drowning out thought with the ghetto

Eh.

An insincere apology for not writing anything yesterday, but I really had nothing to write about. Saw the northern lights, which was cool, but they revealed no startling revelations. Yesterday was average. Gorgeous weather, however.

I have begun noticing the first doldrums of changing majors. When I was studying music I was in class all day, cursing the heavens. When I wasn’t in class I was constantly wringing my hands over what I should do. Do I do homework for non-music classes? Do I compose? Do I practice? Do I take a nap? It was a specific blend of confused misery, and I sort of miss it. Not the misery part, no, I can do away with that… but I long for the days when I felt I was actually learning something, progressing towards a vague goal of musical expertise. Back then, with every day came new revelations and infinite sources of artistic inspiration. There were also jazz piano changes, figured bass, 0.5 credit classes and other fiendish sources of anger, but an idealized memory is better than none at all, right? Now I feel like I’m just spinning my wheels, regurgitating any old thought that comes along and not truly absorbing those that are new. I’m getting sick of listening to myself talk and hearing myself think… same old, same old…

Maybe I just need more ghetto rap music to drown it all out.

By request, we now have Gleem.

Another warm day. Though pleasant, these days of unseasonable warmth seem just wrong, and I have figured out why. The November sun does not feel intense enough to generate this amount of warmth. It’s rays feel weak and spindly, like I could reach out, snap one off and use it to pick junk out of my teeth. At 2:00 in the afternoon it already feels like the sun is setting, even though it’s got a good hour to go until it actually disappears. Also the angle is all wrong. And dammit, the sun should be higher! Hey you, get it right! What is wrong with this stupid planet? I’ll show you an axial tilt!

College has really led me to despise bass and explosions. I have no natural aversion to either (I acually love bass when it involves my car), but since college the only times I experience either is when I’m trying to sleep. I no longer have time to watch movies and play video games, which are prime sources for both bass and explosions and bass-filled explosions, but my case seems to be the exception rather than the rule. People that surround my habitat seem to have more than enough time for bass, explosions, movies, video games, ghetto rap, beer, thinking, immobilization, zits, snails, grilling, ass-picking, eating, cooking, eroticism and Wall Street. All I want is to lean my head against the frosted shower stall.

I voted today, which was painless except for one thing. I’m afraid that instead of voting for the smoking ban, I accidentally voted for Pat Buchanan.