My Yearly Cycle

From Advent through Easter, I’m incredibly busy with church gigs and Mendelssohn Club rehearsals and concerts. After Easter, I’m on full summer vacation, until Labor Day. 

My life is ruled by the Liturgical Cycle.

My only responsibilities during vacation are appearing for my church Sabbath gigs. I’ve been through the repertoire for these gigs many, many times. The hymns are all transcribed into my composition program (MuseScore) and posted into my 12.9” iPad. Occasionally, a congregation member will suggest a new and useful hymn, but that’s becoming a rarity. 

Summer vacation runs for 18 weeks. 

This summer, I plan to start building a commercial and performing outlet for my popular music originals and cover songs. How? Where?

I’m thinking of subscribing to Grok, Elon Musk’s and X’s AI chat bot, for advice on how to create and develop commercial and performing outlets. In other words, business advice on how to effectively reach an audience. I think that an audience for my music and performing exists. Not a huge audience, but one sufficient to fill venues ranging from 100 to 500 seats in major cities and college and resort towns.

Grok is 8 bucks a month. 7 if you pay for an entire year in advance. Grok does not yet, store user sessions in memory. ChatGPT just announced that it will. Seems likely to me that Grok will soon follow suit.

What would be my first question to ask Grok? To be continued…

Forgiving the Cubs

Holding a grudge is hard work. I’ve ignored the Chicago Cubs for 3 seasons, because they embraced the BLM madness. All of corporate America did. Look at this pic! Over George Floyd, a second story man and drug addict!

The anti-white hysteria of that era was bizarre. That’s fading away very slowly. NYC was torched and looted and cops were assaulted and murdered during two BLM attacks.

I grew up a Cubs’ fan, watching the games on black and white TV on WGN, with Jack Brickhouse announcing the games. Ernie Banks, Billy Williams and Ron Santo. The romance of the hundred year drought was the background of my childhood.

When my mom and dad were still alive, I traveled to Kankakee once a year to spend a few days with them and to attend a game at Wrigley. When the era of live-streaming arrived, I subscribed to MLB.tv so that I could watch all the Cubs’ games.

MLB’s capitulation to BLM outraged me. I cut off my subscription and ceased reading the daily Cubs’ stories in the Sun-Times and Tribune. Why should I support anti-white racist corporations? The BLM psy-ops was part of the sabotage and rigging of the 2020 presidential election. Why should I condone that crime?

Cubs appear to have a contending team this season. I’m slowly giving up my boycott and following the team. Staying angry demands too much energy. Reading the daily game story, studying the stats a bit, and watching a game here and there… well, it gets my mind off politics.

Better method of spending my time. Better getting into some friendly quarrels with fellow fans, rather than brutal, blood curdling political arguments. 

I haven’t re-subscribed to MLB.tv. Might wait until the last couple of months of the season to see if the Cubs remain a contender. On a yearly basis, a one team subscription costs about $25/month. If I wait until September, the price will probably go down.

When the Cubs play the Mets or Yankees, I get the NY cable feeds of the games, so I don’t have to pay for them. That’s 10 regular season games. The Cubs are a very popular team, so ESPN carries quite a few games on their cable channel. I can probably watch 20 games for free on cable.

MLB makes it difficult to cancel your subscription. I did that back during the BLM Reign of Terror. I need to limit my subscription costs. I’m an old retired Cub fan living on a sort of fixed budget.

Procedure Fatigue

Turned down a recommended dental procedure last week. Will probably only result in putting it off for six months. I’m suffering from procedure fatigue.

In my mid 70s, I’m constantly visiting half a dozen doctors and dentists. Medicare is pretty generous. My body is breaking down, slowly but noticeably. No big system failures yet, but that is obviously coming.

At least, I’m not going senile. Yesterday, my GP gave me a cognitive function test. I filled out a multi-page form, answering questions like: “Are you able to go to the toilet without assistance?” (Another omen of the inevitable future. When your plumbing goes, it’s just about over.)

The other half of the test was an oral memory quiz. Count backward from 20. Say the names of the months in reverse. That one was challenging. Try it.

Cataract surgery on both eyes over the past few months. Tremendous improvement in my vision. Still, I’m fed up with prepping myself for one procedure or another and worrying about the outcome. That’s now a constant feature of my life.

Why the cognitive function test? A few weeks ago, I became very angry with a relative who grossly insulted me to my face. My response was over the top furious. I really tore him a new asshole.

I worry about falling into dementia. My dad suffered through a terrible bout of Alzheimer’s for a decade. So, I’m always watching myself, wondering if I’m going to suffer a similar fate. 

I took the DNA test a few years ago, and came up negative for the Alzheimer’s gene, APOE-e4. There are, however, many other types of dementia. What’s the purpose of knowing? In my case, I live in the same house as my grandkids. I don’t want them to be subjected to having a senile, emotionally unstable and potentially violent old man in the garden apartment.

Still have a full schedule of doctor visits and tests ahead of me in the coming months. Three specialist visits. There is no escape. Well, there is one, and that’s inevitable.

X is for Vendetta

Twitter suspended my account for a couple of years, for breaking one of the “conspiracy theory” prohibitions. I don’t even remember which one. 

About 6 months ago, X (as Twitter is now know) removed the suspension on my account after I appealed. This might not have been a good thing.

The X platform is relentlessly vicious, offering very little except protracted political vendettas. X feels like a completely self-contained VR world, where nothing exists except for the political “framing” game and denunciations of opponents.

I use X primarily to read Scott Adams and Jonathan Turley. There are a half dozen accounts that I check out occasionally.

The ferocity of the vendettas, and the brutality of language favored by most of the posters on X don’t do much for my mood, or improve my day. Perhaps there is a way to filter out all the ranting, threatening and cursing, but I haven’t discovered it yet.

The God Botherers on X can’t stop proving that all Christians are child molesters who are trying to fleece them out of money. I really don’t want to read this crap, nor do I want to have angry arguments with the atheists.

Nothing besides political argument and ranting seems to draw attention on X. Wild hyperbole seems to be the only method of attracting followers. The dunning from the crazy exaggeration of everything is not good for my mental state.

I’ve scaled back my activity on X, and I try not to engage the crazies who want to have blood curdling arguments over politics. I’m not missing anything by absenting myself from this crap.

A Stolen Kiss

An 85 year old church lady in one of my congregations has quite a crush on me. In my first few weeks working for this church, she invited me out to breakfast and, effectively, propositioned me.

“You’re not too old to still have some fun,” she told me. “But, not with me. I’m too old.”

She sat there and waited for me to disagree, but I didn’t.

I shouldn’t have accepted the invitation to breakfast, but I hadn’t thought that 85 year old women might still be horny. Lesson learned. I weaseled my way out of the invitation without any damage, and I thought that was the end of it.

Eve (I’ll call her) has been texting me almost daily for a couple of years. At church, she demands a full body hug during the group meet and greet part of the service.

Last Sunday, Eve arrived early for services and, as usual, marched right up to the piano bench to greet me.

“Give me a hug,” she begged.

I haven’t considered this an unusual request, or one difficult to comply with, so I hugged her.

Eve started to try to kiss me, and much to my surprise landed a wet smooch right on my lips! I hadn’t expected that.

The taste and odor she left behind was unbearable. Dense makeup covering over an odor of intense bodily decay. I’m old, too, so I’m aware that the bodily disintegration of an old person is difficult to tolerate.

The residual taste and odor were so awful that I got up after I played for the opening hymn, and pretended to go to the bathroom to relieve myself. I washed my face and hands and rinsed out my mouth, and I was able to continue to play for the service.

Things have gotten out of hand. Churches are incredibly sensitive to allegations of sexual abuse or unwanted sexual advances by their employees. I cannot afford even the hint of romantic involvement with a church lady in one of my congregations. The churches are terrified of being bankrupted by lawsuits.

I’ll have to be on guard with Eve. That’s the last time she gets close enough to French kiss me. I can’t really complain to the church board or the pastor. That will only rebound against me.

The constant texting is something I probably can’t stop, but I can try to cool it off.

Dealing with the romantic aspirations of the church ladies is the most difficult part of my church musician job. The attention and compliments are appreciated, but if I don’t keep my distance I’ll be out of a job.

A Ketchup Tale

Last time I ate at Five Guys, something in the taste of the food irritated me. Sharp, chemical attack on my palate. Sickeningly sweet.

My guess was that this was a reaction to Heinz ketchup saturated with high fructose corn syrup as a sweetener. I’ve just about eliminated corn syrup sweetener from my diet.

My guess was probably correct. I bought a bottle of “Simply” Heinz ketchup, which is sweetened with cane sugar. Used it at home today. That sharp, chemical taste was not evident. The pic at the top lists the “Simple” ingredients. 

Yeah, I eat some cane sugar. Need it. My body was partially built on it, and I like the energy boost. I eat, most likely, 8 to 10 teaspoons of cane sugar every day… jam on my toast in the morning, and dark chocolate from Krause’s after lunch. 

Now, how do I take the “Simply” ketchup with me to Five Guys?

Fortunately, Amazon has everything, including the tiny 25mL squeeze bottles above. A medium sized bottle of ketchup contains about 30 ounces, or about 900mL. So, I think that these little squeeze bottles can be smuggled into Five Guys without attracting a lot of notice.

Next time I return to the restaurant, I’ll take my “Simple” ketchup along in a couple of these little squeeze bottles. Will be interesting to see if I can taste the difference (or whether I think I can).

Something’s Gotta Change

Fortunately, it always does
But not without a lot of dead time first
All I can do is pray but for what?
Roll back the clock 60 years and don’t be stupid
Not this time around, not like all the other times
Even tried visiting the beach on a hot spring day
No peace to be found, radio next to me thumping
N*gger this n*gger that fuck this fuck that

I’m ready to leave this world
But this world is not ready for me to leave
No matter how hard I close my eyes and pray
When I open my eyes I’m still here
Filling out the forms for senior assisted living
Checking the want ads for a part time job
Looking for an apartment again, again and again
Thinking on living alone without the hatred

Stick the laundry in the washer, flip it on
Maybe do some yoga to try to change my mood
God, please take me away, away
Away from this awful isolation and dry death
Why must I continue to be old and decaying?
Where is death to relieve me of this burden?
Something has to change, God
You are, as usual, taking your time

Tired of Myself

I’m not suicidal, just fed up with myself and fed up with being alive. There’s a difference, right?

Sitting in Panera, just to get the hell out of the house. Don’t really need coffee. Just a prop sitting on the table. Thought getting out of the house for a while would improve my disposition.

Crappy music playing on the PA system. I’ll hit the gym next, and the music will be even worse.

Tough night sleeping. Old injury nagging at me. Broke my collar bone in a bicycle accident 15 years ago. In the past year or so, the pain of that injury re-asserts itself when I lay on one side in my bed for a long time. Woke up at 2:30 a.m. with my shoulder aching like hell. Slept sitting up in my recliner with my feet on the sofa.

Although I’m not experiencing declining health, I have a strong feeling that my time is up, or that it ought to be. I’m tired of this incarnation, and I’m too old to be free from the past.

I’m ready to go, but God doesn’t seem ready to take me.

My Musical Seasons

My musician life now runs through a three part annual cycle. 

Starting after Labor Day, the Mendelssohn Club begins rehearsals for the Christmas Concert, and my church work focuses on the progression from Advent to Christmas. 

After New Years, the Club starts rehearsals for the Spring Concert, and my church work moves from Lent through Easter.

After the Spring Concert at the end of April, I begin my summer vacation of about 18 weeks, during which I focus on popular music.

This cycle is likely to continue to repeat for the rest of my career.

Finding outlets for my popular music is the weak part of my game. Three more weeks to the end of the spring Mendelssohn Club season and it will be time to try to develop venues and opportunities for popular music.

I don’t know what to do here. I readily admit to being stumped.

Sometimes, action is the only response to being stumped. Once choral rehearsals are over, I’ll head out there to play on whatever stage is available and see what happens.

Everything New is Old Again

I’ve reached that strange juncture attained every five years or so. Except for my 2023 Ford Maverick truck, everything I own is worn out and needs replacing.

Replaced everything when I moved in with my daughter, son-in-law and grandkids eight years ago. I had some money left over from the sale of my house in Woodstock to pay for the update.

Now, my clothing is fading out and thin. My furniture isn’t exactly right for my needs. My musical instruments all need renovation or repair. This time around, I don’t have a slush fund of cash available.

Church clothing is especially frayed and grayed. I think I have 5 dress shirts, so that means each one is washed and dried 10 times a year. At $40-50 per, replacing those is a serious investment. Members of my Methodist congregation often suggest that I don’t need to wear a jacket and tie to services. My answer:

“I’m really doing it for myself. I need to get cleaned up and dressed to go somewhere a couple of times a week.

My Martin D-28 guitar has already been completely renovated, and my Gibson J-200 is in the shop. Those guitars are 50 and 20 years old, respectively. The pedal board on my organ needs repair. That’s an hour trip in each direction to the technician’s shop.

Bed sheets are completely washed out. I bought four sets when I moved, which means each set has been washed 12 or more times a year. Not much fabric left. $60 to $80 per set.

So, should I go on being ragged and threadbare? I’ve already replaced my sweats. That’s what I wear 95% of the time.

Many of my fellow congregations, both Methodist and Catholic, seem to have decided to let it all go. They attend services in threadbare, worn out clothing. I can understand. We’re all approaching the nursing home stage when clothing and appearance will cease being very important.

I think this is the last time round for me. I’ll buy a little bit each month. For at least the next 5 years, I’ll try to keep up appearances, if only for myself.