Daydream

I read the news today, oh boy. I suppose private companies like banks pride themselves on their efficiency relative to the public sector. In fact, I probably finished more work before lunch than a lot of bureaucrats do in a week. Nonetheless, right now I'm earning my wages reflecting on this discrepancy rather than contribute to it. I used to go ask for more work when I finished tasks, but today I feel abnormally lethargic and otolaryngologically impaired. My superiors are unaware of this. I'm sure they'd allow me to go home and sleep, but I can't really afford that. Instead I attempt to sleep at my desk, read the news, research the status of my arrest warrant in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and solidify plans to travel downtown tonight to a Bela Fleck and the Flecktones show featuring mandolinist Chris Thile from Nickel Creek. I saw the Flecktones play at the zoo a couple summers ago for twenty dollars plus a one dollar donation to bring back the condors. My friend Brian talked me into it. I saw Chris Thile play earlier that summer with the other members of Nickel Creek and Glen Phillips of Toad the Wet Sprocket. They called themselves the Mutual Admiration Society and featured Led Zeppelin bassist John Paul Jones. The quality of both shows catalyzes anticipation for tonight's display. I'm going with my friend Joe with whom I've never attended a concert but have shared numerous other youthful and uncouth experiences. I wonder if tonight will involve any. The Waterfront Blues Festival is coming up which should provide excellent musicscapes featuring the North Mississippi Allstars whom I've never seen play, but have heard and read about their earthy and gritty interpretation of blues-rock. Little Feat will also be playing and judging from their albums "Little Feat", "Dixie Chicken", and "Sailin' Shoes", they've figured out a thing or two about the southern flavor of boogie-rock. Cajun master Buckwheat Zydeco is also headlining, famous for his colossal mother-of-pearl accordion. His 1983 effort "100% Fortified Zydeco" is his best, and I'm ecstatic to hear him play in Portland. I was planning to see him perform in Louisiana over Thanksgiving this year with my friend Beaux, but I think I might spend the holiday with a special someone instead. Late autumn is a terrible thing to contemplate this close to the summer solstice. I'm going to go outside and see if they notice I'm gone.

Rites of Passage

So much for the intrinsic value of handwritten thoughts in an unlined leatherbound sketchbook. I fear that this medium has become such a juggernaut that not even the snobbish elite can avoid it. I suppose it's all a part of Thomas Friedman's flattening process. These words are intended to be for my own outlet and sanity, failed attempts at artistry and creativity, and meek voice amplified by the echoing emptiness that is cyberspace. To date, I haven't informed anyone of this endeavor, and I plan to withold this information for as long as possible. In that sense, I guess I hope someone comes across this record of humanity, for although I'm content to write for myself, I suppose I'd like to create something autonomous for the anonymous. So now, the pages of the Moleskine diary may absorb ink less often, but perhaps their lack of use will deem them significance compared to the olla podrida of voices in this network. Either way, I have begun, and as the proverb goes, well begun is half done. But thanks to Zeno, I guess I'll never quite reach the end. That comforts me.