Sing Song Day Long
Perusing the news I realized that in every picture I’d seen of Condoleezza Rice she looked scary and mean. So I decided to do a bit of comparing as I ate my gigantic salad here in my office. I found a more congenial shot of her sitting with her pal Bush. That says a lot.
Also while eating my gigantic salad here in my office, I realized I don’t like black olives anymore. This is weird. I like almost all foods. I don’t eat much that’s fried because it makes me feel heavy, oily, bulbous and generally crappy, but it tastes all right. My new stance on the black olive: I will eat them, but I prefer not to.
On my way to work this morning there was a story on 90.9 about a NYC sanitation worker, for 23 years, who sings as he’s being driven around the city on the back of a truck to pick up trash. He said singing keeps him happy, unmindful of whatever in his daily life might cause him to be unhappy. He said he wants also to make other people smile. Without knowing him I like this man. He knows how to live life unweighted by the daily uglies.
There is a maintenance worker here at the hospital who sings all day, too. He flits from tune to tune, paying no mind to the dramatic office drivel that goes on. One day I told him I liked that; he was of the same mind as the sanitation worker above. When I first moved into my office he came in to fix something and said to me, "Sara, there are a lot of fucked up people working here. You’re smart to keep quiet like you do." Yes, he used my name. I felt like I’d won a prize. For him to have said that implied that I’d quickly been accepted into the wiser echelon--of singers and such.
Now I have a ton of schtuff to finish before going home to do homework for guitar school. Lesson No. 2 is tomorrow.
Also while eating my gigantic salad here in my office, I realized I don’t like black olives anymore. This is weird. I like almost all foods. I don’t eat much that’s fried because it makes me feel heavy, oily, bulbous and generally crappy, but it tastes all right. My new stance on the black olive: I will eat them, but I prefer not to.
On my way to work this morning there was a story on 90.9 about a NYC sanitation worker, for 23 years, who sings as he’s being driven around the city on the back of a truck to pick up trash. He said singing keeps him happy, unmindful of whatever in his daily life might cause him to be unhappy. He said he wants also to make other people smile. Without knowing him I like this man. He knows how to live life unweighted by the daily uglies.
There is a maintenance worker here at the hospital who sings all day, too. He flits from tune to tune, paying no mind to the dramatic office drivel that goes on. One day I told him I liked that; he was of the same mind as the sanitation worker above. When I first moved into my office he came in to fix something and said to me, "Sara, there are a lot of fucked up people working here. You’re smart to keep quiet like you do." Yes, he used my name. I felt like I’d won a prize. For him to have said that implied that I’d quickly been accepted into the wiser echelon--of singers and such.
Now I have a ton of schtuff to finish before going home to do homework for guitar school. Lesson No. 2 is tomorrow.
1 Comments:
Hmm, does that mean that by eating a pomegranate (which is delicious) one is soothed and life is better? Or because (I find) pomegranates are difficult to eat and therefore by comparison, life is not actually as complicated as it seems? Also, friends tell me they can tear through a pomegranate because they just eat the seeds. What's that all about and how does it fit into this equation??
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