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J was talking about a photo exhibit planned at the Brooklyn Museum (if I recall correctly), themed “The New Face of Brooklyn”. When I looked out of the window and saw this, I was reminded of that theme.

Twin Keys is now practicing in a space in Greenpoint that faces this building, adorned with its aged star. Just beside, and (maybe) below, are signs of the new. Looking on from across the river is the Empire State Building, indifferent to these upstart new buildings.

I guess indifference is better than rage. Some of that construction extols the street life of parts of Brooklyn as a selling point, as if their shimmering glass and metal buildings seemlessly integrate into it. And, at prices far beyond the reach of those who actually created said street life, it’s no wonder indifference turns to rage.

But the new practice space is great. So much room, so much sunlight streaming in. And the acoustics are enough to restore my faith in my thirteen-some-odd year old Pearl Export kit.

It is the day after Daylight Savings Time began. There is still light in the sky as I look out of my office window. Indeed, the sky is blue with whispy clouds.

But I’m sipping hot chocolate.

From an oversized Santa Claus mug.

It seems wrong.

But the hot chocolate tastes nonetheless good. And the trees are still bare. I guess these are clues.

I gotta say, the holiday season never really touched me much. Growing up we as a family didn’t celebrate it with decorated trees or any such thing. Nor am I a fan of the incessant Christmas pop music that accompanies the month of December. But this year, I have an Ohrwurm

A few weeks ago Kal herded a group of us into the city to film a music video. The weather cooperated by not completely freezing us mid-shoot, and by providing a little decorative precipitation, appropriate to the season. Kal brought the music and we brought the cheer (and quite some goofiness,) mixed it together and enjoyed the holiday “that old merry way.” Check out the video for Jukebox Christmas and enjoy your holidays!

Excerpted from a letter to a friend

Frankly, if you ask me, telling someone not to cry when the impulse strikes is like telling someone not to pee when they gotta go. Have you ever held it in so long that you totally relish the relief of the bathroom? We are trained to disdain the catharsis of tears. My grandfather used to tell me that real men don’t cry. He was a military man. I was an eight year old boy. I thought he was absurd for saying that. Maybe when you’re that old you don’t need to cry, I thought. But at the age of eight I was somehow wise enough to know that stifling my tears was just a bad idea. They want out, and one way or another they’ll get out.
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So, as I mentioned, I got the news of the birth of my nephew while I was in Munich. Rest assured, I was only vacationing, I have not returned to live there. A few days later I was in Slovakia for Joerg and Stanka’s wedding. In my hotel room I got to speak to my mother for the first time since she was crowned “Grandmother.”

I have heard how parents, in moments of concern for their own mortality, plead with their single children to hurry up and get married. This conversation with my mother demonstrates that even times of great joy and celebration of new life are cause for the same pleas. The exchange went something like this:
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