Fuss interrupted our morning viewing of
Pingu by taking an untelegraphed flying leap into my lap, splashing down in my coffee and sending it everywhere. It is a comment on the vagaries of parenting that going back to work after a few days off can be honestly described as a 'vacation'.
Two blocks from my door I passed a Great Blue Heron standing still in the grass by a bus stop, its eyes level with mine. Down the road just past the bridge a stork-like old man was shuffling up the hill in what looks like the same jogging shorts he'd worn in the 80's- red bunhuggers with white piping, showing a tremendous length of hairy thigh. He had on a red tank top and ball cap to match, trundling along undeterred by the weather, making all the motions of jogging while moving forward at a slow walking pace.
KCPR delivered on its mystique, soundtracking the first half of the commute with a lengthy improvisational free jazz jam, segueing into a metronomic techno-rave number around the city limits. I wasn't a big fan of either tune as such, but conceptually the grinding downshift from the collective human anarchy of free jazz to the programmatic minimalism of techno was an utter delight.
Bravo, unknown DJ!
And a programming note, Uncle Timmy's Stax soul tribute band is
playing at Sweet Springs tonight. If you're in the area, check it out.
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