Journal of a Sabbatical

June 30, 2000

extremely random

Today's Reading: Summer: From the Journal of Henry D. Thoreau edited by H.G.O. Blake, The Herring Gull's World by Niko Tinbergen, The Sea and the Ice by Louis J. Halle, Henry Hikes to Fitchburg by D.B. Johnson

Today's Starting Pitcher:
Jeff Fassero

Yesterday's entry makes no mention of being devoured by no see 'ums. Yet today tiny itchy bumps remind me. And I was liberally coated with a deet-containing insect repellent. I must not scratch them. I must not scratch them. I must not scratch them. Yeah, right. And just how did they bite me underneath my watchband?

The greenheads (the number one reason it is insane to live in Massachusetts) are not even out yet so my year list of biting bugs is only salt marsh mosquito, deer fly, and no see 'um. Is the deer fly bite supposed to still itch after a week? Anyway, the greenhead boxes are all in place arrayed like a very strange herd of immobile cattle along the edges of the marsh. The other night, Nancy wondered out loud exactly what the guvmint calls them when they have to requisition some. Do they order "fake cows"? Bovine simulators? Black boxes? No, can't be black boxes 'cause that term is already taken by the FAA for those airplane recorder things. Greenhead deception and containment devices? The little green sign on the gatehouse (green, get it?) that talks about greenheads says (among other things): "What are those black boxes in the marsh? They're cows." So do you think the feds ever order up a new batch of cows and get actual cows instead of black boxes with four legs and ox breath bait? And where exactly do you buy essence of ox breath to bait those things?

Insane. Massachusetts. Not only is it insane to live in Massachusetts but Jonathan Richman is living proof that growing up in Massachusetts makes you insane and it can't be cured by moving to California. Ever since I read The Mighty Kymm's entry about Jonathan, I can't get Roadrunner out of my head. That's the first Jonathan song I ever heard - on a car radio while driving on Rt. 128. It's a hymn of praise to driving on 128 with the radio on. Radio on. Radio on. Radio on. It's the chorus I love. But what's really weird (I like that word weird) is that I am usually so out of step with the cultural references in other journals that I feel unhip and not part of the club and not allowed to sit at the cool table in the cafeteria at lunch in the 9th grade ... no wait ... where was I? Oh, yeah. So like my mind was blown that another online journaler would even mention Jonathan Richman. Had to email The Mighty Kymm immediately and also share this strange and wonderful moment with Charla, also a Jonathan aficionado. Too bad this all occurred after I'd already had coffee with Tom and Ned this morning as Ned would have gotten a big kick out of it (for readers who don't remember every word ever written in this journal, my friend Ned used to play with Jonathan - not as a Modern Lover though - and sing backing vocals) especially the disbelief at Jonathan's age. Ned turned 50 at the end of last year and doesn't look a day over 25 either.

In order to get Roadrunner out of my head I figured I had to listen to it a few more times. But could I find my ancient 1970's vintage LPs? Nope. Besides that my turntable still doesn't work. It's weird, but if I plug the CD player into the turntable jacks the CD player works fine, so it ain't the connection. Anyway, I ventured out of my house to the Peabody Borders and grabbed a copy of The Beserkley Years: The Best of Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers, which has Roadrunner as the first track.

While there, of course I had to browse books, and as I passed through the children's section I spotted Henry Hikes to Fitchburg by D.B. Johnson. Yes, that Henry. The one I have been obsessed with for the past year. Just this morning Tom asked me how my reading Thoreau's journals project was coming and we talked for an hour and a half straight about the directness, modernism, keen observation, and sheer pleasure of Henry's writing style. Tom was surprised that I'd been interested in Thoreau since I was a little kid and never got interested in Emerson (Tom's literary passion is Emerson). I think Thoreau is much more accessible to a little kid. Besides that I used to swim at Walden as a kid. We'd meet my Dad there after work in the summer with a picnic supper. Sometimes, when I got older I'd walk over to the site where Thoreau's cabin was. The reconstruction had not yet been built then. Used to fish at Walden as a kid too. Anyway, when in high school I was forced to memorize Walden, I didn't like it. The memorization that is. Walden I reread about 12 times since and got more and more out of it every time. As for Emerson, in high school we read (and memorized parts of) Self Reliance. This did not stir me the way Walden and Civil Disobedience did. So where was I? Oh, yeah ... ideas accessible to kids. The idea that anybody would write a children's book based on a passage from Walden tickled me. I picked up Henry Hikes to Fitchburg, read it, bought it (not for the kids, who are already old enough to read Walden themselves, but for myself and Nancy).

Who'd've thunk a mention of the inner child of Jonathan Richman would lead me to a children's book about Thoreau? Extremely random connections today.