|
Monday, Aug. 11, 2003 / 6:24 p.m. ~Such a Day~ The air has a texture of its own right now, outside. It's not even 80, there's a bit of coolness, but it's thick, the air, heavy with all of our emissions. We must rival L.A. right now in the smog category. My throat has been clogged since I went back to work after lunch. Ah, but lunch, lunch was no ordinary lunch. Lunch was a musically spiritual experience. Yes, yes, I got my turntable from the apartment office down the street, and I brought it home, one big box inside an even bigger box, and unpacked it, and examined it, and plugged it in quickly, and played an ancient recording of Edith Piaf singing "La Vie En Rose", and I watched that record spin as if I'd never seen a record spin before, and I listened to it as if the magic of needle to grooves in vinyl producing joyous sound were as new to me as fire to the first cave dweller. Magic. Why should it be? I've had a turntable for years. Every so often I pull out some Mozart, or Led Zeppelin, REM, or Joao Gilberto on vinyl and listen to one side, tire of the very thought of flipping it over, cleaning it again, and playing more, change to something else, listen to maybe three, maybe two albums that way, then cover it back up with the towel that rests on the dustcover, to keep dust off the dustcover. A Technics turntable that plays 33 1/3 and 45s. But I don't have too many 45s - I think the Beatles and Monkees 45s are in the storage locker, but I'm afraid to find their condition. But the 78s, they're so OLD, they're so magical in their oldness, and listening to them reminds me of what it must've been like all those years ago for whoever bought them, whoever sat and listened to them new, put them on their own turntable, him, her, I don't know, for the first time, and maybe danced around a lover on the living room carpet. Beautiful. Spinning fast too, as in 78 revolutions per minute. I didn't even eat, I only spun the one song, put it away, closed up the turntable and put it in the laundry room. Precious, all of it. I was floating on the way back to work, no food, just music, just Piaf in my head. And we got slammed with paperwork, tons and tons and tons, i.e. piles, and piles and piles, and we didn't leave our cubes, once I opened it all and distributed it all, and Jane and Q forgot to take their breaks, and I ate a sandwich and chips from the vending machine, drank water, and tried to clear the smog, the thick dirty air from my throat, so I could talk on the phone in between typing, in between one document after another. My eyes dry and aching, squinting to see. Thinking, "I got my turntable!"... It's over now, this work day, I'm home, I can do what I want, within limits. As always. I want to play some more records, and watch them spin, lean way in to listen, even with the volume turned up high, as if I'm playing records for the first time. Artie Shaw, or the Rumba King, or whoever I have in there, Greek, Gypsy, Classical, Big Band. It's all magic. And in my mail? The 500 "Bush Lies, Who Dies?..." stickers I ordered from United For Peace and Justice. What in hell am I going to do with them? They're smaller than I imagined, and I wonder if I should count them. I wonder if there are really 500. I wonder. Mail from United For Peace and Justice, and the local chapter of NARAL, Pro-Choice Georgia. I feel so radical. And diverse. Edith Piaf, Antiwar, Pro-Choice, such a day. (Um, anybody want a sticker? For free?) Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |