04.28.2004 - 7:28 p.m.
I recently got new ear buds
for my iPod. They're Apple-produced, the sort that sit inside
your ear, with a choice of three soft plastic outer casings.
I use the smallest one, and when I listen to music now I feel
like it's tickling my brain, resonating off my skull somehow.
You know how some music, or
sounds, are so deliciously good they give you shivery goosebumps?
- The xylophone/steel drum
song in True Romance. Ahhhh
- Children whispering
- The squeak of a cork coming out of a wine bottle
- Muted restaurant audio clutter: the combination of background
murmuring and the clinking of silverware
- A crackling fire
- Wind blowing through long grass
- When Aimee Mann sings "you're on your honor
I'm a goner
and you haven't even begun
- The ocean, at night
- This snorty half-asleep sigh Dog does
- Clumps of snow falling off trees
- Any high note Chris Isaak hits
- The tiny cheeping baby birds that are in my carport right now
- Flapping sheets, or billowing whooshing articles of clothing
- Light chains or jewelry tinkling; Christmas ornaments clinking
And sounds that give me the
polar opposite sort of feeling?
- Any body part cracked on
- Gulped liquids
- The dry-mouthed smacking of someone's mouth (smik...smik)
- People clipping their fingernails
- Ice cubes being removed from metal trays
- The boooiinnnggg of those door stopper thingies
Speaking of noises, or music,
or, I don't know, wherever the shit this entry is lurching
off to, I heard Girl Anachronism by The Dresden Dolls today
on the way home, and I think it's one of the most interesting
songs I've heard in months. I either can't stand it, or it's
utterly fucking brilliant and I need to buy the album right this
instant. Honestly, I can't tell.
I've felt mopey off and on
for the last few days, and I think I've finally identified the
source of my woes. It's Anne Tyler's latest book, that I read over the weekend. I LOVE
her normally. She always has this feeling of melancholy in her
novels, but this one
boy, I don't know. Each chapter felt
sort of steeped in misery to me, with no relief in sight. And
I don't mean it's a tearjerker, like the lovely and kleenex-inducing
To Dance With the White Dog, which made me
sob and blat and carry on like a little sissy girl for HOURS
after I finished the last page. It's more
I don't know,
I felt like I slogged through it, like I wanted so badly
to wave a magic wand over the character's lives and change them
for the better, but I couldn't, and its effects are still
lingering on me, making me feel all useless and dreary.
As my coworker said the other
day, somebody needs to call me a Wahbulance.
Wahbulance. Ho ho! Ah, I feel better already.
last ::: next
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004