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viedmaPaper's all finished, i got a shred of responsibility in me and emailed my prof about issues paper topics, and now i want to kick back and ree-lax. Trouble is, frickin' LJ is trying to crap out on me just when I have a couple of minutes to jot down stuff. I feel like I'm woman in distress, trying to get through in between interruptions in valuable service, but enough about evil fucking Sprint.
I'm starting to think that driving 1 1/2 up to Philly once a week is major catharsis. I don't have to do anything but sit in my car and listen to music or NPR. It's the only time i get to listen to Fresh Air these days. Today it was about the survivors of the Indianapolis that was torpedoed in WWII. Man, you sure can tell the difference between Terri Gross and Neil Conan (I'm butchering names here, people, i know). Terri would've done s'thing that would've focused on the human angle of the story and made it involving; Neil decided to do the piece about shark attacks. I think the boy was trying too hard. But hey, i listened the whole hour, so what does that say about me? I just hope that Terri comes back soon.
After that, i scanned some old mix tapes for The Jam's "Town Called Malice" (that i thought was called Town Called Alice for about-- oh, i don't know, 10 years or so) and fucking JAMMED.
There's a spot on the freeway about 5 miles before you come into downtown where your car bounces like it's got the worst shocks in the world, and it feels fantastic-- wind in the hair, bugs in the teeth, arms turning blotchy and hivey with sunburn, car stereo blaring, and you get to bounce in time to the music. I rewound and listened to that song over and over amd was in heaven. And if i hadn't been in my car, i would've been stuck in the work cubicle. Therein lies the advantage of a longass commute. At least it's only once a week.
I also dug that song out because they used it in my favorite scene in Billy Elliot. It's pretty MTVish, but something in it clicked for me when he's dancing around and giving his brother the big fuck you and his best friend's watching him go off and get really angry and try to dance it all out, and it won't all come out. It sounds corny as hell, but i've been there. I just don't look half as good doing it.
I used to run to get the anger out, or when i was depressed and needed to get my keister in gear, trying to get to this place where you didn't have to think about anything, just doing and doing and not stopping until you drop otherwise you'll think about what's happening in your life and you'll get pissed. But then i got sick and i didn't feel the same way when i ran anymore. it was a chore, and i never got to this place where i could zone out and not feel i was touching the ground. I just work instead to get the same feeling. Except i don't feel angry or depressed.
hmmm. Maybe that's why, doofus. Maybe all the work is taking away from any self-reflection.
hmmm again.
I'm starting to think that driving 1 1/2 up to Philly once a week is major catharsis. I don't have to do anything but sit in my car and listen to music or NPR. It's the only time i get to listen to Fresh Air these days. Today it was about the survivors of the Indianapolis that was torpedoed in WWII. Man, you sure can tell the difference between Terri Gross and Neil Conan (I'm butchering names here, people, i know). Terri would've done s'thing that would've focused on the human angle of the story and made it involving; Neil decided to do the piece about shark attacks. I think the boy was trying too hard. But hey, i listened the whole hour, so what does that say about me? I just hope that Terri comes back soon.
After that, i scanned some old mix tapes for The Jam's "Town Called Malice" (that i thought was called Town Called Alice for about-- oh, i don't know, 10 years or so) and fucking JAMMED.
There's a spot on the freeway about 5 miles before you come into downtown where your car bounces like it's got the worst shocks in the world, and it feels fantastic-- wind in the hair, bugs in the teeth, arms turning blotchy and hivey with sunburn, car stereo blaring, and you get to bounce in time to the music. I rewound and listened to that song over and over amd was in heaven. And if i hadn't been in my car, i would've been stuck in the work cubicle. Therein lies the advantage of a longass commute. At least it's only once a week.
I also dug that song out because they used it in my favorite scene in Billy Elliot. It's pretty MTVish, but something in it clicked for me when he's dancing around and giving his brother the big fuck you and his best friend's watching him go off and get really angry and try to dance it all out, and it won't all come out. It sounds corny as hell, but i've been there. I just don't look half as good doing it.
I used to run to get the anger out, or when i was depressed and needed to get my keister in gear, trying to get to this place where you didn't have to think about anything, just doing and doing and not stopping until you drop otherwise you'll think about what's happening in your life and you'll get pissed. But then i got sick and i didn't feel the same way when i ran anymore. it was a chore, and i never got to this place where i could zone out and not feel i was touching the ground. I just work instead to get the same feeling. Except i don't feel angry or depressed.
hmmm. Maybe that's why, doofus. Maybe all the work is taking away from any self-reflection.
hmmm again.
