I find myself sitting here with the words that invariably manifest themselves as I write my Static column for each issue: It’s been a month. That thought’s more eloquent companions have fled, screaming, to the depths of my subconscious. Schubert had better luck snagging his mischievous trout than I do trolling for those saucy fugitives. They lurk just out of sight—and out of mind.
The high point certainly was just after publication of my July issue, when I received my Jazz Hero award from the Jazz Journalists Association. It took me so long to decide where that presentation was to take place, mulling over both Utica and Rome before settling on Syracuse, that I expect the JJA will grant me the coveted Royal Pain award for inconveniencing others above and beyond the call of duty. After my months of vacillating, the event (a meeting of the Jazz Appreciation Society of Syracuse) went quite well, with my lifelong best friend in attendance. As a gesture of appreciation for the kind reception, I managed to keep my acceptance speech well under three quarters of an hour.
Shades of This is Your Life—but this is also my life: you readers may have noticed that the July issue was more gray and less physically substantial than previous issues, as if pri
