it is 1:28 pm on Thursday afternoon, and I have just downed two glasses of wine, while finishing Questlove's book that i reference in an earlier blog entry.. The book was brilliant in that Questlove had no problem focusing equally on his failures, successes, near-misses and everything in between. The book also makes me realizes that I am in a severe slump when it comes to writing about me, music or basketball.
My knee-jerk reaction is to blame my son Nyles for my lack of writing production. He takes up a lot of my time (as he should) and when I have quiet time, I'd much rather rest, relax, or talk to the wife, rather than spend time and effort trying to construct an above-average article--but that's not fair to Nyles. Other times, I'd like to blame my lack of production on my wife, because when I'm not doing Nyles-related things, I'm trying (only she could tell you whether I'm succeeding) to be an above-average husband, and that takes just as much effort as trying to be a good father. But again, to blame my lack of writing on my wife is just pure selfishness.
I suppose the reality is that life in general has put me in a place where I do not successfully know how to balance my writing--via my blog or Truth About It, my selfish needs, and the people who depend on me everyday. I'm sure it is an issue that everyone with responsibilities goes through, but since those people did not share their coping techniques with me, I feel like a ship without a captain at times, and it is equally hurtful and frustrating. And the fact that I am writing this much truth on a day when no one is likely to read it (July 4th) is not at all lost on me. I'm sure I'll get it together sooner or later, but right now, I have no clue what I'm doing and what the quick fix is or should be.
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Anyway, the next record from my dad's collection that I inherited is Chuck Mangione's Feels So Good. Ordinarily, this record would go against everything I believe in music-wise. It is smooth jazz that was specifically targeting a pop culture audience. Yes there is a bit of a latin feel throughout the album, but in general this album is void of the technical and musical prowess that makes jazz so damn appealing to me. But on the flip side, there is a point when childhood nostalgia becomes the driving force, rather than snobbery, so hearing this song makes me smile. When my wife heard me playing this record, she said that it immediately reminded her of her mother.
There are only five other songs on this album besides the hit title track, and none of them are even worth me writing about. But the title track is enough to carry the rest of this mediocre album I promise you...