Monday, May 18, 2009.
Max. Moby Dick. Acme.
It was a chilly morning. Almost wintry, the temperature in the low fifties when I awoke, and windy, too. I shivered on my walk to the mailbox to collect the newspaper--the first I've received in over a month. That lack (due to forgetting to re-start the subscription after returning from the cruise) caused distress later in the day, when I learned that Max Zander died last Thursday. His funeral was Saturday. I feel terrible that I missed it. His online obituary revealed something amazing: that Max was eighty-nine. I had no idea he was that old. He certainly didn't act his age. [By the time I caught up with this date's journal, I already wrote and published my own obituary for Max in the newsletter.]
My current audio book is Moby Dick. I began it with some trepidation, not only because of its length but also because of its complexity. I was surprised to find it a very easy listen. No wonder it's so famous. Melville wields a much defter pen than I remember. I was supposed to have read Moby Dick when I was a sophomore at Jesuit. I didn't. (That kind of carelessness ultimately resulted in my having to go to Rummel in my senior year.) Twelve years later, I decided that I really should get that assignment done, no matter how late it was. I read the book in the bathtub over the course of several months. I remember it as tough going--nothing like what I'm hearing now, thirty years later. What a shame that we don't have the skills we need for projects like that when we need them, instead of years later, when they come easily but are almost immaterial.
I did the radio show from home, and when I finished I found Mary Leigh lukewarm about the idea of dinner at the Acme Oyster House. Or any other place. I hope this new habit isn't dying out already. We went to the Acme anyway, for the usual things, all as good as usual. While we were there, the 1967 duet of Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell--"Your Precious Love"--came on the sound system. The Acme plays only music of that era, including little-played songs like that one. "To find a love like yours is rare these days, 'cause you showed me what happiness is in so many ways." That line sends a chill down my spine, so much feeling does the matchless Marvin give it. Mary Leigh was utterly unimpressed. But I don't like her music much, either.
