Sunday, April 16, 2006

My windows are wide open, it is Easter Sunday, and there is a glare off of the roof outside my window, a glare because the sun is bright on this beautiful, warm spring day, really bright and making me feel like I am wasting even this time here on this computer since it is in here and not out there, out in the sun, where I should be, where I feel like I should be. My mom is coming later this afternoon. And so, yesterday, I spent a good portion of the day cleaning up, scrubbing tubs, sinks, and stoves, folding clothes, vacuuming, making my life seem as orderly as possible for her arrival, trying to perhaps cosmeticize the disorder of my life for her benefit, but also for my own benefit. A clean house is such a good feeling and allows your mind to continue its paths uninterrupted by coming into your house and not seeing crap scattered everywhere. Your thoughts can continue to take what paths they may; they aren't put on hold for you to move stuff off the couch so you can sit on it, wondering where you should put this stuff, as a result, no longer wondering (the perhaps wonderful things) you were thinking.

I wish there was a beach within walking distance of my house. I wish I knew someone that had a car and wanted to go on a car ride right now this second, windows down, music blaring. I've got a bike, it is true. However, I don't want to carry it down the three flights of stairs, scratching up the walls and having to talk to my landlord's family who are all here this weekend. Also, I don't really like my bike. It's heavy as shit and only two of the gears work: the highest and the lowest. So a deal with myself: If I get a new job, I am buying myself a decent bike as a present. That, among other things. But firstly, a good bike.

My mom is coming and I am excited because I am excited about my life in general and don't mind my life being scrutinized by someone right now, held up for viewing, because there are things on the horizon, potentials that may hopefully be realized. I downloaded a bunch of Bruce Springsteen yesterday, mainly provoked by reading articles about his new album, We Shall Overcome, covers of Pete Seeger songs - it'd been a hell of a lot cooler if they were covers of Bob Seger songs (and probably closer to Springsteen's own shtick - this rockin' celebration of blue collar Americana) - but anyways, the new album, like his other most recent albums is good but just kind of boring. Some of the songs are really good and sound a lot like Tom Waits with a band sounding like a bunch of drunk, backwoods carnies. Other ones, especially the title track just sound like mush. They never really soar. Springsteen does some Dylanish slurring of the words and the band is too thick to actually follow any of the individual instruments. But what I was meaning to say, and why you shouldn't take my assessment too seriously (if you take it at all) is because I only gave the album a cursory listen, before I started listening to Born in the USA, an album that I have already heard a million times, but an album which I hadn't heard fully since I left my tape cassette of it behind somewhere in Sarasota. Springsteen's ass in tight jeans. The red (?) hanky hanging from his pocket. White tucked in t-shirt. I can still see the cover of that little cassette.

And I am listening to it again right now. I have been listening to it pretty much nonstop since downloading it. This album is so fucking good. It really is my favorite Springsteen album. I used to occasionally claim that Nebraska was because that's the cool album to like, the one hip people are supposed to like, not the pop of Born in the USA, but fuck that shit, this album is so good. Nebraska is good, great even, as is Born to Run, another favorite, but none of them have me cranking the volume and dancing and singing along like Born in the USA, and fuck - a while ago I did say something about trying to get outside and play in this sunshine. And so...

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