The first day of the rest of my life

This was a saying from the 60s and 70s.  'Today is the first day of the rest of your life.'  It meant that you can start afresh every day.  So what if hitherto your life hasn't been a success?  No matter: you can begin again.  So what if you had a miserable childhood?  The rest of your life awaits you.  You might have better luck in future.

Well, today is the first day of my retirement.  My head is filled with plans of things to do, things that I stopped doing while I was working because it wasn't possible to concentrate on doing my job properly and also do all the other things that interest me.  I often think about the characters in and the plot and dialogue of the story I'm working on.  When I was at my job, I had to think hard about the job, thinking about the state of markets and what would happen to them.  I didn't have the time or the energy to also think about writing.

But there were other things I used to do too, when I had more energy.  I played the clarinet and saxophone, I exercised, I was full of bounce and oomph, I was thin.  So I will be getting back into all these things.  The days of stress, worrying myself sick about investment returns and getting markets right, are over.  And I feel wonderful!

The Watermill

A lovely piece of modern 'classical' music, by Ronald Binge.  The oboe is a truly lovely instrument. I wish I could play it, but, failing that, I'd like to play this piece on the clarinet.

 Also,  I confess: I find the oboist intensely rootable.  Or, if you like, gorgeous.  :-)

The Silver Swan

The silver Swan, who, living, had no Note,
when Death approached, unlocked her silent throat.
Leaning her breast upon the reedy shore,
thus sang her first and last, and sang no more:
"Farewell, all joys! O Death, come close mine eyes!
 More Geese than Swans now live, more Fools than Wise."


[Read the Wikipedia stub about this very old madrigal here.  I myself first saw the poem on the London Underground]

Loving a fiddle

That's a pun which Americans might not get!

Gay-acting straight men

As men become more comfortable with gay, lots of straight men, who don't desire their male friends, but still love them, have become easier with cuddling their friends in a way which would once have been labelled "gay".

This article is about the band One Direction (which I admit to never having heard of before):

But what distinguishes One Direction from their predecessors is that rather than trying to fight these stereotypes by gushing about women and being careful not to stand too closely together, they play up to them. They flirt. They roughhouse. They touch each other’s bottoms at concerts, and perform at gay nightclubs. They also have girlfriends. People may call them gay, but (most of the time, at least) they don’t give a toss. Because for the One Direction generation, being “gay” isn’t a bad thing.

In fact, amongst the demographic Harry, Liam, Louis, Zayn and Niall occupy, this kind of behaviour is common, says UK masculinities researcher, Eric Anderson. Anderson is the author of a 2010 study which found that 89 percent of 18- to 25-year-old self-identified heterosexual men had kissed another man on the lips - and in most cases, there was nothing sexual about it. “This is what young men of that age do in the UK,” Anderson says. “Touching, hugging, cuddling, and bum/testicle slapping are all ways you show your mates that you love them.”

It’s a shift that is deeply tied to a broader decline in – and increasing unacceptability of – homophobia, Anderson believes. In periods of high "homohysteria" he argues – places and points in history in which same-sex attraction is both widely recognised and reviled – men will keep their distance from each other in order to avoid being labelled as “gay.” At when homohysteria is lower, men are able to be more freely intimate: whether that means One Direction-style horseplay, friends holding hands in the Middle East, or rugby players posing with their arms draped around each other instead of standing with their arms solemnly folded.

Indeed. I mentioned this researcher in an earlier post.

Time, Time, Time

Time, Time, Time.  Busy, busy, busy.

Putting Wilde Oats to bed, so I haven't got a spare second.  Will start posting again soon.

Made me think of this:

A Hazy Shade Of Winter
Simon & Garfunkel


Time,
Time,
Time, see what's become of me
While I looked around for my possibilities.
I was so hard to please.
Look around,
Leaves are brown,
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.


Hear the Salvation Army band.
Down by the riverside's
Bound to be a better ride
Than what you've got planned.
Carry your cup in your hand.
And look around,
Leaves are brown,
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.


Hang on to your hopes, my friend.
That's an easy thing to say,
But if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend that you can build them again.
Look around,
The grass is high,
The fields are ripe,
It's the springtime of my life


Seasons change with the scenery;
Weaving time in a tapestry
Won't you stop and remember me


At any convenient time?
Funny how my memory skips
Looking over manuscripts
Of unpublished rhyme.
Drinking my vodka and lime,
I look around
Leaves are brown,
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.

Were they a couple? My lady (who knows heaps more than me about popular music) reckons they were; I've always assumed Art Garfunkel was gay, but Paul Simon was married several times; they were best friends; and I remember reading an article in Time, years ago where Paul Simon told studio executives that he had an edge because of his gayness and gay connexions.  Who knows?  It doesn't matter, really.  They made sublime music.

Friday Night Thoughts

Je suis un peu ivre.  Je m'excuse.  Just a little overset.  A little.


I don't drink (alcohol) during the week, for my health and to help me lose weight.  But on Friday night, at the end of the week ... And it is Friday night here in Oz.

So perhaps a little tipsy.  And I'm listening to Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto no 2, played by Julius Katchen.  Paradise.  Sublime.  Orgasmic.

Here he's playing with the LSO conducted by Solti.  Listen to those opening chords.  Holy Phuque.  Holy Phuque.

I used to know (and love) someone who played this Rachmaninoff opus.  Il est mort, hélas.  Que je l'aimais.  Sois sage, ô ma Douleur, et tiens-toi plus tranquille ....