Handbill Handout

 I've been told that because a piece of my foot is now possibly in heaven  or at the very least in an ashtray or garbage can that I can get a handicapped card for my car. Fuck that. I'm not ready. Somebody else asked me if it was tough to keep my balance since the part that's gone is pretty important for balance.  I said it wasn't.   Then I tried to look at the moon tonight.  It's a 54% waxing gibbous I think, and it was straight overhead.   I looked straight up while standing in the middle of my front walk and I almost fell.   I staggered back to the house and steadied myself against a wall and looked again.   I just saw a glow.  The edge of my roof blocked my view.   I went back inside. 

 I’m sitting here listening to the Preservation Hall Jazz Band’s “A Tuba to Cuba” and it occurs to me how little I still know about jazz in general and how I know practically nothing about Afro-Cuban jazz, so little in fact that I had to type some words in the ol’ Google box to make sure “Afro-Cuban jazz” was the right term.  Despite my utter ignorance I thoroughly enjoy this recording that I purchased entirely because I was listening to it at a listening station in the excellent record shop Louisiana Music Factory and Snooks the store cat wandered by and looked at me which I took as an omen.  Sometimes the store cat knows what’s best for you.  I’m glad to be listening to this at home, alone, working because if I was listening to it in the old office that I occupied before my employer’s ill-fated migration to the disease-friendly open concept that led to everyone wearing noise cancelling headphones all day and instant-messaging colleagues sitting six feet away instead of actually spe

 My maternal grandmother used to save orange peels and put them on the radiator to perfume the air.   I don't have a radiator but I sometimes do the same thing using an open window and the sun.