Rainy Day Weavings #13 & 60

God, "Birds and Ships" is a beautiful song.

I've been sitting in procrastinating interia at the cafe for a while, doing nothing on sis' laptop when I should be doing something. It occurred to me to sign on AIM, but that's proven in the past a wide and twisting road to three running conversations and no accomplishment. To qualify that, however, I think the American consciousness ought to be amended to the point that talking with old friends is something, not nothing, and that we all feel entitled to as much vacation time as our Fearless Leader.

I also like how taking cheap shots at the Pres will never go out of style.

I'm listening to Mermaid Avenue at the Electric Earth Cafe on West Wash. "Electric Avenue" is a sublime 80's tune. The Mermaid Cafe is on Winnebago Street, by my work. West Wash is on Earth. Life is peculiar.

But I digress. I just read a post by my old dear Sasha, soliciting of friends what motivates them to get out of bed in the morning. I, and it appears many others, have been wrestling with this not a little bit lately. In my case I find it particularly disturbing, because everything is seemingly set up for me. In the long term I'm in the town I wanted to be in, evenings free to practice the GRE and get in the geek hours I'm denied during the daylight. Short term, I'm in the perfect java hut nook, a tiny table for one, or two traveling lightly. The blank screen was right in front of me. Even the weather seemed prodding me to introspection and brilliance -- light enough rain to reflect the headlights, like any true Midwestern metro -- but not enough to get me on the other side of the glass.

And Natalie Merchant's voice. If ever a song and urban meteorology coalesced better than "Birds and Ships" and autumn wet sandpaper sidewalks, I don't recall.

There's a particular problem with trying to write with music in your head -- it's passing. I pulled open Blogger with all practical haste, trying to get as many damp evening digressions pixelated before "Hoodoo Voodoo" came on. "Hoodoo Voodoo" is not an introspective song, but I think that's another change to the American consciousness I'll propose at the next board meeting.

The other thing about music is it's return -- "At My Window Sad and Lonely." I'd say it's impossible Woody Guthrie 60 years ago new I'd be here now, but lots of people have believed a lot of crazier things in the past.

I should decry the thud of routine for its restriction, but to be honest, I'd have to tell Sasha that its drumbeat is the strongest motivating factor I have right now. Philantropic naivety leads you to volunteer for low pay and long hours; but what keeps you coming back day in and out is that you said you would.

And Natalie Merchant's voice.