080909

"There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds."

--Alfred Lord Tennyson

_____

This week I've been going in for steroids as an out-patient, which suits me much better than the whole in-patient/prisoner thing. Steroids (Solumedrol) for an inflammatory disease like MS are like painkillers for a constantly aching back. I am able to walk around safely for the first time since I returned home, finally able to go wander a bit around my neighborhood. We've got _everything_ in this little nook down under the Queensboro bridge overpass (DUQBO), like the well-established DUMBO (Manhattan bridge overpass) but different. It feels great to wander a bit, as in days of old (not quite, but more so than before).

_____

One thing I've remembered clearly: the good reefer around here is green cannabis sativa, commonly known as sinsemilla, or 'without seeds'; the not-so good (we used to call it 'mirsch,' short for commercial) is brown cannabis sativa _with_ seeds. I've yet to come across any nice green cannabis indica in New York, which is the most common form out west. I'm sure it's here; it must just cost an arm and a leg and be hard to find. This is why when a person first gets west, the herb sends him or her for a loop: indica is much stronger and more stoney than plain old 'sense' (sinsemilla).

*Perfume*

I'm very pleased that with the new company name, Lord's Jester, some old jester artwork a woman named Shawne Sanders made me is perfect. Check it out and let me know what you think: http://www.lordsjester.com. The site needs to be fleshed out of course but I think you get the gist. I think I will plan _not_ to trademark the name, and it will be simply Adam Gottschalk doing business as (DBA) Lord's Jester. I've also decided to call what I make 'unisex perfume,' partly to avoid all the confusion related to eau de parfum, eau do toilette, and eau do cologne. Furthermore I will bill it as 'luxurious and sensual;' the natural aspect will be a sort of afterthought. I want people to think luxe and sensual, oh, and it happens to be natural too. The main points are that it's rarefied, elegant, and world-class.

*Renewal*

This week I got to go be with my brother, nephew, and two nieces in Connecticut; while the reason for my visit was somber--my sister-in-law died after a long struggle with cancer--it was really good to be with my family and overall the experience was very positive. I saw a number of people I haven't seen in 20 years or more. The service itself was excellent, honest, and heart-felt. People from all walks of life came to celebrate the great things about Julie's life, rather than wallowing in self-pity. I was simply stunned when the ministers called for any and all comments, and gradually a stream of people overcame their fears of public speaking to come to the microphone and say a few words in tribute; they didn't stop coming for a good while. It wasn't the easiest day of my life but it cleansed my soul. What better outcome could there be than that?

*Teachers*

While I was still an east-coast boy, I had the chance to do a week-long master's class with the inimitable Tuck Andress of Tuck & Patti. It took place at the Omega Institute which is a crazy new-age retreat with saunas, an organic garden, and numerous other alternative practices. When I applied for the class, I had no idea who Tuck was; I applied entirely because my friend Dara told me the guy was phenomenal. When I got there I still hadn't heard a single one of his recordings. And the class was filled to the brim with excellent guitarists who were all die-hard Tuck devotees. The first day Tuck handed out sheet music, a transcription of a fairly straight forward finger-style tune. He started going through it and my hand went up. "Yes?" he said. "Is this something you've recorded?" I asked. Every guitarist there turned and stared daggers at me. But instantly I made a fast friend in Tuck; he, like many other celebrities, was elated to have a person around who treated him like a regular guy.

I learned a lot and the most important stuff wasn't really about music. Tuck explained to us that rather late in life he decided he had two choices: become a card counter in Vegas or go into music. He actually chose Vegas, and he could do it just fine, but his lack of a poker face made it impossible to continue (they don't like people who count cards in Vegas). So he went into guitar, and when he set his mind to the guitar he wanted to reinvent it. He succeeded. The man has one of those minds that demolishes any and all obstacles. He decided he wanted to be a one-man band and then simply figured out how to do it, in some cases practicing certain riffs and grooves for _years_ to get them just right. One of my favorites was Clean Up Woman by Betty Wright; he guided us through his approach which involves maintaining independence of four distinct parts: 1) the bass line, 2) the backbeat (or percussion), 3) the rhythm-guitar part, and 4) the melody.

In Tuck's machine-like mind it's a simple matter of breaking every beat down and practicing. So for example if you find on the second beat of the third measure of the figure you're trying to perfect that you have to do a down-stroke for the bass line with the thumb, an up-stroke for the backbeat with a finger or fingers, up and down for the rhythm (which finger(s)?), and two quick plucks for the melody (which finger(s)?), you simply have to practice that over and over and over until your brain figures out how to do it. At the beginning of course this involves slowing the tempo _way_ down. And going through every beat at a snail's pace. And of course one finds naturally there are many places where certain fingers, including the thumb, do double or triple duty. Most people don't have the patience; I loved it. My favorite story was about a time after Tuck and Patti had just come on the scene: they were at a club to see Bobby McFerrin in San Francisco. Not long into the show Bobby announced their presence in the audience and called them up on stage. Then he called out 'Donna Lee,' one of Charlie Parker's more difficult tunes, at a really quick tempo. Tuck had never played Donna Lee and picturing him there sweating and trying to do his best cracks me up to this day.

That mind also led him to do unbelievable amounts of practice and repetition, going over and over the same thing for _months_ and years. When he first started he took a standard jazz blues and went through every single permutation he could think of while applying his four-part approach; after several years of this he could finally improvise a blues and his fingers automatically knew how to do what his brain asked, whatever formerly awkward combinations of finger movements started to come out smoothly. He of course likes tunes with strong bass lines, like Clean up Woman, and another one we went through was his take on Van Morrisson's Moondance, which offered another great view into Tuck's approach, with it's strong bass line and rhythm-guitar figure and melody. I must say when it finally clicks and all the parts come together from your own two hands, one senses tremendous power in self-conntrol. I think Tuck's masterpiece is his solo cover of Stevie Wonder's I Wish--he does the full band with vocals, live and solo! You listen to it and it "actually starts to sound like music," as Tuck liked to say, but you would never be aware of the superhuman complexity the man pulls off without a hitch. Simply stunning.

Another fascinating aspect of this machine-man was that, in order to ensure he and Patti would always be able to play (which back in the day was more than 320 days a year), he would frequently tape up or otherwise incapacitate some of his fingers--and then make sure he could still play through their set list while so encumbered. Mad man! Another day we were going through another chart and Tuck wasn't playing what was written. I quickly raised my hand. "Is this supposed to be what's written here? Because it's not." Again with the looks of contempt all around. I was the only one there with the courage enough to tell Tuck he was doing something wrong. He looked down at the paper and said, "No, no, you're right. I must have been thinking of another piece. Thank you." I swear when he said Thank You there was an inaudible groan across the room. Yet more sincere appreciation from Tuck. The day we were all leaving, I ran into Tuck outside the dorm. He walked right up and hugged me, a long hug the way a good friend does--the greatest American guitarist alive today. We both exchanged more thank-you's and I like to think neither one of us has ever been the same.

*Hospital*

From the beginning, my stay at the HJD was extremely uncomfortable. I had neither realized nor given it any thought that I have developed a sensitive routine in my daily life; from the get-go I was required to live according to _their_ schedule. They confiscated my medications and told me their pharmacy would dispense them as needed; I was told I could get them on my schedule but that was not the case--when I went to the nurse's station at 8:00 to say I needed my last medication, the one that makes it so I can sleep, at 8:30 they flat-out told me no and that such medications were given out after 9:00. I didn't end up getting mine until 9:45. In my room there were two beds and two not-so-comfortable chairs, so I was forced to lie in bed whether I wanted to or not--lying in bed when not sleeping is bad sleep hygiene and I would never do it of my own accord.

So they forcibly put me on _their_ schedule, and they treated me like an invalid. I had a toilet in the corner of my room but they insisted I call them any time I wanted to use it. They strapped a big yellow bracelet on me that said 'FALL RISK,' even though I told everyone I haven't fallen in years. I made the mistake of saying I choke frequently on liquids because my gag reflex is gone--I can drink hot/warm liquids just fine, but they instituted a law that I could only have liquids if they were thickened which is absolutely barbaric. The food was every bit as bad as jail food, untouchable. So when I left the next morning I hadn't eaten or had any caffeine in almost two days.

Now add to that the nurse giving me a steroid infusion that was supposed to last at least an hour _in 20 minutes_ and you have a recipe for extreme discomfort, sleeplessness, and a big blow out, such as took place the following morning. I didn't sleep a wink and I knew I wouldn't--I've been given steroids too rapidly before. I lay awake all night staring at the ceiling (I'd had more than my fill of my ipod and my kindle), realizing I couldn't, in good conscience, stay in this very painful place, that had done me serious harm--I still have bruises up and down both arms, two weeks later, from my inept nurse trying in vain to stick me with needles. In fact I realized I needed to be with my brother whose wife just died. No problem, I thought; I came of my own free will I can perfectly easily depart when I want to. Be it known: such is definitely not the case with hospitals anymore.

I was stunned when I walked downstairs at 5:00 and there were barricades in front of the door. Barricades, on a hospital! I sat down waiting for the doors to open as they surely would by 5:30; I started chatting with a security guard. But I was soon followed by a bevy of nurses who pleaded with me to go back to my room. I would not budge and eventually the head nurse called the doctor who supervised the rehabilitation floor that I had been on. The security guard and I had by now developed a camaraderie and he came over and joked that if nothing else good was to come of the day, at least I got a doctor out of bed! Then came a series of conversations with the doctor in which she tried all manner of ways to convince me I couldn't leave. This parlay climaxed when she said, "Mr Gottschalk you're really starting to make me mad."

At that point I lost it. I screamed, "What?! I'm making you..._you're_ making _me_ mad dammit! You don't hire and fire patients. I hire and fire doctors and you're fired!" I then simply walked out with two nurses following behind calling out for me to come back. I had to leave due to extenuating circumstances and it really should not have been so hard. I'm glad I succeeded and got to be with my brother. The other major reason I had to leave was this: the combination of affronts to my sensibilities was making me mad, and I was feeling angry at the nurses; I _love_ nurses, nurses are the greatest people on earth so I was certain there was something gravely wrong in my world. It was the hospital that was gravely wrong and I had no choice but to leave as quickly as possible.

*Index*

Adam's Index

#1 bad thing about being an in-patient at most hospitals: you might as well be in jail

#2: the food is about one notch above jail food, and that ain't good

#3: you are basically no longer a citizen and cannot come and go as you please

#1 good thing about being an out-patient: you get to live on _your_ schedule

#2: you get to take _all_ your medications when you want and how you want

#3: you can get all the caffeine you need

#1 aspect of being a free man in New York: any kind of food any time you like

#2: drinks anywhere you please

#3: anything, any place, any time

Worst part of a hospital: the beds are as uncomfortable as the food is bad

*Top*

Top 5 memories of my youth:

5. Going to the Junior League with my mother. We were merely members of this old-time social club, in a truly grand old brownstone, but to the boy it seemed we owned and ruled the place.

4. Going to the movie theater that used to be on 85th Street and Madison.

3. Going to Blacker and Kooby hobby shop on 88th and Madison.

2. Central Park

1. Our yearly summer trip from Manhattan to mid-coast Maine, every part of it, from stopping at HoJo's (Howard Johnson's), to staying at the Ritz Carleton hotel in Boston (across from the park and the swans that inspired EB White's Trumpet of the Swan; Mr White was my favorite as a boy), to playing kick the can at night with the other kids staying at the Lookout Inn on Flye Point in Brooklin Maine, to playing on beaches, to visiting all the many little islands off shore in our little motor boat. So many memories I'll have to write a novel (or a play, or an epic poem, or a comedy or something or anything).

*Irks*

Often I run into situations in which some other person gets snooty with me, or I just get annoyed with them, because they don't know all the many things I've done in my life. Here are a few examples:

1. Pork. I say I like pork and people raise their noses and often have to choke back a little disgust, because of course pigs are so dirty. I lived in Nepal for Christ's sake! Believe me, I've seen what pigs will eat. Most common sight beneath you as you squat in an outhouse in Nepal: pigs feasting. In my mind eating pork is only as barbaric as eating any other meat. You can put no meat on your plate that comes from animals who have not known cruelty.

2. Remove your shoes. This just plain annoys me, partly because I lived in the far East for so long. Removing of shoes is actually a complex subject. It's a Japanese custom. When I lived in Taiwan, which was occupied by the Japanese for 50 years, there was a very clear rift between the nationalist Taiwanese and nationalist ex-mainlanders on the one hand and those of Japanese descent on the other. Taiwanese people hate Japanese customs terribly, but the degree of hate the mainland Chinese have because Of the Nanjing Massacre is terrifying (while they were at war, the Japanese flooded the Chinese town of Nanjing, killing every man, woman, and child); they simply will do nothing that even remotely smacks of Japanese culture, and taking off shoes on entering an abode is a big one. When folks in the west require shoes to be removed, mostly I think it's trendy; they certainly don't understand the complex history behind the custom.

3. Cars. I studied auto engineering in college at one of the foremost auto schools in the country, the Vehicle Research Institute, where I learned about both regular engines and all about alternative vehicles. My main project at the VRI was to work on the world's first and only thermo-photo-voltaic-powered car. I could take apart an engine and put it back together, and could tell you numerous things you didn't know about motive power applications. It irks me when folks try to give me advice on hybrids or engines in general. I drove an electric car exclusively for an entire year. I am better versed than the vast majority of people when it comes to regular cars and "alternative" vehicles.

4. Veganism. It often happens that vegetarians and vegans look down on me because I'm an omnivore. This doesn't really bother me because I used to be the same way, but it makes me want to wear a banner on my forehead which reads, "I was a strict vegan for more than 15 years but can't be anymore for medical reasons."

5. French. People look at me funny when I either pronounce a French word properly or refuse to French-ify words that can perfectly easily be Anglicized. Examples: lingerie is properly "LAN-jer-ee;" that pronunciation is close to the actual French and to the way you'd pronounce it if you didn't know it was French. Homage: why not just say 'HOM-ij'? Frenchifying it sounds pretentious. Same goes for ambiance: just say 'AM-be-ents.'

*Quotations*

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;

Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.

I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

--Edna St Vincent Millay

We all die. The goal isn't to live forever; the goal is to create something that will.

--Chuck Palahniuk

Dying is not romantic, and death is not a game which will soon be over. Death is not anything. Death is not. It's the absence of presence, nothing more, the endless time of never coming back, a gap you can't see, and when the wind blows through it, it makes not a sound.

--Tom Stoppard

LIfe? LIfe? It's death that makes life worth living for.

--AarOn Howard

People living deeply have no fear of death.

--Anais Nin

I can't tell you what art does and how it does it, but I know that often art has judged the judges, pleaded revenge to the innocent, and shown to the future what the past suffered so that it has never been forgotten.

--John Berger

It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances. The true mystery of the world is the visible not the invisible.

--Oscar Wilde

Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of Truth and Knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods.

--Einstein

Judge a person by their questions rather than their answers.

--Voltaire

I was married by a judge. I should have asked for a jury.

--Groucho Marx

*Music*

Five female musicians I highly recommend:

5. Jesse Sykes and the Sweet Hereafter--Oh My Girl is a tremendous recording, with Ms Sykes' evocative vocals, searing timeless Americana rock guitar, and minimalist, while top-notch, production qualities.

4. Maia Sharp--any of Ms Sharp's records, Maia Sharp, Fine Upstanding Citizen, and Hardly Glamour, is a winner in my book.

3. Lisa Hannigan--anything with Ms Hannigan's name on it is a winner, from Sea Sew, to her appearance on various collections, to a few tracks with Damien Rice, including a cover of Get the Party Started.

2. Sonya Kitchell--one of my very favorites, her beginning was a bit spotty, with a few winners, like Let Me Go, Words and Cold Day; her latest EP, This Storm, is killer, showing Ms Kitchell growing more comfortable with her instrument, her inclinations, and her song writing. This after playing Joni Mitchell in Herbie Hancock's touring band for his Mitchell album River.

1. Erin Bode--I can't say enough good things about Ms Bode. Her music has gotten steadily better over three albums, Over and Over, Don't Take Your Time, and The Little Garden. She started out with the suits trying to fit her into a jazz mold; by The Little Garden she was really becoming herself, free-spirited, up beat, and with a delightful voice (that reminds this listener of Blossom Dearie a bit).

Peace love and ATOM jazz