This is the first post in this blog since September 2009 that I did not work on all day at work.
That's because I got a new job where I don't get to mess around on the internet 90% of the day.
I thought this time crunch would spark me to new intensity and efficiency when it came to blogging and keeping in touch with other bloggers. But I haven't had as much free time (that I don't choose to spend doing online shopping and getting my Facebook fix). As before, when I get home, I usually would rather do something different than what I do all day (what I do all day = using a computer for a function other than watching TV).
I also realized that my chair in my apartment is uncomfortable for blogging. I'm going to have to hunt for a new one if I wish to comfortably blog.
I've thought a lot lately about how situational our talents and pursuits are. Many of us grow into one awesome thing as children and more-or-less follow that path to its logical extent.
But many of us end up giving up on that awesome thing due to circumstances. Some of us get that same awesome thing back or find another awesome thing to replace it. But it's so much easier to just quit doing awesome things forever.
I'd like to say that I'm sure that won't happen to me. But I'm not sure. Confident, yes. Confident like I'm confident I won't get hit by a car in Manhattan. Confident that if I dodge them, and if I hang out with people who look out for me, they won't hit me.
This morning, as I listened to it for the umpteenth time, I had the shocking epiphany that Bert Jansch's LA Turnaround could be the only album I'd ever listen to for the rest of my life and I'd probably survive.
It's got the British folk sounds I love and it's got the Americana sounds I love. I'd like to hear more than just those sounds in life, but I could probably get by on those sounds alone if I had to.
Don't get me wrong- if you told me that I'd have to eliminate all but one album from my life, I'd be pretty sad. But if it were LA Turnaround, I'd survive. In fact, I can pretty vividly imagine my schedule in this dystopia:
Saturday, 6pm: Music hour. Time for my weekly listen to LA Turnaround.
7pm: Watch Doctor Who for a while on Netflix.
9pm: Go out to bars where there's no music playing, because the only record that exists is LA Turnaround. Talk about the decor where I'd otherwise talk about music. Talk to dudes about how overplayed round, three-foot wooden stools are. Have a conversation with a girl about how underrated green lamps are and how cool it is to meet someone else who loves green lamps in the same way.
3am: Go home with her. Say, "Hey, let's listen to a record." Open up the cabinet that holds my record collection. It's only one record: LA Turnaround. Place it on the turntable, which feels a bit like a sacrament, because it repetitively plays the same thing. Giggle at the steel guitars- or maybe not, since maybe, in this world, steel guitars have ended up sounding ultra-sexy to us. Start making out around "Travelling Man." Remember some decor-related joke the two of you had back at the bar and laugh pretty hard about it.
11am: She's out the door and our separate days have started. Take a shower. Think about going back to sleep again, but decide not to ruin the day. Wonder if she wants to see me again... or if I want to see her again. Put on LA Turnaround once again as I contemplate. Hungover-dial one of my friends. Laugh about how we're both gonna be in our underwear all day. Talk about the separate egg sandwiches we're cooking and how awesome they are. Talk about the awesome music each of us had been listening to lately, which, for both of us, is LA Turnaround.
If I could choose between being in a world where I could only own one album, and I had to go to other people's houses to hear other awesome music, and a world where there was only one awesome album to represent all music, I think I'd choose the latter.
[If you leave a comment, I'd like to hear which you would choose.]
That's because I got a new job where I don't get to mess around on the internet 90% of the day.
I thought this time crunch would spark me to new intensity and efficiency when it came to blogging and keeping in touch with other bloggers. But I haven't had as much free time (that I don't choose to spend doing online shopping and getting my Facebook fix). As before, when I get home, I usually would rather do something different than what I do all day (what I do all day = using a computer for a function other than watching TV).
I also realized that my chair in my apartment is uncomfortable for blogging. I'm going to have to hunt for a new one if I wish to comfortably blog.
I've thought a lot lately about how situational our talents and pursuits are. Many of us grow into one awesome thing as children and more-or-less follow that path to its logical extent.
But many of us end up giving up on that awesome thing due to circumstances. Some of us get that same awesome thing back or find another awesome thing to replace it. But it's so much easier to just quit doing awesome things forever.
I'd like to say that I'm sure that won't happen to me. But I'm not sure. Confident, yes. Confident like I'm confident I won't get hit by a car in Manhattan. Confident that if I dodge them, and if I hang out with people who look out for me, they won't hit me.
This morning, as I listened to it for the umpteenth time, I had the shocking epiphany that Bert Jansch's LA Turnaround could be the only album I'd ever listen to for the rest of my life and I'd probably survive.
It's got the British folk sounds I love and it's got the Americana sounds I love. I'd like to hear more than just those sounds in life, but I could probably get by on those sounds alone if I had to.
Don't get me wrong- if you told me that I'd have to eliminate all but one album from my life, I'd be pretty sad. But if it were LA Turnaround, I'd survive. In fact, I can pretty vividly imagine my schedule in this dystopia:
Saturday, 6pm: Music hour. Time for my weekly listen to LA Turnaround.
7pm: Watch Doctor Who for a while on Netflix.
9pm: Go out to bars where there's no music playing, because the only record that exists is LA Turnaround. Talk about the decor where I'd otherwise talk about music. Talk to dudes about how overplayed round, three-foot wooden stools are. Have a conversation with a girl about how underrated green lamps are and how cool it is to meet someone else who loves green lamps in the same way.
3am: Go home with her. Say, "Hey, let's listen to a record." Open up the cabinet that holds my record collection. It's only one record: LA Turnaround. Place it on the turntable, which feels a bit like a sacrament, because it repetitively plays the same thing. Giggle at the steel guitars- or maybe not, since maybe, in this world, steel guitars have ended up sounding ultra-sexy to us. Start making out around "Travelling Man." Remember some decor-related joke the two of you had back at the bar and laugh pretty hard about it.
11am: She's out the door and our separate days have started. Take a shower. Think about going back to sleep again, but decide not to ruin the day. Wonder if she wants to see me again... or if I want to see her again. Put on LA Turnaround once again as I contemplate. Hungover-dial one of my friends. Laugh about how we're both gonna be in our underwear all day. Talk about the separate egg sandwiches we're cooking and how awesome they are. Talk about the awesome music each of us had been listening to lately, which, for both of us, is LA Turnaround.
If I could choose between being in a world where I could only own one album, and I had to go to other people's houses to hear other awesome music, and a world where there was only one awesome album to represent all music, I think I'd choose the latter.
[If you leave a comment, I'd like to hear which you would choose.]
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