I Turned the Heater On

Today I found a grey hair on my head. Or maybe it was white? My Grandma and aunts and uncles have white hair. That’s what I’d like, though my dad is grey, though he can grow a mustache and I cannot, so maybe I’ll get the hair I want.  

I’ve been listening to New Order here and there, which is skinny music. Then I drink a stout, which is fat beer.

But both New Order and stout are important for a meaningful winter walking in the sun or being by the window feeling satisfied with your choice of having a beer that is actually almost a solid and listening to a band that is more melodic than Joy Division but not less deep. The song “Ceremony” is important to me in title and feel, and it reminds me of the end of The Third Man, which every dopey melodramaticist enjoys.

Yesterday Brianna and I were bumping around and saw Brendan. He and I have the same black jean jacket and we all talked about rock music and cats and screenprinting. I don’t think he has washed his jean jacket once and it is an excellent color. It has a patina.

I should never wash my jean jackets or hoodies; just let them collect color and leave them in the freezer for a week like the man in Pittsburgh said in a song:

            Put your jeans in the freezer / they’ll feel good

            Put your jeans in the freezer/ smell like they should

Matt Whispers, I saw him last week and he recommended I read Borges’ short book, A History of Iniquities, which he has out from the library. I use my money to get stout and books. One day I’ll give up stout, but books, nope. I don’t think so.   

Sometimes I ride my bike and my bone fingers hurt from the rattle. But that’s all right because I need something to complain about.

Here and there I worry about things – the plumbing in my apartment, when I will teach sentence variation lessons, and how to assess it. That’s in my DNA, I know it’s normal. Deeper, I get concern that unfair things happen to people I love, or that I do not speak to my friends often enough because I’m too busy pacing or grading or almost grading and zineing or blogging instead, but I think that is probably adulthood.

Generally I am in favor of staying at some place until 3am with my friends and to have it be in the winter when it’s snowing and we all have to be driven home.   

My Dad called and asked if I wanted one of my Grandpa’s flat Irish caps. He says he found a box in his dad’s closet. They are either Scottish or Italian or English nobleman by origin, but if I were a revisionist, I’d say they were formed in Ireland.

I do want one my Grandpa’s hats, but I will never wear it outside of the house. Seems like the kind of hat you wear if you lift things for a living. And I sure don’t. But I will wear it around my apartment when nobody is near, and take on my Grandpa’s powers of being organized and driven, and being nervous, and saying houryoudoin and merciless handshakes.