Tuesday, May 16, 2006


Every now and then I get a music moment where I'm in my own film with a score that just sets the mood perfectly. Five years ago I did not have an ipod, so most of it was in my head and not quite so visceral, however I'm recalling a one hundred degree day.

Blue sky, no clouds, that one week a year when the smog seems to have migrated to Catalina for the day, and no responsibilities in the foreseeable future. Then as you're getting the wind in your face and the heat on your skin, quite probably the coolest "asshole" musician there ever has been is screaming at me about being the BullGod and it all fits into place.

Now we can cheat and blow out our ears with white ear buds that are actually pretty shitty quality, but they're a great fetish item so what the hell. We put our whole history on shuffle as we randomize through life. It just so happened that on that summer day, way back at the turn of the century I had discovered Kid Rock and snatched the CD from my messy living room on the way out the door, it was defining my frame of mind.

We're detouring through the Hollywood hills behind a million cars on roads that are too small I wonder what the hell a Bawitawba is. At least the wind is blowing through my hair, confused or not, the world was great at that moment.

With much exaggeration I'm going to write that the best thing to come out of automotive technology in the 70s, (or was it the 60s?) aside from the inclusion of the seat belt, was the targa roof. I don't profess to have any mediterranean skin, meaning I burn, but being driven to Mexico in Drews deceptively cool Transam listening to Kid Rock was mind altering, or maybe it was just the half dozen Corona's Drew made me drink while cooking him breakfast that made me invincible.

Ok, he didn't really make me drink that much, and granted it was already past noon which meant I should have burned to a crisp in the heat - the one casualty was that General Motors factory provided automotive airconditioners are not supposed to have more than a twenty year half-life - We had to keep the top down or melt into the vinyl like sweaty masturbating teenagers in a closed room on a cloth sofa together.

In all seriousness, crossing the border is a minimal affair if you don't mind waiting in an eight mile line. We decided to have no alcohol or any other question provoking substances on us for the crossing.

Before the border we had to drop by a house in Burbank to pick up a woman Drew had been courting, haha, courting. Burbank is always a bad detour, but like any fool who takes a packed lunch to a steak dinner, Drew seems to be consistant with poor choice.


Blogger Wayne Allen Sallee said...

Burbank, huh? Can't be much worse than Burbank, Illinois, and here I am.

6:06 PM  
Blogger emotional stew said...


6:10 AM  
Blogger J said...

Nah, not worse than Burbank IL... been there, it's a real shithole. I think emotional stew knows more than she's letting on.

7:09 AM  
Blogger Donna said...

Great topic, and I know what you mean about music being so appropriate to what's happening in your life at a given moment.

Which songs would feature in a soundtrack to your life?

7:29 AM  
Blogger J said...

I'll have to write a post about songs and their place. I'm a wierd guy, so I have many of these... lately I think Ben Gibbard has captured a lot of what I feel, and that's not me being the usual fanboi - listen the crescendo and rolling impetus to "A Movie Script Ending", Death Cab off "The Photo Album"... just reminds me of the way I cruise through life.

"Passing thru unconcious states, when i awoke, I was on the highway."

etc etc.. of course it gets more bizarre as you realize being in my ahem, late 30s, drags on and on.

8:05 AM  

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home