Finally looks like winter, at least in our back yard. The white stuff is kind of thin other places like pavement and spots the sun shines on. Guess we’re about five inches short of snow so far, which explains why Dearest’s snow tires are still in her trunk (I’ll be taking care of that today, dear).
On the writing front, thoughts of music criticism encouraged by Dearest Muse created a synchronicity with another, somewhat abusive muse, leading me I-don’t-know-where, but jazzier riffs seem in order. The local underground rag is also looking for a freelance arts writer. I do know a lot about music, both from personal experiences such as writing and producing a 45 in high school (“Don’t Follow Me, Babe”), attending Woodstock, seeing the Beatles on their first American tour, helping to bring reggae to Chicago, and from the sheer love of the rhythmic stuff, plus some academic understanding and savvy about various instruments, this could be a thing.