Shopping. Some money came in today, and my life of poordom is officially over for awhile. Right now I'm drinking a bourbon and coke and listening to Big Joe Williams. So mint. It's my new ambition to have midnight backyard parties in the rurals where people play simple, acoustic blues on a stage with candles (in teacups) and people chillin out, or being rowdy. The rowdies never last long. Everyone's welcome. As long as you can play the blues, son. My other new CD is a Thelonious Monk. . . "criss-crossed" or something. I think Monk is my favourite piano player, of any time or place. Big Joe Williams is my new favourite blues musician. He played a nine-string guitar, three strings were piano wire. Apparantly he didn't like other people playing his guitar, so he made it impossible for anyone to play except him. If you shook his guitar, notes, money, garbage, bus tickets and other junk would fall out of it.
The new books I purchased are a Lorna Crozier book of poetry and a Thomas King novel. Can't remember the names right now. I need time for that sort of thing. I'm the person who'll just skip the introduction, skip the person's name, the book's name, and get right to the words. The rest can come later. If it's worth it. Unless there's an essay included with a CD. I love the mixture of music in the air and words about it on the page.
"Criss-Cross" is the name of the Monk album, which makes me think of another coupla of black dudes.
The night shall be filled with a flask filled with bourbon, and a shitty patio with shitty waitstaff. That's right, I'm going to the campus pub. I'll check in with the devil at midnight. Since I'm not religious, I'll be an independant third-party. Maybe I'll walk in on Saddam giving Beezlebub the ol' chocolate starfish. Right in the fucking mouth.