, the voodoo. I've been slowly reading Peter Guaralneck's bio on Sam Phillips, a lightning rod for the gospel of rocking roll, and it's enlightening.) I just got a haircut at Juan's on 41st and Queens. The barber barely paid attention to the cut as we all watched France vs. Peru in the World Cup. We talked about the standings, the upsets, and how you can see the personality of the countries reflected in the teams, à la cinderella stories Senegal and Japan, and we talked about how hard it is, in turn, to root for Russia, (who is kicking ass.) The Mexican announcer on this channel, channel 47 locally, Telemundo, is 10 times better than US announcers. No contest really. He is a like a jazz singer compared to our monotone snorers, especially when the game gets exciting. He is like the front man of a killer band, and backed up by hundreds of people in the crowd blowing vuvuzela horns and making, together, a singular mutating whiny sound, a weird music that seems to have evolved out of the Futbol culture itself. Between the entrancing sounds, the chanting of the crowd and the feel of the haircut I slip into a state of Samadhi. Afterward I woke up I told Junior to shave quotation marks on each side of my head. It took a second for him to decide if I was joking. I also told him he took a little too much off the top. And speaking of, I'm grateful just now to the 7 tunnel for protecting my bald spot from the sun as I just danced all the way east to LaGuardia college on 30th and Queens to sign the girls up for swim lessons. Holding it down.

Tuesday, June 19, 2018


This circle in the midst of 4 directional trees. In doughboy part, sacred geometry. And looking up from the center the trees all overlap but leave a heart of space. Sun in the center. In doughboy part, sacred geometry. And looking up from the center, the trees all overlap but leave a heart of space.

Perfect dance floor on a blessèd day.

Also I think I found my old bike. Couldn't find owner to try to buy it back.

Listening to Caspar Banypants brilliant kids' album Rise and Shine.


Talking Heads into Rolling Stones jam at Astoria Studio. We called it the Head Stones. But maybe better The Talking Stones. Anyway I danced pretty hard there for a minute, and sober too, somehow. 

Thursday, May 17, 2018


Took my students to see black panther on Monday. Then we talked about it for an hour on Wednesday. And we started the semester by reading a review in Rolling Stone of the soundtrack. Such a great moment for black lives matter, following on the heels of the Obama presidency.

I danced hard this morning with the Queen of Wakanda.

Oprah, was that you?


I forget, but it happened. 

Probably to Kendrick or Gambino. 

Still counts. But not as much.

Sunday, April 29, 2018


Ran this morning through Calvary Cemetery, which I learned this weekend is the largest cemetery in the world. New green. Walking by a Robin, saying hello, thinking of the Robin in that great book "The Secret Garden", remembering that the girls call this cemetery the secret garden (because we once ate from secret tomato plants growing by the back wall) thinking about how rich that connection is. 

Then watching a red-tailed hawk in an open field pick apart a squirrel for lunch. Wild wild life, right here in Queens. The soundtrack was the transcendent, effervescent, brilliant new album by Meshell Ndegeocello, "Ventriloquism." Gets better with every listen. 

Also, of note, there was a weird moment where I was almost hit by a bicyclist who wasn't paying attention. I could have sworn it was Shia LaBeouf, though it doesn't make that much sense that he would be biking through Queens, so I doubt my eyes. But he gave me the same half-crazed with joy look LaBeouf has, a twinkle in his eye, even as he almost knocked me over, so maybe it was? The even stranger part is I was reading about his crazy performance art/ real life antics this morning in some social media post. So it can't have been real, right?


Amazing experience watching the weird Flintstone movie with the girls. The credits are a 15 minute long mash-up of different styles, and we have had incredible dance, flying around the room, getting wild, banging heads and being so caught up in the moment that we just kept on going through the pain. Flintstones, heads hard as rubble. Yabba dabba doo, we'll have a gay old time. 

Featuring B52s, liz Taylor as Fred's mean mother in law and Halle Berry as Eartha Kitt as the good bad secretary of Fred's boss.