Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Jolene

Humor me and watch them both--




The juxtaposition is killing me.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Procrastination



I thought I was the only one who procrastinated so systematically!  Still haven't gotten my stuff done, though.  It is beginning to depress me, but what isn't depressing me these days?  I'm unhappy about my injuries, unhappy about my lack of exercise due to my injuries, unhappy about my upcoming performance review, unhappy about my fucked up association with a psychopath (enough said on that topic)....  Well, it isn't all bad.  I'm enjoying the ever loving fuck out of this weather and the brightly popping flowers and the green peppering on the trees.

Also, I'm going to Chicago soon, which is equal parts stressful and exhilarating.  Invigorating because traveling by yourself to such a large city is unadulterated wondrousness.  One of those grand adventure type deals, the romanticism of which is only magnified by the fact that I'm taking the train up.  At the same time, I'm anxious and worry unnecessarily about something going massively wrong - like missing my train or getting mugged while carting around my luggage.  Also, I fret about social stuff (seriously, I'm basically a hermit, people, stop dragging me out of my cave).

However, I'll get to spend ginormous amounts of time with one of my favorite ladies on this earth and she lives on the lake, which will be lovely.  In addition, I'll see one of my childhood heroes, Mr. Thom Yorke, in concert for the very first time (with that delightful nutball, Flea, no less.  Man, how great would it be if Flea could get Thom to play naked on stage?  Awesome). Also, I'll get to wander about the museums, which I never get to do b/c no one will play tourist w/ me in Chicago (bastards, all of you).  

Oh, and the days are getting longer.  That is quite nice.  I can't tell you how much I missed our nearest star.  I need more solar rays in my life.  Better than Zoloft, if you ask me.  I'm rather like a cat in that respect.

Finally, there is a boy who sorta likes me.  It makes me smile to think about being entangled with him - he is a good man. 

Yep.  That's about it. 

Welcome to my stream of consciousness.


Om shanti.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Mean, Mean, Monkey Man

On my way home from work this evening, I was stopped at a red traffic signal at the Grand Exit of Highway 40 (yes, I'm still calling it that).  Mine is the fifth car in line in the left turn lane.  A man is walking along the side of the roadway with a hand-written sign in his hands (most likely asking for money, but he was too far away from me to read what the sign actually said). 

After a couple of moments, the light turns green and the first three cars pull into the intersection to make the left onto Grand.  The car in front of mine remains stopped.  The driver appears to be assiduously fixated on the pedestrian with the sign and is paying little heed to the traffic around him.  I lightly tap on my horn to notify him of the signal change and he explodes into wild gesticulation. Instantaneously, both of his hands shoot into the air and he waves them above his head like an out-of-control monkey.  Repeatedly he jabs his fingers at the pedestrian, as though to signal to me that the man is holding a gun and he couldn't possibly pull forward for fear of his very life.

In response, the pedestrian calmly steps back onto the curb, well out of the way of traffic (although, to be sure, the driver in front of me could have easily circumvented the pedestrian with room to spare, had he not been so intent on surveying the pedestrian's every move).  I, in turn, burst out into laughter at the driver's crazed antics, as he continues to gesture at me - this time in a more menacing manner.

I find little else more amusing than inappropriate road rage.  I seriously consider this to be the height of absurd behavior.  Now, I understand getting upset at someone abruptly cutting you off or doing something dangerous.  I can also comprehend frustration with drivers who are completely inept and slowing the flow of traffic.  I've been known to curse under my breath at these sorts of wayward drivers.  However, I simply can not fathom why people freak the fuck out at little things like what I've described above, as though they don't have any real problems in life.

Secretly, I suspect that they are too cowardly to deal with their anger in their personal spheres and so they misdirect it at other drivers.  Oh, you are so big and bad for threatening me from the safety of your vehicle.  I am really, really afraid of you, now, angry little person.  Please, please don't stick your middle finger up at me.  Stop or I'm going to burst into tears at your frustrated displays of immaturity.

My god, get a therapist.  Consider decaff.  Shit, consider weed or better yet:  public transport. 

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Springtime Blues

Recently, I watched the White Stripes documentary, Under Great White Northern Lights.  Most fans know that this is a two piece band who infamously represented themselves as siblings, although, they were a married couple at the time of their introduction (they've since been divorced).  The film closes with a scene that took place following their band's tenth anniversary celebration.  It exquisitely depicts Meg and Jack White sitting together at a private bench while Jack plays the melancholic "White Moon" on a gorgeous grand piano--



As Jack sings, "easy come easy go - be the star of a show - I'm giving up all I know to get more," Meg begins to cry.  Tears stream down her face, while Jack serenades her with what seems to be a song about insurmountable loss and his coming to terms with the ending of their relationship. 
Good lord, good lord...
the one I adored
and I can not afford, is a ghost
She's a ghost
I felt tears on my own face as I watched this spectacle.  The White Stripes are one of the few bands that Kenny and I both thoroughly enjoyed.  I remember listening to Elephant and drinking with him on his porch oh so many spring nights ago.  The perfectly cool air on our faces, grasping hands, sharing something magniloquently indescribable.  It appeared that the White's situation paralleled our own - with regard to feeling tremendously for a person, but knowing that the relationship will never be truly sustainable.  
Blink, blink at me Rita
Don't you know I'm a bleeder?
And I promised I wouldn't lead her on
Jack, who is typically so filled with self-assured bravado, seemed overcome with emotion as he stole glimpses at his weeping ex-wife.  He stumbled in his playing and the lyrics caught in his throat.  Abruptly he stopped short and starred off into space for a moment, as Meg broke down next to him.  Ultimately, he put his arm around her and kissed her hair tenderly. 
And my nose keeps on bleeding
'Cause it's Rita I'm needing
Unadvisedly, after watching this scene, I called Kenny.  I conveyed to him, still tearful, this feeling of our springtimes before.  Shortly thereafter, he was knocking at my front door.
It's the truth and it don't make a noise.