Soundtrack

I know that I've talked about this many times before, but it's amazing how certain songs become part of the soundtracks of our lives. It's especially interesting living in New York City, how so many songs seem to reflect the speed and bustle of the city perfectly. I'm not saying other songs don't represent other speeds and cities as well, but I think the prevalence of the Ipod as a standard of city life adds to the sync. Walking down the street wearing an ipod, everyone's steps seem to merge into a grand clatter that buttresses the idea of the unity of all things. However, it's also an interesting contrast that in a city where everything is loud and in your face, you can have a sense of your own personal respite down the cords or your headphones. Back to the original point about the soundtrack however; I got to thinking about my old commute on the Metro North, and how I was often mesmermized looking out the window watching the scenery move swiftly past, and how when a song like Simon and Garfunkel's America comes on, or something even more philosophically stimulating like Enigma's Return to Innocense, that I all of the sudden realize that songs are written deliberately for that cause, because they usually come from the life experiences of the individual writing them. Certainly this doesn't necessarily hold true for pop songs, but real music artists (like visual or written artists) write what they know - personal experiences; love, heartbreak, lust, beauty, splendor, death, they're all perfect topics because as humans we can relate and make those songs ours if we're not lucky enough to be blessed with the lyrical talent to write a poem or a ballad. In the end we realize that music is a unification tool used by individuals who wish to express themselves to the rest of us in the best way they know how......and you know what, we love it.

Blah......

What is it that gives one that sort of blah....(dots necessary) feeling at different points during their day, week, year, life, etc.? Is it the weather.....couldn't be, I've been terribly happy in the worst weather. Is it money...I could concede that money can be a factor in making one unhappy, but I don't think that's exactly the type of unhappy I'm talking about. Could it be love.....yeah, it could be, but I think we both know it's not. I really think that that blah.... feeling we get throughout our lives is a direct result of our knowledge of our own demise. The imminent fear of death that we all live with from the time we're born to the time we cease. And to accompany that fear is the added fear (ironically opposite of the known fear of death) of the uknown circumstances that await us upon our ultimate demise. I don't particularly fear death, and because of my religious beliefs (or lack thereof) I'm not too concerned with my soul simply ceasing to be, but I will add that if possible I think it would be my desire to live forever. There has been and forever will be more things that I would have liked to do - either now I'm too old, or too poor, or the thing doesn't exist anymore. I think the bottom line is that we'd all feel a lot better if goddamn scientists would get off their asses and figure out a way for humans to live forever. Come on, I know that there's someone out there with an incredibly complex mind that understands what makes the human body break down, and how we can stop if not reverse this process from occurring. I think that will be my new goal in life, to champion the scientific discovery of that long cherished idea of immortality. See you in a few millenia.

The Absence of the Artist

I heard a funny story the other day, one which I'm sure has been told repeatedly amongst friends in the New England are. A few friends of friends decided that they were going to make the trek to remote areas of upstate New York in search of the prolific hermit J.D. Salinger (yes he's still alive). Salinger has made it his business to stay out of the public eye, almost literally in his house for the last few decades. Many a young intellectual have gone in search of the mysterious writer, but few come back with anything but disappointment. Anyway, these friends of friends decide that they are the individuals who are going to break Salinger's malingering hermitic ways. So they locate Salinger's home (how this is done I have no clue) and they leave a note that introduces themselves and tells him to meet them at so and so spot at so and so time. Their anxiousness builds all night and the next morning they wake up with the idea that they are finally going to meet the amazing author. They arrive at the spot and to their surprise Salinger is not waiting to pontificate the meaning of the universe, but instead two officers are waiting to ask them what their intentions are with the reclusive author. They make the trek back to the city with their tails between their legs, but with a funny story to make up for the gas money they wasted on the trip upstate.

Humidity

I have to tell you first and foremost that humidity sucks. Despite the fact that you can get used to it, and some people love the heat, it sucks. Yeah, hanging out on the beach or in the park makes it suck less, but the air sticks to you like a leach that hangs around for the better part of three months. Once we finally feel some respite in the month of September the damned humidity decides to peak his head out for a few more days just to piss you off before the beautiful Autumn in the city. Going to work becomes a true pain in the ass during the summer, as the daily grind of taking the subway leaves me a sopping mess by the time I arrive at my destination. Isn't that nice, not only do we have balmy weather outside, but the city in all their infinite wisdom decide to do nothing about the temperature below ground, so we end up with dead air in the subway station that is about 15-20 degrees warmer than it is outside with about 110% humidity. So now as Fall approaches, I welcome it with open arms, and even smile at the idea of an early winter.