I drive a lot because I live 32.4 miles from work (well, depending on which way I go), and it takes me 45 minutes each way. Longer if I leave later.
So when I’m driving, I think a lot. I often don’t even have the radio on, and oftentimes, when the radio IS on, I hear the CD changer whirring and clicking over to the next CD as I realize I didn’t even hear anything past the first song on that other CD.
On my way in to work this morning, I was very judgmental. A large woman in an SUV next to me was shoving a McDonald’s hash brown into her gullet. And I thought bad things about this woman. Right or wrong, I did it.
There was a beater in front of me, later, and I judged the driver before even seeing him/her.
Later, at a 4-way intersection, in the break of twilight, I sat staring at a dog in the back seat, silhouetted in the red tail lights of the car 2 vehicles ahead of me, and shuddering at the irony and stupidity of the license plate frame: “Cats fattened while you wait.”
Oh, come on!
I actually considered ramming my car up his ass just because of that frame. Have you ever seen the Garfield comics with the Garfield verbiage removed? It’s actually funny that way.
(google it yourself, lazy ass)
Sometimes I daydream about what kind of video I would make to the song I’m listening to. I have a recurring daydream (to any song) that the band is in a white room, wearing black clothes, and there’s a random person at the side of the screen screaming in cadence to the song, rhythmically repeating the shouting (but just yelling – it MUST be formless, but not in a Yoko sort of way), his face in profile and the veins on his neck bulging in their threatening green way. He has to be at the side of the TV screen so you can’t see whom he’s screaming at. Yes, I ended that sentence in a preposition. Suck it.
It doesn’t matter what the rest of the band is doing. I’m driving and it’s MY vision, and I’m not asking you to understand it. But it would be cool if the band started off in that funky, get up and move beat in that Franz Ferdinand song. But then ended in more of a Pig Destroyer sort of way. With yelling. And no bass guitar. Because I said so.
Sometimes I want to break things when I’m driving. Something new. Something nice. Because it’s new. Or because it’s nice. Or just because. Sometimes you just have to break the toy.
I think about a lot of things that I find incredibly amusing in books that I’m reading, wondering if anyone else would think it’s funny or if they would cringe with an “OMG that’s sick!” sort of look. Then I wonder who I could tell, thinking that person would be slightly on the not-offended side of the fence, just to see if I was right. It really doesn’t matter to me if they actually DO get offended. You’re just an experiment, don’cha see?
10 If (that offends you)
20 then (fuck yourself)
30 end if
Rinse, lather, repeat.
I’ve long desired to do animations for Caress of Steel – a computer animation for The Necromancer and an actual cartoon for The Fountain of Lamneth. I think about what I’d do for each. I’m always particularly moved by the bass/guitar illustration of the battle of Prince Bytor and the Necromancer near the end of The Necromancer. It reminds me a lot of the guitar/bass illustration in Tool’s “Prison Sex” in the bridge of the song just before he screams, “I have found some kind of temporary sanity in this; shit, blood, and come on my hands.”
The Wikipedia entry just doesn’t get The Fountain of Lamneth. It’s an epic journey that follows various life stages of the protagonist, with the music illustrating the story as much as the words tell the story. Sometimes moreso.
But Geddy Lee has probably never said the words, “shit, blood, and come on my hands.” Go ahead, say it out loud right now! Loud and proud!
I really like Pantera’s “Good Friends and a Bottle of Pills” because it’s SO harsh. I mean it’s tough even for me to listen to. And that’s sayin’ somethin’. I listen to it a lot. He starts out with “I fucked your girlfriend last night,” continues on to some harshness (“I serve too many masters”), follows up with “your girlfriend could have been a burn victim, an amputee, or a dead body; but goddamn I wanted to fuck” and then finishes with even harsher harshness and some barely discernible “I’m losing what’s left of my fucking mind, I serve too many fucking masters.” I liked that song more when I was in the Navy because I have this problem with authority, and there was OODLES of it there. But today I see the song’s “masters” as something entirely different, as in “your inner demons.” I do serve too many of those.
Of course, I turn it up until my ears bleed. Only 3 of my 9 speakers aren’t blown in my car. It’s been TOTALLY worth it. Sometimes I scream along with the song and nearly lose my voice before I get to work.
Don’t worry, coffee fixes everything.
Today I had about twice as much traveling (flight to Santa Clara), so I entertained myself with “what if” ideas for eliminating most of the 50 jobs in my org at work. Which is entirely feasible. Alas. But I was inspired to think of those ideas while I was enjoying a book I just couldn’t get into 4 years ago – Machiavelli’s The Prince. Give me 5 programmers and I could kill the entire org in 1 year (okay, maybe keep about 5 people total just to make sure the matrix isn’t forcing us into a construct). It won’t happen but I’ve come to terms with it by mentally blaming the incompetent fucktards responsible. I sighed and felt better in the secret world of Steve’s Skull.