You know, there’s something curiously satisfying about listening to dusty old CDs while you do long-neglected household chores…
Here’s one of my rediscoveries, Bonnie Raitt performing “Angel from Montgomery,” a beautiful, sad, authentic song I loved back around 1990 or so and then somehow forgot about until today:
It’s a huge cliche, of course, but they really don’t write ’em like this anymore. At least, not that I ever hear.
Just reposting a couple of things I saw out in the ‘sphere today that resonated with me.
Have you ever come slightly awake early in the morning — not fully conscious, just somewhat aware of your surroundings — and known that everything is just perfect: The sheets are smooth and soft beneath you, not tangled for a change, the room temperature and ambient light levels are optimal, and you don’t even have the urge to pee. After a moment, you begin to sink back into a deeper layer of sleep, like a U-boat that’s popped up for a look around and is now submerging into the cool, quiet darkness, and you can sense that you’re experiencing the most restful, contented sleep you’ve had in weeks…
And then the bloody alarm clock goes off and sends your heartrate into the stratosphere.
Yeah, that was how I started today. I’ve had a headache ever since.
Sigh.
Really, the melding of pose, composition, lighting, and caption is just sublime:
more animals
I’ve never seen a Jim Jarmusch film, and frankly his stuff doesn’t sound like anything I would enjoy — I never have developed much taste for artsy independent cinema that “breaks many conventions of traditional Hollywood filmmaking”; I happen to like traditional Hollywood conventions, thank you — but I did find the following Jarmusch quote interesting:
Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery — celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from — it’s where you take them to.”
Authenticity as opposed to originality. Makes sense to me. I knew at an early age that much of Star Wars was ripped off from Flash Gordon serials, Dune, and Isaac Asimov’s Foundation stories, and yet somehow those elements recombined into something wholly new and, at least before it became a brand instead of merely a movie, terribly exciting and pleasing.
This quote was happily yoinked from Roberson’s Interminable Ramble… which handily proves the point, if you think about it.
Nothing to say, really, I just thought this was a cool picture. You can find more mermaids and other interesting stuff at the photographer’s blog.
I don’t know if 2008 was actually more eventful than other recent years, but ’08 certainly felt more… I don’t know… frenetic? That’s not quite the right word, but it’s in the neighborhood. Certainly ’08 was more exhausting than other twelve-month blocks of time. I recall experiencing more moments of feeling utterly drained and used up in the last year than in the entire decade preceding it. Of course, that could be simply of my inexorable trudge toward middle age. I am 39 years old now, and I’m finding, to my horror, that I just don’t absorb the hits as well as I used to. Or it could be that the hits lately have been more intense…
Depression II, the sequel no one wants to see, has finally premiered at a business near me. Meaning that 13 of my coworkers, including some people I consider friends as well as colleagues, got laid off today. I personally escaped the ax, and I feel reasonably safe given my position and current workload, but damn it’s been a lousy day. The way these things are handled in this liability-conscious and paranoid age tends to drag out the process over several hours, and the constant sense of dread, the wondering if your phone is going to be the next one to ring with the call to come up to HR, is utterly exhausting. The metaphor that kept coming to my mind is the Curse of the First Born scene from The Ten Commandments, when the Hebrews hunker down in their homes while the evil green fog slinks through the streets outside, killing unnamed extras by the dozens. If another round of this seems imminent, I’m seriously tempted to paint my cubicle with lamb’s blood.
After a day like this, nothing is really very funny, but this LOLcat struck me as… appropriate:
more animals
I imagine a lot of my coworkers are in this condition right now. Me, I’m just worn out. Off to bed…
When you are driving through a snowstorm and resting your elbow on a frozen turkey that’s on the seat beside you, your whole body tends to feel cold.
And now you know. And knowing is half the battle.
Like everybody else in the country, I’ve been captivated by yesterday’s news story about an airliner ditching in the Hudson River after hitting a flock of birds during its ascent phase. The amazing part of the story is, of course, that all 155 people aboard the plane survived with only minor injuries.
Now, whenever these sorts of events happen, the survivors, witnesses, and press inevitably start throwing around the word “miracle.” I know there are a lot of people out there who believe in genuine, literal miracles, i.e., times when God personally intervenes in order to save lives. I don’t. I’m an agnostic — I don’t deny the possibility of a God, but I have a very hard time believing He plays much of an active role in what goes on down here on this little rock. However, I acknowledge that many of my fellow Americans disagree with me on this idea, and when you come right down to it, describing positive outcomes as “miracles” is one of those things that’s not worth getting worked up over, even if I personally find it tiresome.
Still… I’ve got my limits.