This morning I passed an opera singer as I walked my dogs through the park. Full tones of musical expressioin floated through the trees. And I noticed how much that is missing in america. People don't sing sor pleasure here. They sing on stage, and, every now and then, quietly to themselves, but it is so rare to hear people just being musical to be musical. And, I think that is very sad. I imagine that even in the days of american slaves working the cotton fields they must have found some small joy in singing as they worked.
As the afternoon moved on I started reading "The Tipping Point" by Gladwell, a book about how ideas can become infectious. And, I wondered, "If I could make an idea infectious, what would it be?" But I had no answer. If I were took expend the energy to make something really happen I would want it to be something really worthwile, something really good. But, I can't think of anything right now that I would enjoy devoting that much of myself to. And, that too is sad, because I used to be filled with so many worthwile dreams and desires.
This evening I did a very odd thing. I turned on the TV for no apparent reason. As I flipped through channels I passed one of, if not the, largest New Hampshire channel, and heard a name I haven't heard in about twelve years, Eric Shiner. He was the drummer in an old band I was in. I thought, "Did she really say that? A report by Eric Shiner? Is it him?" I could totally see him going into newscasting. So, I waited through the ad and through a report on NH politics, until I heard his voice and knew instantly it was him. Memories of a basement plastered with Monkeys posters and stuff that was only technocally music emanating from one of the crappiest garage bands under the sun.
I wonder if I'll ever see him again. That was a lifetime ago...