Streptococcus is a huge motivator
If I knew all it would take for me to sit down and write Cracks was getting strep, I would have infected myself sooner.
Speaking of infections, my house has a jazz ghost. A couple of weeks ago, I was working from home, and when my daily 3 pm office-job brain paralysis (it lasts about one hour) set in, I decided to put on some music in the background to keep myself motivated. I chose to listen to jazz because there are no words, and also, it’s kind of bad.
Not BAD per se, but I still don’t think I really “get” jazz. My parents would sometimes listen to old jazz or avant-garde jazz when I was a kid, and separately, it’s a universal truth that all dads get SUPER into jazz once they hit fifty.
But I’m TRYING to understand and appreciate jazz better. I like it when I see people dancing to it (like in a heroin beatnik way, not like, “your white grandma and grandpa at the wedding party”), and I LOVE the style of late 50’s/ early 60’s jazz musicians. SO chic.
And I enjoy jazz live when I am allowed to wear a cool outfit, drink a cute wine, and also discreetly talk throughout the entire thing (I’m a great audience!) Over time, I’m going to get there. I just know I will. With grit and determination, I will UNDERSTAND jazz and be SO obnoxious about it one day.
But anyways, not quite there yet. That afternoon, I started listening to the Sonny Rollins “Way Out West” album, which if nothing else, has a perfect album cover.
Cut to an hour or two later and I realized that Spotify had automatically started playing other jazz records after the end of the album, which is my absolute pet peeve. This is not how people listen to music in real life!!!! I don’t listen to one album, and then purposely pick another album from a different band in the same genre and the same era. That’s why I couldn’t stand Pandora back when it was popular. For example: just because I am listening to the Archies, it does not mean I want to listen to The Banana Splits right after. Naturally, after the Archies, I’m 100% listening to this.
So, back to the story. I pause whatever jazz song was playing (I don’t remember, but if you’ve heard jazz, you can imagine what it sounded like), but it’s still playing on the stereo. I’m befuddled, so I go over and turn the stereo off and on again…and it’s STILL PLAYING. I’m starting to get scared. Is there a jazz ghost in my home? I turn OFF my phone and it’s STILL PLAYING. I think maybe it’s tied to my laptop, so I turn that off and it’s STILL PLAYING. I started to spiral. Is this my life now? Will I forever be forced to listen to the music choices of the jazz ghost? What do I need to do to placate him? Will I ever be free?
But then it stopped.
*MILLENIAL VOICE* So THAT happened you guys 😂
Thing 1: Are you okay? Checking in on my favorite d-listers
Calling Isabella Rossellini a D-Lister is a misnomer, as she is obviously number one in my heart, but perhaps people aren’t following her exploits these days as much as I am, so I just wanted to catch you all up.
First off, her social media presence continues to be both extremely weird and a balm to my soul. This summer, she’s keeping us all duly informed about her chickens:
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Anyways, I have nothing to say except Isabella is a treasure, and the people demand a Conclave 2 with her nun character as the lead!!!!!!
Thing 2: Pigeon Report
Yet again, I have another crime story with pigeons at the center. I’ve been writing Cracks for six-ish years, and at this point know literally everything pigeons have done in that time period. I mean, literally, EVERY news story. I get alerts, people send me tips, and I also, embarrassingly, search for them. And the number of crimes committed with, by, or because of pigeons is quite high. Am I surprised it is so high? No. Am I furious at pigeons for their criminal activities, unchecked for millennia? Yes.
This story takes us to Taiwan, and their absolutely bat-shit insane pigeon racing scene. The president of this endeavor is, unequivocally, koo-koo-bananas.
Wu Chung-ming is chair of the national pigeon racing body and his local racing association. His desk is adorned with a kitschy pigeon-shaped ashtray, near a computer mining “Pigeoncoin” cryptocurrency. Parked outside is the Tesla he bought specifically for its gull-winged doors.
Apparently, there’s a lot of money to be made in the wild west (east?) of pigeon racing. And ransoms, kidnapping and global betting rings are involved. Unfortunately, some people are so money-hungry that they are doing a lot of fucked up stuff to make the pigeons fly faster, like starving them, taking them away from their mates, giving them performance-enhancing drugs, etc. This is cruel and also pointless. I can speak from personal experience, a pigeon’s performance enhancement drug of choice is a leftover fried chicken wing on the street.
What I find equally disturbing are the many pigeon racers who are clearly obsessed and in love with their pigeons. It’s concerning. And while this is a super fun and well-done piece, the journalist neglects to interview even one pigeon. I suspect, nay, strongly suspect, that the pigeons are the ones behind the entire scheme. The humans are just a front.
Grade: F+ pigeons once again, are at the center of a crime conspiracy.
Thing 3: Wait till you see my Gidget
May I provide a recommendation to you? Next time you’re absolutely brain dead but feel like you want to watch or consume some form of entertainment, I cannot speak highly enough of the short-lived “Gidget” TV show that aired from 1965-66, starring an adorable (and honestly, very good!) Sally Field. As I sit here, a strep-invalid, it’s been an absolute life-saver.
The plot is simple: Gidget is a quirky, extroverted teen who loves surfing. She lives with her single dad, who is a college professor, and I think we’re supposed to think he’s hot and “hip” for an older guy? It’s confusing, but just roll with it.
Gidget has a bitch-sister who is uptight and never wants Gidget to do cool things, like join a rock band, or hitch-hike, and her clearly closeted brother-in-law is a psychologist with undiagnosed OCD. Rounding out the crew is her best friend, LaRue, a dork with a lot of sinus issues. I’m sorry, but do I need to give you any more information? I feel like you should be sold on it by now.
The episodes are blissfully short at 25 minutes, every episode has a deeply low-stakes dilemma, such as “What if I had a crush on a foreigner?” or “What if my dad won’t let me go to the beach this weekend?” or “What if I hate the prom dress my dad bought me,” or “What if my friend’s dad is Paul Lynde and he is reading me to filth?” But worry not, because every problem always gets solved, and hi-jinks WILL ensue, you best believe. Now get out there and get into Gidget!