The problem with a desk job is, well, the mind can wander. To influence the humble hourly employee or perhaps used as a fix for a personal addiction, people on occasion bring donuts to work. The psychological interplay with those dozen fried and frosted pastries is the source of fascination for the simple mind of the idle writer … So we hid a camera and filmed it.
It’s true, she doesn’t look that dangerous, but she’s actually a rodent assassin. Rats, mice, bunnies … hates ’em, and who doesn’t? Doesn’t like lizards, is offended by squirrels and she’ll kill geese if given the chance. She’s hardwired to be on the lookout for vermin and then to give them the business until they stop moving. Still, most of the time she’s just sleeping in my truck.
I spend a fair amount of time thinking about music, about the arrangements, the interplay between instruments and the human voice, the melodic genius that makes a song classic. I think about the dozens of individual performances and the vision of the songwriters that need to be magically synchronized in order to complete what used to be known as a long player. I wonder about the pictures on the cover and the liner notes and the storytelling that was intended in the naming of the songs and the thought that went into ordering the eleven tracks. And as I consider the ways in which music can enrich life and how one killer rock show can change the world, I think mostly about the reasons why there’s a clandestine conspiracy to prevent me from hearing the songs on the CD.