Shuffle Synchronicities: Volume 2 - #385
Shuffle Synchronicities: Volume 2 - #385
"My Girls" by Animal Collective - 11/25/22
Thanks to everyone who listened to the first Shuffle Synchronicities Podcast đ with NPRâs Kiana Fitzgerald. Or read the transcript! Where we discussed our experiences with bipolar disorder 𤪠from Jewish âĄď¸ and Black âđž perspectives, our shared interest in the career and life of Kanye West đ¤, and Kianaâs upcoming debut book đ!
Been hard at work editing the next podcast with Ray Padgett of the top 10 paid music Substack, Flagging Down The Double Eâs. Where we talk about the history of live Bob Dylan đ¸, an experience attending a 2022 LA show that sparked âĄď¸ the epiphany to delete the Shuffle & adopt a more ethical approach to (post)-memoir, as well as Rayâs foray into self-publishing his own đ upcoming book of interviews from his Substack!
As well been rewriting an example of something weâre calling Remix Lit, in this case, Donald Barthelmeâs story âI Bought a Little Cityâ sampled into âI Bought a Little Storyâ, in light of recent Elon Musk developments, which was submitted to The New Yorker on Wednesday. If đŠ doesnât accept it, which is quite likely LOL, itâll be self-published here đ§âđ§!
Also been reading Emmanuel Carrèreâs novel Yoga đ§, well-reviewed by The New York Times đľđť and recommended by a friend, because heâs also an autobiographical author who swings not just between his spiritualist and artist identities but learns he may have bipolar disorder after a scandal related to writing about others in his life đ§ź
Lastly, but perhaps more importantly, would love to recount a Thanksgiving đŚâď¸ Shuffle story đâ¨đś âď¸ If you have time this holiday itâs below hope u enjoy!
âMy Girlsâ by Animal Collective
It had been a while since trying to travel during the holidays.
In fact, Thanksgiving 2019, was the last attempt. A flight back to Rochester, NY, was scheduled to visit family for the first holiday after our patriarch had passed.
But instead, a five-day bout of brutal coughing and hallucinatory feverâŚdiagnosed as PneumoniaâŚbut they call it Covid-19 for a reason, folksâŚforced a late cancellation.
The plan this time in 2022 was to travel to Portland, Oregon to visit some family who used to live in Rochester, NY, but had just recently moved there.
It probably wasnât a good idea to stay up until 5 AM finishing the aforementioned NYer submission.
Especially when the email to the editor received an immediate out-of-office reply.
Waking up at 11 AM in Los Feliz seemed like enough time for a 3:20 PM flight at LAX.
Yet, dishes and garbage taking out and day job emailing and packing and somehow re-downloading the Uber app all took much longer than expected.
Not to mention the 45 minutes spent waiting for a driver to accept and then not cancel the ride.
It was looking bleak around 2 PM, just finally in an Uber, but still on the East Side, not even on a highway yet.
A call was made to the family in Portland to prepare for a delay.
But Expedia seemed to suggest that switching flights might not be possible this close/late.
So perhaps worseâŚ
The Uber driver, who had promptly written back when accepting the ride kindly assuring they wouldnât no-show, seemed to overhear all this.
We looked at each other acknowledging this without verbalizing it.
And, just after that, the Liked Songs Spotify playlist was Shuffled and asked for insight:
Could/Would we make it?
The shuffled-to-song was no joke/no lie đŽ
âMy Girlsâ by Animal Collective
This 2009 album, Meriweather Post Pavillion, was quintessential of the chillwave movment that practically soundtracked the first 2 years in LA, and was 1 of 5 compact discs stuck in the Honda CRVâs CD player of that time along with albums by Little Joy, Julian Casablancas, Gorillaz, and Das Racist, so received especially regular play.
But not until the song was shuffled to and the lyrics Googled this week was it learned that Noah Lennox/Panda Bear wrote the song after his own fatherâs passing & his own decision to prioritize family over, or, at least equal to, his artistic/career aspirations.
Isn't much that I feel I need
A solid soul and the blood I bleed
With a little girl, and by my spouse
I only want a proper house
The family set to be visited had rented a proper house in Portland, and it would be the first time someone in our part of the familyâs generation had hosted a Thanksgiving that wasnât also a Friendsgiving.
That said, it was also going to be small.
So small in fact that not being present just really didnât feel like an option.
As Animal Collective sang:
I don't care for fancy things
Or to take part in a precious race
But to provide for mine who ask
I will, with heart, on my father's grave
It felt to me like our patriarch was watching over what was about to happen.
There was a text back to the family in Portland.
Saying that a way would be found.
On my father's grave
On my father's grave
And it was also said aloud so the driver could hear.
Almost insanely so.
Because it was pretended to be a phone call to the family.
But was acted out only in order to indirectly communicate to the driver the plan had changed back to optimism.
The driver seemed to catch the vibe shift.
And drove even quicker.
Yet even safer at the same time.
Somehow reminiscient of our patriarchâs own careful driving.
But mixed with the breakneck pace of someone like Tom Cruiseâs character in Top Gun 2: Maverick.
I will, with heart, on my father's grave
Terminal 6 was reached for Alaska Air at about 2:50 PM for the 3:20 PM departure.
An attempt to go through TSA Pre-Check was denied, due to some months-ago nonchalance about filling in that part of the reservation.
The regular line wasnât moving slow.
But it also wasnât moving fast.
The wrong shoes were worn perhaps.
Probably definitely should have gone with pants that didnât need a belt not to fall down as well.
As those were being put back on at the benches outside of security.
An annoucement was made:
âThis is a last call for Alaska Air flight to Portland (#whatever). We are looking for two passengers. Mr. (someone else). And Mr. David Cowen (mispronounced Cohen).
You have two minutes to get to the gate.â
I don't care for fancy things
Or to take part in a precious race
The race was on.
If youâve been to LAX on the Wednesday afternoon before Thanksgiving, or not, you probably are able to imagine the dead sprint obstacle course rat race that was going to be needed to be executed.
From the benches outside of security near Gate 61.
All the way to the end of that terminal.
Gate 68 or 69.
Couldnât remember which.
Nor had any idea that there would also be a 68A and 68B.
In apparently quite literally 2 minutes.
A swear word was yelled.
As the backpack and roller suitcase were slung into position.
A pair of corded Apple headphones were dropped early and even as a fellow passenger called out âHey, sir, you-â
Fancy Airpods wouldnât have deserved a going back either.
If youâve followed along with the Volume 1 of this Substack you might recall that the sport of Tennis has been a big part of this particular heroâs journey.
And there will likely be surprisingly much more to say about not just exerciseâs factor in weightloss from a pandemic peak of 218 pounds now down to 168 pounds.
But also another factor that no one seems comfortable talking about but may be particularly helpful to those of my generation and gender/biological sexâŚ
For now, what must be said, is that without those now almost 2 years of near-daily Tennis playing for this Brother SportâŚ
Thereâd be no way this wouldâve happened:
Or this!
Or:
And this:
So, pardon and apologies, if it feels like it must be said again and again and again.
But.
Donât you also believe the spiritual world had something to do with this?
It's what I hoped for
It's what I hoped for
No more runnin'
No more runnin'
Happy Thanksgiving!
Hope you all made it to the four walls and adobe slats with the people you wanted to!
Okay, thatâs the second post of Volume 2 and the three hundred and eighty-fifth of Shuffle Synchronicities!
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