Bouvre

Once there was a man who was tired of breathing. It’s just such a drag, he said. So he decided to stop, but found that he couldn’t—the air just kept going in and out. Hmm, said the man. He went to see a doctor. How do I stop breathing? he said. You don’t, said the doctor, looking at him strangely. If you stopped breathing, you’d be dead. Dead? said the man. He went home and thought. He sat in the kitchen for a while. Well, he said, I guess I’ll have to be dead. And he went and took the necessary steps. When he woke up in heaven, the man looked around. How’d I get here? he said. He looked down and saw that his lungs were still pumping. This is exactly what I didn’t want! he said. At that very moment, an angel came by. Excuse me—who’s in charge here? the man said. God, said the angel, and pointed to a hill. He lives right up there, the angel said. Oh? said the man. And what’s this God like? The angel frowned. He scratched his halo a bit. Well, he said, he is definitely benevolent, but some might say he’s a little strict. Strict, said the man. He walked up the hill. He knocked on the door of God’s house. Coming, said a voice. The door opened—it was God. Yeah, what’s the problem? God said. The problem, said the man, is that I’m still breathing! You don’t like breathing? God said. And he reached out and grabbed the man in his hand, and squeezed him. Is that better? he said. No! said the man—or at least tried to say. The problem was, he couldn’t say a word. He couldn’t do anything—he couldn’t even breathe—God’s hand was so incredibly strong. Uh-oh, thought the man, inside of his head, as everything started to go black. And the consciousness of the man faded away to a point, and then the point flickered, and went out. And God looked down at the man’s body in his hand. Ugh, he said, and tossed it away. Then he wiped his hands on the front of his pants and went back to watching TV. And meanwhile, outside, the man’s body fell—down it fell, lifelessly, through the clouds. And the wind whipped on past him—great gusts of wind. Then the wind went into his mouth. Oh! said the man, as he came alive again. And suddenly, it felt great to breathe! Wow! said the man. It’s so great to be alive! Then he saw the ground rising up beneath. Oh! said the man. Oh God, no no no! He squirmed and tried to grab hold of something. But of course, there was nothing—he was plummeting through the air. And eventually, he started to laugh. Well, said the man. I guess that is that. He watched as the world came rushing up. And he thought of his life—now coming to an end. Well, this is unfortunate, he thought. Because suddenly the man’s mind was crammed full of things—all the things that he had never done. He’d never climbed a mountain, never been to the Bronx. He’d never even learned how to sing. Well, thought the man, I guess mountains are out. And the Bronx—can’t get there from here. And so, somewhat shyly, the man cleared his throat. And then he started to sing. He sang a little song he made up on the spot, just some lines about things he remembered. The people and places he’d known, dreams he’d had, different stories that people had told him. He sang about thoughts he’d had while driving in his car, about his best games down at the bowling alley. He sang about the girl he’d asked out in high school, and also about the guy she’d married. He sang about his cat who’d got run over by a car; he sang about the shows on TV. He sang about ice cream and tapioca pudding; he sang about a hundred million things. The man sang arias and carols and hymns. He sang ballads and lullabies and rounds. The man sang pop songs, then country and blues. He found jazz and began to improvise. The man sang and sang and sang as he fell. And up in heaven, God watched it on TV. And after a while, God picked up the phone. He dialed a number and then let it ring. Yeah, God said, when someone finally answered. You watching this? Channel 40,000,012? I wanna renew this guy for another season. Of course I’m sure, he said, and hung up. And immediately, down below, the man’s descent slowed—he was at that point about to slam into the ground—and instead of barreling into it at top speed and dying, he landed daintily with both feet on the ground. Oh! said the man. He stood there wobbling a bit. Then his knees buckled and he sat down. He was sitting in a field. He put a hand to his chest. He was breathing quite rapidly in and out. It’s okay, said the man, and gave a little laugh. That was an adventure, he said. And when he finally caught his breath, he stood and walked on home. And he started singing again as he did. - Ben Loory

My bras are usually within six feet of my foam tits, so if you don't see foam tits, it ain't mine.

המשפחה היהודית שלי אומרת תודה

And, just for the swell of it, here's the version of In Spite of Ourselves I recorded little more than a week ago.

John Prine is one of my biggest loves in music, both as a listener and player. His blend of humor and compassion is unparalleled. So y'all, please get your vodka and ginger ales ready, and perhaps some nine-mile-long cigarettes for the longer roads ahead.

Can't believe I forgot about Riptide!

Ode to Joy isn't a bad idea since she's also just beginning to understand major scale structure. and I'd love to see the pins some time!

Washington because it's part waterlogged and part wine-drunk.

So far, I gave her the rundown on three-chord progressions, and strumming patterns. To keep her entertained and challenged though, I have her learning some songs. We just touched on Ingrid Michaelson's "You And I" and Beirut's "East Harlem." Any recommendations for songs that would be good/simple for a beginner ukulele player? In addition, is there anything new in y'all's domestic routine that's helping keep you sane?

I walk through a park to get to a local grocery store. It's usually desolate in the morning, and full of dog owners up until early evening.

I've been updating a YouTube account for songs sang and recorded during isolation Here's the newest of three today:

It's a temporary close (as far as we can tell), but it was still heartbreaking to work the last open day, especially since everybody who works there is friendly and caring. I miss inviting them to have drinks after our shifts.

Unfortunately essential doesn't mean profitable We were open for takeout for a hot second then the owners decided to close

Lost one job as a bartender (for now), but they have me working some shifts in the kitchen. My other job, also food service, is temporarily closed.

Social distancing, nerd!

Of course! ❤️

VID_20200317_172948_2.mp4 Got an update from the governor I might be out of both jobs, so here's a video short enough to fit here VID_20200317_172948_2.mp4

So I've mostly been busying myself with playing music for friends/folx in isolation. Usually I make it a video, but Vocaroo is easier since my phone is in use. Here's a quick rendition of "Waiting For Kirsten," by Jens Lekman, while I am on hold with the bank for crisis-related debt assistance (currently the wait time has been about an hour and twenty-three minutes). You can even hear the automated voice every fifteen seconds or so. https://voca.ro/928GZVxvgyc

I unabashedly love Teenage Dirtbag.

Duck Hunt

That's brutal! Please feel better soon

Thank y'all for your birthday wishes! The last few nights have been lovely.

Because that portrait is almost as old as I am

That short story was a very visceral experience. Haven't read the rest, but I read that part and was told the quality in that regard never lets up, which is impressive.