The year is almost over and I haven't written in this thing since May. I wrote so much for school I no longer considered writing an enjoyable release. Writing was made for nights like these; there's nothing good on television and I don't have to constantly juggle information from 3 to 5 books in my head while worrying how much sleep I'll be able to muster in a night. It's relaxing to write without having to answer a short list of questions or look up citations. The Marvin Gaye record on the turntable adds to the mood.
Wow, this is what it's like to be old. I have to admit, it's a relief. I don't have to waste my time and effort keeping up with every new skinny band that appears destined for marginal three-month greatness in the eyes of Pitchfork Media. I can actually listen to the good shit: Motown, Brazilian prog jazz, Nirvana, unknown 70's soul one-hit wonders, Brian Jones-era Rolling Stones, and Freddie Mercury's solo album. I used to bash people who listened to jazz; now I adore anything Herbie Hancock touches. Maybe this is why I get so pissed off when I have to listen to some piece of shit song on the radio or endure someone blasting Lady GaGa within 10 feet of me. I realize I'm running out of time to listen to good music. I wasted too much of it trying to push my shitty teenaged tastes on everyone else. Now I don't care what you listen to, as long as you don't listen to it anywhere near me.
On the turntable: Moods of Marvin Gaye (Tamla, 1966)
