Spring cleaning

You know how some people can live in total squalor and not see it? My band plays shows in the residences of lots of those people. Last Friday we played what turned out to be a fun show (despite my early misgivings and the many get-me-out-of-here text messages) in a transcendently filthy loft. We played in a bedroom that was, seriously, smaller than a Ford Explorer. It contained nothing but a big homemade bunk bed, draped for privacy with a kids bedsheet with fighter jets on it. We were the first people to arrive, and I watched the guy who lived there halfheartedly pick up a dirty sock, toss it behind the bed, and then look right past a whole bunch of wrapper scraps and other bits of trash.

These shows always make me think about how there is, I think, a capacity to see dirt that most people develop at some point as they reach adulthood. I remember its arrival for me, when I was helping my mom to get our house ready to sell. I would think a room was fine, ready to go, and then she would point out all kinds of chaotic or disgusting nooks and crannies that I hadn't even registered.

So yesterday I spent the whole day trying to eliminate all hidden pockets of clutter and dirtiness from my apartment. It was hard, and I didn't finish, despite spending all day on it. It was fun, too, though; I listened several times to the Dvorak cello concerto (which my new orchestra will start rehearsing on Tuesday), several times to my new Massachusetts songs mix CD, and to a bunch of NPR shows online. And then I invented a dish and named it "chicken with deliciousness." Fruit and olives--so good!