the rix mix

I'm depressed today, no denying it. Even my depressed nap featured a depressing dream based on events of many years ago for which I've never had good closure. But there was a wild-looking piano in the dream I wish I'd had the lucidity to play. Then it would've been a good dream. From a novel I'm reading by William Lashner, a guy meets an old lover: "Even the lines around her eyes when she smiled caused me pain. It was as if she spent all the years after me laughing."

The family next door played their Christian music this morning while I was still in bed. It wasn't such a terrible CD, popular protestant songs done by an Amy Grant type to a basic countrified accompaniment, some tasteful pedal steel in it. But the bass was boosted. It gave me a slight headache. Then they turned the music down for awhile, the guy yelled at his kids, & after noon they went off to their church service. It's a jacket & tie kind of church. They've been a lot better about the bass & volume the past few months, since I complained. I counted on them being church folk whether or not they they thought I had cause. Fact is, I'm a quiet neighbor.

So I listened to Jones & X-Ray conversing on WFMU for awhile. X-Ray dwelled so long & so graphically on recalling the death of Sammy Davis Jr. that Glen had to change the subject before the whole show bummed out. Jones, a Rat Pack devotee, prefers to imagine them still alive, singin' & swingin' in fantastic Vegas circa 1960. As do I.