September 2nd, 2002

abstract butterfly

the sound of the mower, the sound of the monotony

Although it is not yet 9 a.m. here, some of my neighbors are mowing their yards. I've been up since 5, as is usual for me, so I don't mind the noise. I've gotten a little work done already today. I'm trying to decide if I can do the rest from home, or if I need to go into my office. I'll probably make a brief stop at the office.

Yesterday I listened to an ambient CD which akhliber mailed to me. He apparently did it on a home studio, just playing around. It's a lot of fun, quiet, unpretentious stuff. He also sent on a "wedding CD" of songs he and his new bride jennamonster like. I'm pleased to receive both.

Yesterday's walk left me a bit sore, which tells me I need to get more exercise. I took our dogs for a brief walk last night; they flagged out pretty quickly, which tells me they need more exercise, too.

I've been spending a part of my morning reading the Reformation volume of the Durants' history of civilization. I dislike that nearly all the protestant reformationists and the Catholic conservative and restorationists were intolerant of other faiths and ideas. One really comes to appreciate how far we have come, when one reflects how little freedom of faith and expression people had in those days. Of course, last night, I saw one of the religious right cable networks doing a piece assailing all moslems as dangerous based on passages of the Koran, so I suppose that freedom of speech and tolerance aren't the same thing.
Although we have to accord those folks their speech rights, too, I'm glad I can change the channel.

A cable channel is showing a marathon "original series" Star Trek today. I watched part of two of them. I like the way that the special effects are so primitive, and how the "inner workings" of the ship look like a Radio Shack heathkit 'build a shortwave crystal radio' project.

The day seems as though it is going to get really hot. I'm ready for autumn weather to appear. Where is my annual Labor Day thunderstorm? We've had such a good summer, weather-wise--now let's have some early Autumn.

My wife returns from her trip to Virginia today. I'm glad.
I hope she and I can take a weekend and go someplace fun as soon as cooler weather returns.
  • Current Music
    "visions of heaven" 3 dog night
abstract butterfly

Monday fatigue be-bop

I put in the requisite work hours today, though tomorrow and Wednesday will still be as busy as might be expected from the length of my things to do list. I got a lot of chores done this weekend, had a lot of fun, and got some exercise in. Still, I feel very disappointed with my weekend. I am not one of those "another wasted weekend" kind of people. But I promise myself that next Labor Day is going to be much more fun than this one proved to be.

I had some polite fellow ask me to review his upcoming book on amazon.com, and then e mail me a massive adobe file. I'm a big fan of actual paper, rather than reading on-screen, but I'll adapt to the cyber low fi technology. The last memoir I read was Jean Strouse's wonderful JP Morgan memoir, but I tend more often to review novels, chess books and theology. I wonder if this book is by a would be captain of industry, or a sometime emissary of God? Time will tell. JP Morgan, by the way, is an interesting life--debilitating depression sufferer, remarkable monopolist with business acumen, and educated man with a deep-seated love for art, mistresses and religion. I read biographies like that and wonder how people find the time.

Tonight I will finish my numerous mailings for tomorrow's mail.
I want to mail the whole world a thought, in the same way that, like the soda commercial, I'd like to teach the world to sing. But I'll settle for mailing out needful things and fun things in small quantities to folks on my mailing lists. I feel glad to get a few things done at last.

I should see my life as a matter of achieving goals in small steps. This weekend, mastering glue dots. Next weekend, mixing slapdash discordant music. Two weekends from now, writing bad poetry. By October, the world.