Serendipity

I had an odd encounter today. I was the catalyst for someone else's mystical experience.

Human minds look for meaning. In the maelstrom of sensory stimuli around us we search for signs that explain stuff. Or give us a feeling of connection to the universe's matrix. In times of emotional turmoil this impulse goes into over-drive. When a loved one dies we often look for clues that might mean something. Like a bird suddenly appears and we think "Grandpa! It's Grandpa! He came to say goodbye."

I've had such feelings myself so I take them seriously. I don't know which are real and which imaginary but I'll never denigrate anyone else's ride on the Mystical Express. It's a trip to Comfortville.

So today... I end a long walk with coffee at Starbucks. I bring two things to read: a local newspaper and The New Yorker. I'm reading the magazine when I hear a voice. I look up and confirm a middle-aged woman is speaking to me. She points to the headline of the newspaper, sitting in front of me but facing her, and says "That's my son." Having already read the paper I know the headline story is a sad one: a young man just died in an ATV accident upstate. He was a fire-fighter so his death is getting lots of local publicity. 

The mother says she and her husband are returning home from the cemetery. She says she "never stops at Starbucks" so "coming here and seeing the newspaper" is startling. She repeats her surprise several times as I offer condolences on her loss. Then she says how "incredible" it is I'm wearing a particular t-shirt. The shirt has a drawing of a cowgirl, advertising a fun NYC restaurant by that name. (It closed years ago.) The woman explains her son's nickname is "Cowboy" and everyone calls him that. 

Obviously this woman is reading volumes into the serendipity of me carrying a current newspaper in a highly-trafficked public space while dressed in normal clothes. But, given her palpable dolor, her view found transcendence in the encounter. Sensing and respecting that I was extremely sensitive with my remarks. I offered her the newspaper to take home and she accepted, handling it as reverently as a religious relic.

I never expected this going out today. Life contains surprises.

Time For A Decision

A lot in life depends on choices we make. Many of us, even when we know something's healthy (better nutrition, more exercise), don't move in that direction unless something pushes us. 

Four months in the hospital severely impaired my physical health. Harm came not just from a medical condition but from lying inactive for so long. My leg muscles atrophied, my body enervated into languor and I lost 50 lbs. When discharged (in May) I feared my life would be permanently affected by that deterioration.

Fortunately, I am pleased to report, three months of intense rehabilitation have restored my physical shape. I can now stand from a seated position, climb stairs, lift heavy objects and do deep squats. Essentially I'm back to the palmy days before this ordeal began.

I know this to be true because rehabilitation therapists measure your ability to perform physical tasks. They just informed me that because I've returned to normal they're ending further rehab. Insurance pays only to get you back to normal, not improve beyond it.

So, what now? Coast at this level? Be functional but not exceptional?

No! I'm going further! I'm choosing to push beyond normal. I signed up for gym membership and a personal trainer so I can continue exercising and honing balance and coordination. Of course this will cost money but the expense is worth it.

The future depends on a choice I make today. When a desideratum is as vital as health you should opt for maximum efflorescence. I can't control the future but I will meet it with the best me possible. That much I can devise.

Abraham Lincoln said "The best way to predict your future is to create it."

Records

My old vinyl turntable has a cord attached to a rotating knob that spins the table at 33 rpm or 45 rpm. Lately the cord's been slipping from one speed to the other.

Thus, putting on a record I can't be sure whether I'm gonna hear "The Way We Were" sung by Barbra Streisand or Alvin the Chipmunk. It's kind of a metaphor for my life right now...

Fact-Checking

There's an interesting article in the new issue of The New Yorker. It discusses the history, purpose and importance of fact-checking in that magazine. The author recalls a time when a famous writer got frustrated by the process of second-guessing and correcting his article. The writer complained to his editor, "Being fact-checked by your staff is like being fucked in the ass with a hot thermos!"

The editor relayed this comment to the fact-checker involved. She replied, "If a thermos is working, it isn't hot." 

Ha!

Laufey

Most pop stars aren't musicians: they're attractive young people coasting on others' musical talents. It surprises fans to learn most pop songs aren't written by the cute singers who perform them.

This distinction, between true artists and beauties out front, has long existed. In the 1960s Carole King wrote dozens of hit songs for other singers. She was told she wasn't attractive enough to present them herself. Carole famously refuted conventional wisdom with her breakthrough album, "Tapestry." But that was during the Seventies, when social (and commercial) norms rapidly changed.

It's a delight to discover new pop stars who are actually talented. One is Laufey (pronounced LAY-vey). Laufey comes from Iceland where she was a classical musician before writing and singing her own songs. Her tunes are infused with catchy jazz riffs and classical music knowledge. Her voice is remarkably sweet and melodic.

Laufey is on the path to stardom. Keep an ear out for her.

Another Season

I'm pleased to announce I signed for another season with the NJ Devils. 

The team says they're looking for someone physically tough to generate presence on the ice. My agent pointed to my play last Spring, asserting I'm "one hardy motherfu... who always come out swingin' and survives every battle." Terms were acceptable to both sides.

Bring it on.

Are We Not Men?

Good evening, Mr. Phelps. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is:

1. Read this movie review: 

   https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/devo-movie-review-2025 

2. Watch this film: "Devo" (on Netflix)

3. Share your thoughts -- and memories, if you have any.

Devo was a band formed by a bunch of Ohio college students in the early 1970s. Traumatized by the massacre of fellow students at Kent State (two of whom they knew personally, shot by National Guardsmen at a contentious anti-war protest) and disgusted by the ignoble direction of American culture, the students formed a musical band and sought to revolt. Inspired by the Dada movement in Europe (after World War I's horrors), the students embraced surrealism and visual imagery. Devo was the opposite of what rock bands had become at that time -- corporate tools for money-making. Devo had actual ideas. Subversive ideas. A real, if naive, impulse to reverse the direction humanity was heading toward then.

Devo's journey, captured presciently in their song "The Beginning Is The End," was destined for failure. But, before it collapsed, the band garnered attention and had some cultural impact. Devo was embraced by cognoscenti like Brian Eno, David Bowie, Neil Young and Pee-Wee Herman. Its path weaved through the events and personalities of the 1970s-80s. Devo saw the election of Ronald Reagan and reacted accordingly. Devo existed for a decade before, predictably, fizzling out as a money-maker for Warner Records.

If you have any memory of Devo it's probably of their one big hit, "Whip It." They also did many fascinating music videos before MTV existed which caught that wave as it emerged.

One critic wrote: "Devo’s songs now feel like prophecies set to music. That’s cold comfort to the founders, who called it like they saw it but hoped they were wrong."