fine- i'm fine- just give me a second and i'll be ok
that is the theme of today.
off to have a lovely lunch hour (and a half) to run in the park and just as i get to harlem hill, at the point of no return, it rains like a motherfucker. not that it wasn't lovely, rather quite the opposite: i felt free, took the shirt off, and let the combo of heat and cool work with the rhythm of my body. quite nice, quite beautiful, actually. it was the. perfect. run. and just as i am getting nicely in peace with myself and my surroundings, putting the bullshit freakdom of work behind me-- the bullshit of my job that empowers me to go running or combust-- i realize that in addition to being inconvenient, not having my little ipod arm strappy-thing means that water nicely is pouring into the two unplugged orifices. so, i start to panic a bit, but then realize that if i just take my shirt and wrap it around the pod (daphne, by the way, like my computer is george, she's daphne) i'll be ok. i'm brilliant, despite the fact the shirt is a teeny bit wet itself... wouldn't it be awful if daphne, the one thing on which i rely to tune out my cube-farm neighbors, the one thing on which i rely to get me pumped through a run, the one thing on which i rely to make the commute more fun would electrocute me during a run? i mean, that's poetic justice, it really is. we all have our vices. and daphne is about the closest thing to a real woman in my life who touches me everyday and makes me feel special deep inside.
and tonight... head out to put dial-up behind me for the night and as i tap into a wifi connection, i notice it's slow, really really slow. realllllly slow. so i poke around my itunes to get some waiting music and see that tennisbearnyc had molested my itunes. tennisbearnyc? who the fuck is this? and this bear person must have like thousands of songs (hence the delay) BUT s/he had abba, so, well, just because i'm not the one who put it on my itunes doesn't mean i couldn't listen to it, right? but then i realize, that's just not normal for playlists to just appear on my computer, so i start to freak. it. won't. erase. try to call d., who got me into the alternative lifestyle o' mac, but my cel phone won't work in here. foiled! try to send an email, but it wouldn't let me. tried to log onto aim. NOTHING. i'm like a man possessed until i realize that you can solve 99% of all mac problems by restarting and changing public networks. and indeed: crisis averted. but, i don't have abba. maybe i should find this tennisbearnyc person... i mean, s/he had the podcast for both the am and fm npr stations, and a whole lotta sweet music... it could be beautiful... i'm the one in the purple gingham... are you there? tennisbearnyc? you and me, baby. we can make sweet music (by exchanging our itunes.) yeah you know you want my bjork...
off to have a lovely lunch hour (and a half) to run in the park and just as i get to harlem hill, at the point of no return, it rains like a motherfucker. not that it wasn't lovely, rather quite the opposite: i felt free, took the shirt off, and let the combo of heat and cool work with the rhythm of my body. quite nice, quite beautiful, actually. it was the. perfect. run. and just as i am getting nicely in peace with myself and my surroundings, putting the bullshit freakdom of work behind me-- the bullshit of my job that empowers me to go running or combust-- i realize that in addition to being inconvenient, not having my little ipod arm strappy-thing means that water nicely is pouring into the two unplugged orifices. so, i start to panic a bit, but then realize that if i just take my shirt and wrap it around the pod (daphne, by the way, like my computer is george, she's daphne) i'll be ok. i'm brilliant, despite the fact the shirt is a teeny bit wet itself... wouldn't it be awful if daphne, the one thing on which i rely to tune out my cube-farm neighbors, the one thing on which i rely to get me pumped through a run, the one thing on which i rely to make the commute more fun would electrocute me during a run? i mean, that's poetic justice, it really is. we all have our vices. and daphne is about the closest thing to a real woman in my life who touches me everyday and makes me feel special deep inside.
and tonight... head out to put dial-up behind me for the night and as i tap into a wifi connection, i notice it's slow, really really slow. realllllly slow. so i poke around my itunes to get some waiting music and see that tennisbearnyc had molested my itunes. tennisbearnyc? who the fuck is this? and this bear person must have like thousands of songs (hence the delay) BUT s/he had abba, so, well, just because i'm not the one who put it on my itunes doesn't mean i couldn't listen to it, right? but then i realize, that's just not normal for playlists to just appear on my computer, so i start to freak. it. won't. erase. try to call d., who got me into the alternative lifestyle o' mac, but my cel phone won't work in here. foiled! try to send an email, but it wouldn't let me. tried to log onto aim. NOTHING. i'm like a man possessed until i realize that you can solve 99% of all mac problems by restarting and changing public networks. and indeed: crisis averted. but, i don't have abba. maybe i should find this tennisbearnyc person... i mean, s/he had the podcast for both the am and fm npr stations, and a whole lotta sweet music... it could be beautiful... i'm the one in the purple gingham... are you there? tennisbearnyc? you and me, baby. we can make sweet music (by exchanging our itunes.) yeah you know you want my bjork...
posted by tom at 1:20 AM
<< Home