A few guests over last
night. And as always the kids play
“ghost in the graveyard” and we snack and drink and barbeque out in the back
and the sun goes down and the candles come on at the table. Sitting out there with the speakers pointed
into the space and now our compound is filled with a confrontationally odd mix
of twenties Alberta Hunter blues and sixties Rocksteady and then naught’s
Board’s of Canada. I don’t think I have ever heard anyone else
play music audibly in this compound, other than some kid playing piano or flute
behind closed doors.
Then this morning, the invariable clean up. Someone must have made some progress before I
went to bed. But not that much. This plate with cheese. The plate with chocolates I served that was
never finished. Pieces of watermelon lying around and dishes and glasses and
bowls and cutlery and so many dirty testimonials to last night’s festivities
and everything moved in the evening light with a swift, careless cadence.
It’s a school morning, so I clean off the table and get
their cereal ready. Pour glasses of orange juice that are rarely
finished, and cut a banana, some watermelon.
Get the coffee started and begin make sense of the pile of dishes. My laptop is downstairs from last night. I bring it up and do the obligatory check of
emails and the front page of the New York Times. Did the world blow up? Nothing that can’t be returned to. Put some female blues from the twenties which
is a morning ritual I’ve tried to put in place, as if the firm, logic of blues
melodies is a soil, that they will draw on for nearly all the other music they
encounter in their lives.
Ida Cox was born in Georgia back in 1896. Coming up through vaudeville and blackface
performances she rose to become the ‘uncrowned queen of the blues’ during those
roaring years of blues output. There are
a series of albums that capture her songs of the twenties and thirties. I set them up with a tune called “Hard Old
Lawd” that must have been recorded in 1927.
The first line of the song sets it down:
“When I came into this world, I didn’t come to stay.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ida_Cox
Nearing seven I head up to get the ladies up. My older one is going in late this week with
her younger sister. She’s used to
getting up earlier and jumps up quickly.
Her younger sister needs some persuading. Their mom seems to know her precious sleep is
about to be compromised before I even put my hand on her shoulder. Her brows knit as though her dream,
anticipating disruption took a turn for the confusing. One
more pass at both the slow risers and I’m back down to Ida’s storytelling to
get my sneakers on, so I can head to the gym.
Two interesting articles I read over the weekend about journalistic
integrity under attack here in Greater China.
The former editor Hong Kong’s prestigious Ming Bao newspaper, Kevin Lau was stabbed. The investigation continues but the damage
may be done, to other reporters considering whether or not or precisely how
best to self-censor. The profession now
requires local reporters to summon some 出生入死[1] bravery, just to do their job. http://www.eastasiaforum.org/2014/03/21/hong-kong-press-freedom-under-attack/
Meanwhile we’ve an interesting article in The Atlantic where in James Fallows interviews
a former editor of Bloomberg in China, Ben Richardson. Did Bloomberg compromise journalistic
integrity to protect its core business interests of selling their proprietary
terminals for investors here in China?
The story was pulled because the company claimed that it “was not
ready.” Richardson maintains that was
nonsense. He raises a good point that
this is all beyond simply one company.
China’s rise is “too big” for nearly any company to miss out on. Will the standards for journalistic integrity
globally be pulled down for every news organization that like Bloomberg, has to make it in China. I think Fallow’s is correct, perhaps it is
time for the former Mayor himself, to weigh in on this. http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2014/03/another-bloomberg-editor-explains-why-he-has-resigned-over-its-china-coverage/359565/
[1]
chūshēngrùsǐ: from the cradle to the
grave (idiom); to go through fire and water / brave / willing to risk life and
limb
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