Monday, August 30, 2004
It don't look like they're here to deliver the mail.
Every once in a while, a song comes on that's worthy enough to be blasted -- to play loud enough to drown anything else out. Last week, it was driving in to work, when Led Zeppelin came on the radio to make that depressing drive a lot easier. The wind was waving through my open car window as I stopped to slide my security card in the parking garage checker, and the drums pounded as the cymbals shattered, and all the other people in their cars looked over at me in annoyance.
Today it's Powderfinger that's got the neighbor across the street looking up at my attic window with his hand over his eyes as if he's deciding whether he should curse or bob his head. Maybe the third consecutive playing of the song will get him into the spirit of the proceedings.
There's nothing like second shift.
I'm doing a lot of work on the house, lately, trying to get all these projects done before the end of the year. Ranger's feeling better after a few rough days of puking and sleeping. I'm still writing my book, though a couple weeks were spent researching the next chapter. And all that squirrel food we put down has eight stalks of corn coming up in the backyard. Sometime this week I'll make it back here for my general impressions of the surprising and unsurprising marathon races that have gone nearly unnoticed these past two weeks.
"Cover me with the thought that pulled the trigger."
Today it's Powderfinger that's got the neighbor across the street looking up at my attic window with his hand over his eyes as if he's deciding whether he should curse or bob his head. Maybe the third consecutive playing of the song will get him into the spirit of the proceedings.
There's nothing like second shift.
I'm doing a lot of work on the house, lately, trying to get all these projects done before the end of the year. Ranger's feeling better after a few rough days of puking and sleeping. I'm still writing my book, though a couple weeks were spent researching the next chapter. And all that squirrel food we put down has eight stalks of corn coming up in the backyard. Sometime this week I'll make it back here for my general impressions of the surprising and unsurprising marathon races that have gone nearly unnoticed these past two weeks.
"Cover me with the thought that pulled the trigger."
