28 Days Later

December 22, 2008 at 1:35 am 4 comments

We are up in the grand deluxe suites of Continuing Care, from which vantage through much of the afternoon and evening we watched a ferocious blizzard wreak havoc on our peaceful New England hamlet. We get free parking here, heat, and plenty of company, so we figured why not camp out and enjoy the pleasantness. There is, of course, a labor component, but that’s to be our lot no matter where we sleep for many years to come. 

The boys are hard at work tonight, with varying degrees of success. They concentrate, grimace, exert, strain, push, whimper, bawl, squoonch, all in the service of their art. Their goal is creativity, an audience with the muse, a chance to elicit oohs and aahs from the devoted fan base who attends their every concert. The little maestros cannot be disturbed, cannot come to the phone, we will have to take a message. With every ounce of their being, they seek to fill the blank white canvasses to which they adhere with gooey symphonies of caramel, evidence of their involuntary genius and regularity. 

They have different models. Tonight, Satch is Anton Webern. Only tiny specks, blips of color that nonetheless cost the small man considerable hours of exertion, pointilistic pellets of poo, cast abstractly about his pampered bottom with miserly exactitude. Next door, brother Pablo is perhaps the most musical of the group, announcing each new contribution to the canon with symphonic flair and volume. I’ll call him the Beethoven, for he undoubtedly tries the hardest and suffers the most, but his labors are by no means in vain. He is productive, his work is lasting, and you can see from one look at the boy that his art is never far from his mind. His audience is seldom disappointed. 

Finally, there is Georg Phillip Telemann, the most prolific composer of all time reincarnated in the person of Levi. The boy feasted and feasted this afternoon, gave himself a bellyache and shook the walls with his bawling, then slept, took a round through the nose, and late tonight was slated to cuddle with papa – whose job it would be to take his temp, change his diaper, prep his bottle, and then show him the love. Well, the changing was a multiple-diaper affair. There was a healthy movement completed when I opened the curtain, and apparently another in progress. There were sketches here, a phrase there, generally a full program. But one doesn’t become the most prolific by shutting down the fount at mealtimes. During his bottle, which he consumed most eagerly, new ideas flashed before him all the time – and he was by no means shy about giving several melodies a netherly audition. I knew by the time the ingestion of fluid was done that another opus lay completed – and when I went to collect the work, the small maestro spat up, peed on his onesie, muttered something about Johann Sebastian, and then sailed off into dreamland – where no doubt future works lay awaiting discovery. 

So, a musical night. I confess to being worn out, and a bit concerned about just how the mad opera house that is our new life will continue to function in these lean times. No time for such thoughts, though, as the concert season is just about to begin anew.


Entry filed under: Uncategorized, update. Tags: , , , , .

Well hello there Mr. Santy Claus Ready

4 Comments Add your own

  • 1. Kala  |  December 22, 2008 at 1:51 am

    omg, Webern. 🙂 Dan is Poet Laureate of Poo.

  • 2. Josh Newton  |  December 22, 2008 at 6:02 am


  • 3. Mag  |  December 22, 2008 at 7:48 am

    Music as metaphor, yes, but heretofore unimagined in this context. Nicely done– and only very minimally gross. xxxx

  • 4. Squidocto  |  December 22, 2008 at 8:42 am

    Dan, you’re either a genius or a man who only sleeps one hour at a time.


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