There are jazz Christmas songs and these are one of many reasons people hate going to malls during the holidays but there's a whole lot more jazz than that. These are recommendations from Cat who is very much a purist and the comprehensiveness of her knowledge of different genres of music is astonishing.
Shastakovich was the big surprise today.
I heard of Shastakovich previously but only in passing and I had thought he was a composer of classical music because my ol' Dad favored him.
That brings an immediate feeling of regret since we could have had a marvelous time exploring his knowledge but I was too block-headed and combative to do it. I really don't know why and I don't like the introspection so I'm sure it just completely makes your skin crawl.
Just as with riding Harleys, the tragedy is if you get to this age and never find that joy at all. It's bittersweet in hearing the music now but it's all toward knowing there could have been some good talk with the old guy. I know I might have learned something and maybe he would as well.
Ed: you think you're the only one with that regret?
Nooooo. That's likely the most common of all, you think? File that under Things I Wish I Had Said.
I don't regret the Harley, tho, even though that crash really did cost me everything. It was when my shoulder finally disintegrated that the medical insurance company canceled me and, poof, everything went after that.
That's not the intro to a lament since there's been considerable enlightenment in poverty and hopefully you have seen a positive evolution in it although it doesn't make a whole hell of a lot of difference if you live in luxury or squalor when you're sick as a rat.
The current is playing out as the Six-Day Monster (max Seven) and I'm on Day Five. The glorious Bath of Immaculation comes soon and then I can again greet the world and feel no more wretched than normal. When I arrive at the clinic, they will ask me if I'm ready for my colonoscopy and am I feeling well. I will be able to cheerfully affirm I am and then they will ram a cold metal thing into my backside.
Glory. It's all jazz, man (larfs).
Shastakovich was the big surprise today.
I heard of Shastakovich previously but only in passing and I had thought he was a composer of classical music because my ol' Dad favored him.
That brings an immediate feeling of regret since we could have had a marvelous time exploring his knowledge but I was too block-headed and combative to do it. I really don't know why and I don't like the introspection so I'm sure it just completely makes your skin crawl.
Just as with riding Harleys, the tragedy is if you get to this age and never find that joy at all. It's bittersweet in hearing the music now but it's all toward knowing there could have been some good talk with the old guy. I know I might have learned something and maybe he would as well.
Ed: you think you're the only one with that regret?
Nooooo. That's likely the most common of all, you think? File that under Things I Wish I Had Said.
I don't regret the Harley, tho, even though that crash really did cost me everything. It was when my shoulder finally disintegrated that the medical insurance company canceled me and, poof, everything went after that.
That's not the intro to a lament since there's been considerable enlightenment in poverty and hopefully you have seen a positive evolution in it although it doesn't make a whole hell of a lot of difference if you live in luxury or squalor when you're sick as a rat.
The current is playing out as the Six-Day Monster (max Seven) and I'm on Day Five. The glorious Bath of Immaculation comes soon and then I can again greet the world and feel no more wretched than normal. When I arrive at the clinic, they will ask me if I'm ready for my colonoscopy and am I feeling well. I will be able to cheerfully affirm I am and then they will ram a cold metal thing into my backside.
Glory. It's all jazz, man (larfs).
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