30 March, 2006
thrills n' spills

having the first opportunity in days to ponder such things, it occurred to me that everything looks completely different, today.

this also being the first time in the aforesaid days to actually pad in sockfeet in my own house, it should be of little surprise.

nevertheless, i assume that the earth had imperceptibly tilted on its axis in a profound manner since last contact with Home HQ... and now it's Springtime. the fact didn't penetrate whilst at the Gulag, since Monday. the earth supposedly revolves around that Incarceration for Capital, yet has so little connection to it that little abberations like seasonal adjustments don't even register.

anyway... it's sunny. and alive. and off-the-clock.

Thank God.

it's a good thing i escaped that gravitational/punitive pull. somebody was going to get hurt. probably me.

it started with spilling and dropping things, at the slightest provocation. first, the entire contents of my just-poured coffee into the supposed travel mug, on The Diva's balcony (mentioned previously, this is my part-time landlady/co-worker in Reston--and the self-appointed nickname is perfect...the LizTaylor vibes are getting intense). i was reading AssassinationVacation, that most excellent mix of history and mega-snark on the adirondack chair, when i absent-mindedly (is there any other way?) hit the arm of the chair and deposited its contents in an expansive blast-zone: namely all over the expensive arizona tile and this section of tree trunk that questionably adorns the railing. like a splat from a fittieth-floor suicide attempt (i just typed "tittieth", and am just now recovering from the hail of laughter).

anyway, it was ugly... and since i'm convinced that she tests the sheets and shower for semen traces, on the best days, cleanup was frenzied and thorough.

but, that wasn't the first time. checking out one of my favorite local bands on Saturday, i managed to lose a half-cup of prized stout on the danceroom floor, when i was chatting with the musicians/friends. i wasn't embarrased, either... just disconsolate over the death of a magnificent brew. nor drunk, which is even more inexcusable.

it wasn't any better with solid objects, either.

the spindle of the HP printer found the floor, clangorously, several times while i solved the Mystery Of The Twisted Paper Rolls at work.
i can diagnose, i just can't hold onto a fucking thing.

then, a co-worker that i would have gladly gouged the eyes of, previously, appeared for a chat, with a fresh spill emplazoned across his Brooks Brothers shirt... which looked, uncomfortably, like TonySoprano's gut-shot from UncleJunior.

maybe that little bit of shitty karma has taken a hike. good riddance, enjoy your new home.

in the background, right now, the station is broadcasting BuckOwens music... helping to add a dose of melancholy to this noir-ish post (as we have come to expect). i detested "country music" when i was a child... my young rebellion including anything that smacked of "local".
but i gradually came around to tongue-in-cheek smarminess, twists on cliches, and twang. and that was Buck. Sleep On, Buckaroo... why aren't your progeny talented thusly?

so, the sounds in this house are dolorous... and reminds me of the impromtu serenade that "Enrique" performed at the latin market, the other day. i was just going for the CafeBustelo, but got "Canciones Metaxas" as well. since he had the tablature and lyrics on the book in front of him, on the counter, it was obvious that he was just learning... but he had the phrasing down. sad, pretty, evocative... and with that melodic lift to the end of the verses that only latin music owns.

...later...

but, since i've had the opportunity to witness the blast of blooms outside the window, which is inhaling some intoxicatingly clean air, i've got the Ramones' version of "Warm California Sun" competing for mental airtime.

the only reason "dolorous" still figures in, is that i'm here. and she's there.

...and that's one Good Thing i won't let drop.

.