One Song Repeat
I'm listening to "Not Too Soon," by the Throwing Muses, over and over. I love the part where Tanya Donelly (or is it Kristen Hersh?) growls along with the guitar lead. Especially that cute little sneaky breath halfway in the middle of it that she thinks no one will catch. I want a girl who does that.
I'm also drinking a cup of yerba maté with milk, inspired by The Motorcycle Diaries, which I saw late this afternoon. Che Guevara and his buddy do much mate drinking, often in cool little mugs with a straw that looks like it's made out of some kind of reed — I couldn't quite figure it out. Anyway, my jar of maté leaves had been sitting at the back of my refrigerator for quite some time. Apparently it keeps pretty well, because it still tastes good.
Blue is going into surgery tomorrow, and I'm worried about him. I was supposed to withhold food from him starting at 6pm tonight, which pretty much means withholding food from both cats, of course, and I'm relatively convinced at this point that they're both going to keep me awake all night begging for dinner. Poor guys.
Being up all night is not a good thing, as I have a final interview tomorrow morning at 10am for my job in Vancouver. I should stop using the word "final" by now, I think, given that this is at least the third interview I've called "final," but I really think its true, now. I'm reasonably certain that as soon as this is over, and they report in with the results, I'll get a sudden mandate to start work this coming Tuesday.
I went by the Flying Saucer tonight to see a bunch of friends. I felt very detached and kind of somber, thinking for real this time that it may have been the last time I'll see many of them for a long time or possibly ever. It's kind of sobering. On a trip back from the bathroom, a guy waved at me at another table ("Hi Matt!"), and after an embarrassing couple of minutes of non-recognition was reminded that this was Oscar, the guy who sold me my car over two years ago. I was impressed by his memory — that's good stuff. I was also impressed that his table of beer drinking buddies could have never been mistaken for a group of car salespeople — sometimes it's refreshing when stereotypes get shredded like that.
Incidentally, back to the song, I'm trying to figure out why Not Too Soon was designated on iTunes as having explicit lyrics:
Maybe it's the might-as-well-be-deading. No idea. (The punctuation is mine, by the way. It seems that the way the punctuation reads on practically every lyrics site out there, it's really misleading as to who's saying what. I'm still not entirely sure, but at least this way matches the way they sing it.)
Along those same lines and back to the movie, I'm utterly perplexed as to why the first comment on Motorcycle Diaries on imdb.com is from an Italian guy talking about how he misses movies with clean, wholesome content and language like this, and it reminds him of the movies the priest used to show his village when he was a kid. Maybe my idea of church-appropriate content is different, or perhaps the Italian subtitles are far different than the English ones, but last I checked, a scene with two guys standing in a leper colony surrounded by a group of Catholic nuns as they slap each other on the back shouting "You crazy motherfucker!" wasn't exactly Catholic-school-condoned movie watching in my book.
Catholic-appropriate or not, it's still a great movie, and makes me want to learn more about Che Guevara. I only know the basic externals of his life, and even those have been heavily filtered through what I'm sure is the anti-Cuba version of things.
I'm also drinking a cup of yerba maté with milk, inspired by The Motorcycle Diaries, which I saw late this afternoon. Che Guevara and his buddy do much mate drinking, often in cool little mugs with a straw that looks like it's made out of some kind of reed — I couldn't quite figure it out. Anyway, my jar of maté leaves had been sitting at the back of my refrigerator for quite some time. Apparently it keeps pretty well, because it still tastes good.
Blue is going into surgery tomorrow, and I'm worried about him. I was supposed to withhold food from him starting at 6pm tonight, which pretty much means withholding food from both cats, of course, and I'm relatively convinced at this point that they're both going to keep me awake all night begging for dinner. Poor guys.
Being up all night is not a good thing, as I have a final interview tomorrow morning at 10am for my job in Vancouver. I should stop using the word "final" by now, I think, given that this is at least the third interview I've called "final," but I really think its true, now. I'm reasonably certain that as soon as this is over, and they report in with the results, I'll get a sudden mandate to start work this coming Tuesday.
I went by the Flying Saucer tonight to see a bunch of friends. I felt very detached and kind of somber, thinking for real this time that it may have been the last time I'll see many of them for a long time or possibly ever. It's kind of sobering. On a trip back from the bathroom, a guy waved at me at another table ("Hi Matt!"), and after an embarrassing couple of minutes of non-recognition was reminded that this was Oscar, the guy who sold me my car over two years ago. I was impressed by his memory — that's good stuff. I was also impressed that his table of beer drinking buddies could have never been mistaken for a group of car salespeople — sometimes it's refreshing when stereotypes get shredded like that.
Incidentally, back to the song, I'm trying to figure out why Not Too Soon was designated on iTunes as having explicit lyrics:
She colourblind tired eyes,
Her hallway aching.
She'll never move him — likes it that way.
He's just a walker and he'll never stop walking away.
"It's not too soon," he said. "It's not too soon at all."
"You might as well be dead," he said, "If you're afraid to fall."
I said, "I know her."
She said, "Why do you stare so hard?
Wrapped up like a doll in bad dreams and broken arms
Make these old bones shiver."
"It's not too soon," he said, "It's not too soon at all."
"You might as well be dead," he said, "If you're afraid to fall."
I said. "I know her."
The last time I saw you, you were standing in the dark.
And with a freezing face, I watched you fall apart.
"It's not too soon," he said. "It's not too soon at all."
"You might as well be dead," he said, "If you're afraid to fall."
I said, "Done your time, been in your place,
I couldn't look you in the face
and tell you that it turns me on.
It makes my stomach turn.
I know her."
Maybe it's the might-as-well-be-deading. No idea. (The punctuation is mine, by the way. It seems that the way the punctuation reads on practically every lyrics site out there, it's really misleading as to who's saying what. I'm still not entirely sure, but at least this way matches the way they sing it.)
Along those same lines and back to the movie, I'm utterly perplexed as to why the first comment on Motorcycle Diaries on imdb.com is from an Italian guy talking about how he misses movies with clean, wholesome content and language like this, and it reminds him of the movies the priest used to show his village when he was a kid. Maybe my idea of church-appropriate content is different, or perhaps the Italian subtitles are far different than the English ones, but last I checked, a scene with two guys standing in a leper colony surrounded by a group of Catholic nuns as they slap each other on the back shouting "You crazy motherfucker!" wasn't exactly Catholic-school-condoned movie watching in my book.
Catholic-appropriate or not, it's still a great movie, and makes me want to learn more about Che Guevara. I only know the basic externals of his life, and even those have been heavily filtered through what I'm sure is the anti-Cuba version of things.