Really lovely Mediterranean sky this evening. Puffy clouds with grey bottoms and cherubic pink tops are coasting along at a brisk pace above me on Erwei Road, approaching the airport, there is a mighty wind blowing in from the Gobi Desert today. Yes, it has crossed my mind that this might be something that impacts my flight. “Turba-lance” every time. But sometimes are more vicious than others.
Last night the older one must have decided to chow-down on some of her finite supply of lactose-toleration medication. She ordered two pizzas, and then a third since the little one was supposed to have some friends over. They didn’t show so we had a whole lot more than we could ever finish. It wasn't bad. But I was bragging to them about what I'd had in Sao Paulo, which was on another level. And the little one suggested and we all agreed migrate into my room and do some music rotation.
My older daughter had some cool, hiphop that I hadn’t heard before. I dutifully asked the names of these guys. But I’ve forgotten them. I always ask where they’re from. She never knows. But I’m glad she has new music. I’m glad it's funky. My wife decided it was a night of guzheng. The first performance was a lady getting rather dramatic on her bends with a big old orchestra behind her. The second had a fellow who was even more aggressive with his guzheng picking and the final lady was perhaps my favorite as she was rather subtle and understated and bent the strings without a lot of nonsense.
My younger one played the Korean girls bands Black Pink, and then Mamamou. In another era, let’s say the 1950s, these would have been pornographic I suppose. Now they are just cute. Making conversation, I asked what companies they were associated with and my daughter actually knew their names. That didn’t seem right. She had a BTS bootleg clip she threw on later and we all agreed that the bullet-proof lads all looked kinda tired that night. The little one gets super testy when anyone doesn't pay attention if her song is up, though she of course reaches for her phone as soon as the next person's song is cued. I pulled off the Korean medieval text "Sam Guk Yusa" from the shelf and showed her. It's a mutually understood homophone for Sum Guk Loser. She got the hint.
Et moi? Well, I decided some MC5, ‘Ramblin’ Rose,’ with the classic introduction, to kick up some noise, by Rob Tyner. I’d been listening to it all week at the gym and it was on my mind. This made me want to play some Stooges and I found a rough montage someone had thrown together of Iggy strutting around while “Down on the Street” played. I got in four minutes of “Love Supreme” before I got a time-penalty, and then in keeping with my Mingus mode, I played “Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting” from “Blues and Roots” as long as they’d let me and did what I could to get them to focus on Charles’ more-ferocious-than-you, assault on his stand up bass.
Now a day’s gone by. The air-mavens tell me that my flight will leave ninety minutes late. But fear not, it has already left where ever it was it left from. The windy day must have set everything back heading in and out of Beijing. I’m sitting here in the micro-lounge area they have near the Shanghai flights. I’m surrounded by about eighteen Chinese men who are all more or less my age. They all seem tired and entitled, (I suppose like me.) There are no women other than the ladies who are stocking the peanuts and cleaning up the refuse. I have seventy albums downloaded on to Spotify and this nifty new top-shelf iPhone can’t play any of them. I guess I’ll go and fill my cup.