I Was Gone--and What Happened While I've Been Away
Plus: A Memoriam for Terry Teachout and Michael Brecker. Also, Tallahassee Is Beautiful.
I’ve been silent here for a while, and I wanted to both apologize and explain. In early November, I felt a massive weight of lethargy fall on me; not only was it hard to function during the day, even with decent sleep, but after my morning cardio workout, I’d barely make it home and eat before I couldn’t help but collapse in bed.
Not only that, but my brain was in a fog; I stared at the blank page and couldn’t eeek out more than a few disjointed sentences. I didn’t really think I had anything to say but a few character’s-worth of quips. Even as I had obligations to produce–this newsletter, for example, among other things–my mind was too empty and foggy to create anything, or even to consume anything. For a month, I didn’t put on any music in the house.
A few weeks later, I was finally hit with a fever and then felt even more tired. That feeling of intense tiredness was alarming, and I began to think it was Covid.
After testing negative, several doctors assured me that the tests were false-negatives. I believed them. I lost my appetite, and was one of the 20% who had severe gastro issues rather than respiratory ones. I was severely dehydrated, and did everything I could to add liquid and electrolytes. Nothing worked. I lost nearly 20 pounds while I could barely do more than tweet a bit and keep Seinfeld on in the background.
I found that I could walk–dazed and sweaty–but I couldn’ stand in one place. “Go out and get some sun,” they told me, so I took all the energy I had to go downstairs and get myself a chicken and kale wrap. Once I got there, standing in line was impossible, and I stumbled around in circles until it was my turn to order. From then on, I ordered food and lived from couch to bed.
Thankfully, after several weeks, I began to return to something approaching normal; the fever was gone, along with much of the physical tiredness. My brain fog was lifting, but the gastro stuff remained, no matter what I took and how I tried to change my diet. As it seemed to settle, I began to worry about–and struggle with–regaining the weight I’d lost.
At the gym, I wasn’t shocked to be quite weak, but I couldn’t believe just how hard it was for me to do even basic things there. I struggled with half the weight I could lift only a month before. Subsequent workouts have not improved. Like all devolutions–even temporary ones–this one has been tremendously despriting. I’m nothing close to a patient person, so this recovery will be harder than most things. But as they say, one day at a time.
llness isn’t uncommon these days, unfortunately–and it’s really never been. My experience with Covid was worse than some, and better than others. I appreciate your time and your patience with me in my absence and even my silence. I am in debt to so many friends who helped me keep as sane as possible through all of this. Thank you.
With the Governor
As I had passed 50% of my recovery, I was honored to be invited to Tallahassee–along with several very smart and wonderful friends in politics who’ve moved to Florida–to have dinner and chat with our governor, Ron DeSantis.
Many of us took the same flight from Miami, stayed in the same hotel, and it was more fun than any school trip. The conversation was off the record–but I can tell you about my general impressions of the Governor: he is very bright, driven, engaged, and strikingly normal. Certainly more normal than most any politician I’ve met. But more on this soon.
On the Turntable—In Memoriam (x2)
I began reading Terry Teachout in Commentary and on his own blog, About Last Night, in the early days of the blogosphere. I learned so much from him. We didn’t know one another, really; like many others, we shared a love of Paul Desmond, Jim Hall and posting links to our favorite music on Twitter. His piece on black-on-white racism in jazz “The Color of Jazz” was (and is) controversial, it remains undeniably true. Indeed, it’s even more true today. In the 90s a piece he wrote brought jazz accordionist and singer Joe Mooney some notoriety with the jazz cognoscenti, resulting in the reissue of material that wasn’t even well-known enough to be forgotten. But it was wonderful; Mooney’s voice was like Johnny Mercer’s, and his arrangements were hip as anything that was happening at the time. “Tea for Two” is a wonderful example of Mooney’s artistry—and the power of a critic to bring excellent music to life.
It was recently 15 years since the tragic passing of saxophonist Mike Brecker from cancer. As Ted Goia wrote recently of this anniversary, Brecker managed to be a jazz god of the highest caliber—he's got more adoring fans in music school than perhaps any single musician—without even rating a single profile in a mainstream media outlet. He is almost universally acknowledged as the next in the line of jazz saxophone following the death of John Coltrane. How this happened has more to do with the jazz ghetto than with Brecker’s formidable talent. First, here is a bootleg of ballads I uploaded to YouTube years ago, with Charlie Haden and Danilo Perez. Then, a solo tenor “Delta City Blues” that’s one of the stone classics of solo improvisation. Almost frightening in its brilliance and virtuosity.
Really happy to hear you have recovered now!
So glad you're feeling better!! Loved your Newsweek article too!