Can you remember the last time you were truly excited about something? These days, I only really get excited about bands I’ll never have the chance to actually see, or films that I have to watch on shoddy old television screens under flourescent lights in the back of the COM/MEDIA wing of the University Library.
Who knows if that’s what they call “Growing Up” or “Settling Down” (which direction am I meant to be focusing on here?), or if the accumulation of life experiences just leads to a gradual decrease in those experiential moments of awe or bliss. I’m not saying there’s still not millions of those moments left out there (Iceland, Asia, the Trans-Siberian Express, Beth Jeans Houghton, Micachu), but they’re certainly fewer and farther between.
Or maybe it all just comes down to my pickiness, and what I let impress me. I’m a lot harder on things these days. I’m a lot less patient, and a lot less interested in dwelling in the mediocre. It’s for the best that I don’t write any sort of extensive criticism these days. When the best option at the Multiplex is Hot Tub Time Machine, I know I’m just not made for these times.
I don’t have a mobile phone, nor do I want one. The idea of a vehicle seems like an absurd extravagance to me. I can’t even imagine life with a car parked in front of my house (I’d probably just forget I have it). Apparently I have over 700 friends on social networking sites, but I’m sometimes at a loss as to who to invite over for a potluck. Maybe all 700 some time?
Today I did my first PowerPoint presentation. Ever. It’s on Helma Sanders-Brahms’ DEUTSCHLAND, BLEICHE MUTTER. A co-worker helped me, step-by-step, and I only put it together because every other presentation in class has used PowerPoint. The other day I attempted to make a call on a BlackBerry and I’m sure it was just like watching my Mother trying to use the internet to buy Santana or Simon & Garfunkel tickets (ie. Painful).
At the moment, I’m reading the new Velvet Underground day-by-day book titled WHITE LIGHT/WHITE HEAT by someone-or-other. The occasional mentions of “perfect sounding recordings, not yet in circulation” about shows from the band’s heyday actually makes me a little bit hyped up. Of course, we’ll never hear any more of THE QUINE TAPES, especially now that Quine’s gone and offed himself (tsk; more sad than the loss of some tapes, of course). What a misleading VOLUME 1 sub-title though, eh? Just imagine what’s left over!
While riding my bicycle around some neighbourhood back alleys the other day, listening, of course, to the Velvets (as it’s all I’m listening to at the moment; every CD of theirs I own, which amounts to something like 150 songs), I thought of a Lou Reed interview quote I read once. He said that all he’s ever wanted to be in life is a rhythm guitarist (no ” marks because I don’t know the exact words). Sounds good to me.
PS. “I would suck Lou Reed’s cock, because I would also kiss the feet of them that drafted the Magna Carta. I leave you to judge that statement as you will, because it is not Lou Reed but to you that I surrender myself, you who read this. I care about nothing, but I know I’m always in good hands with you.” – Lester Bangs