Well so be it I try one more time to blog. Sad to remember the last attempt. An attempt that ended in eventual erasure by a most ungratful child. No regrets.
As I try somewhat in vain to focus on what I'm writing I realize just how distracting it is to have 1100 of your favorite tunes playing in your head. All I want to do right now is google the lyrics for the Handsome Family. Should lyrics really be that poetic? So poetic that I require a lyric sheet? There, I switched to Dylan; those lyrics I know by heart and therefore they'll make a much better musical background.
I just looked at a blog that interested me (Ann Althouse). In fact the pictures of a beautiful elegant frat house in Madison was worth the price of admission alone. I wanted toi comment but I needed a blogger account, hence my return for a third dip in the blogger sea. Heads up.
Damn I'm stuck on Laurie Anderson (Example #22). One of the best. Distratto! After viewing that gorgeous Madison home I am inspired to finish that 1975 memoir of Madison. I spent nine months delivering the WSJ at 5:00 every morning and never missed a day. Seven days a week in all the weather that Madison could throw at me. I had the central area and frat row with over 125 papers a day. I must have visited every frat and sorority house in the area to collect. I don't remember that that house. I'm sure I would remember; that's my exact style. Heaviness with just enough light to make you notice. I reminds me of Patricia's apartment in Portland. Her place had the curved interior corners that the NW seems to like, but it also had the massive dark varnished wood the Madison house has. The oddist memory just flashed by. Patricia had an Oxford dictionary on it's own stand in the middle of the room. How odd? And how convenient. We could be debating the correct meaning of a word and she would jump out of bed and run over to the dictionary stand and look it up. Odd memories of naked women looking up words in a dictionary. Especially for someone who is most definately not an English type.
Back to Madison, please. After a while I had become familiar enough with my route that I could rip thought the entire route in about an hour. There were the multiple story apts where the slow payers lived, the odd single resident houses who no doubt contained retired profs who had never missed a paper, the putrid apartment elevators on saturday morning reeking of fresh vomit and stale piss. Yes indeed. Then there was the frat and sorority houses on Langston street. They were always interesting in the predawn. I never knew what I would see, what leftover from the previous nights partying. I had worked out every concievable shortcut along the lake and I had keys. Yes keys to all sorts of places. Keys that had been passed down through generations of paperboys. My keyring had over 75 keys and for fun I tried every lock that amused me. looking back I doubt poeple would be so free with there access. We've become a lot more paranoid and much less trusting (hitch-hiking comes to mind). It was a real rat maze of a route. Oddly I recall that I for some reason enjoyed racing around those empty streets slightly before the rest of the world.
Which reminds me of Ricky. She was this very bright over achiever who I dated for a couple months years ago. We were walking around Wallingford in north Seattle one evening after eating at Julia's. She was talking about where she grew up in California. It was a nice upscale suburb in southern CA as I recall. Ricky was one of those people that never fail to interest me. Valedictarian of her school and Stanford grad in enviromental science, definately an accomplished person who was setting up a travel business. Mid life change I guess. What was weird was as we walked among the great old homes of Wallingford, she calmly walked up the driveway of one immense grand home just to take a look. She then explained that as a teenager she used to sneak out of her house and roam the neighborhood in her PJs. She would check in on the neighbors, check out their garages and see if the doors were all locked. She was a normal as possible other than the trangressive peeping tom aspect. It was a female thing and I don't think there was any similarity with male peeping tomism. It was way beyond where I was willing to go that's for sure. I have a hard time crossing over someone's yard. Walking up someone' s driveway to see what the inside of the house looked like, (even with no one home) just seemed a bridge too far. Now that's something I from the galactic memory box.
Enough I want to listen to the best Kinks song ever, even if it's a cover by camper van Beethoven "I'm Not Like Everyone Else".
As I try somewhat in vain to focus on what I'm writing I realize just how distracting it is to have 1100 of your favorite tunes playing in your head. All I want to do right now is google the lyrics for the Handsome Family. Should lyrics really be that poetic? So poetic that I require a lyric sheet? There, I switched to Dylan; those lyrics I know by heart and therefore they'll make a much better musical background.
I just looked at a blog that interested me (Ann Althouse). In fact the pictures of a beautiful elegant frat house in Madison was worth the price of admission alone. I wanted toi comment but I needed a blogger account, hence my return for a third dip in the blogger sea. Heads up.
Damn I'm stuck on Laurie Anderson (Example #22). One of the best. Distratto! After viewing that gorgeous Madison home I am inspired to finish that 1975 memoir of Madison. I spent nine months delivering the WSJ at 5:00 every morning and never missed a day. Seven days a week in all the weather that Madison could throw at me. I had the central area and frat row with over 125 papers a day. I must have visited every frat and sorority house in the area to collect. I don't remember that that house. I'm sure I would remember; that's my exact style. Heaviness with just enough light to make you notice. I reminds me of Patricia's apartment in Portland. Her place had the curved interior corners that the NW seems to like, but it also had the massive dark varnished wood the Madison house has. The oddist memory just flashed by. Patricia had an Oxford dictionary on it's own stand in the middle of the room. How odd? And how convenient. We could be debating the correct meaning of a word and she would jump out of bed and run over to the dictionary stand and look it up. Odd memories of naked women looking up words in a dictionary. Especially for someone who is most definately not an English type.
Back to Madison, please. After a while I had become familiar enough with my route that I could rip thought the entire route in about an hour. There were the multiple story apts where the slow payers lived, the odd single resident houses who no doubt contained retired profs who had never missed a paper, the putrid apartment elevators on saturday morning reeking of fresh vomit and stale piss. Yes indeed. Then there was the frat and sorority houses on Langston street. They were always interesting in the predawn. I never knew what I would see, what leftover from the previous nights partying. I had worked out every concievable shortcut along the lake and I had keys. Yes keys to all sorts of places. Keys that had been passed down through generations of paperboys. My keyring had over 75 keys and for fun I tried every lock that amused me. looking back I doubt poeple would be so free with there access. We've become a lot more paranoid and much less trusting (hitch-hiking comes to mind). It was a real rat maze of a route. Oddly I recall that I for some reason enjoyed racing around those empty streets slightly before the rest of the world.
Which reminds me of Ricky. She was this very bright over achiever who I dated for a couple months years ago. We were walking around Wallingford in north Seattle one evening after eating at Julia's. She was talking about where she grew up in California. It was a nice upscale suburb in southern CA as I recall. Ricky was one of those people that never fail to interest me. Valedictarian of her school and Stanford grad in enviromental science, definately an accomplished person who was setting up a travel business. Mid life change I guess. What was weird was as we walked among the great old homes of Wallingford, she calmly walked up the driveway of one immense grand home just to take a look. She then explained that as a teenager she used to sneak out of her house and roam the neighborhood in her PJs. She would check in on the neighbors, check out their garages and see if the doors were all locked. She was a normal as possible other than the trangressive peeping tom aspect. It was a female thing and I don't think there was any similarity with male peeping tomism. It was way beyond where I was willing to go that's for sure. I have a hard time crossing over someone's yard. Walking up someone' s driveway to see what the inside of the house looked like, (even with no one home) just seemed a bridge too far. Now that's something I from the galactic memory box.
Enough I want to listen to the best Kinks song ever, even if it's a cover by camper van Beethoven "I'm Not Like Everyone Else".
posted by garrison at 4:27 PM
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