Finished James McBride's Deacon King Kong last night, the second of his books I've read during lockdown. A good, solid book about a changing neighborhood in Brooklyn in the late 60s, warmhearted and positive but not hokey, I see whey Oprah liked it.
I had made a fire already, which Mary appreciated when she came out of her meeting at 8. I had been listening to a little Miles Davis on the sly, since she can't stand the sound of jazz.
Then I watched an episode of The Good Place and one of Midnight Diner, my Japanese show, which continues to teach me things. In particular, it's stunning to see the Japanese's profound lack of judgement around matters sexual. There are strippers, hooks, trans people, teenages having affairs with teachers, but never a hint of judgement. It's all just who people are or something they're going through. Really different.
My officemate David tells me this extends to the scatological, that Japanese people will easily transition in conversation to discussions of the consistency of their stools. I guess I really haven't hung out with many Japanese people in my lifetime, it's just a fact.
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