Saturday, September 18, 2010

House, on the rocks. Tall, but a single.

It‘s late and the work day was 12 hours long. He slides behind the wheel to make his way home. The windows are rolled down and the radio is turned up. Trying not to fall asleep, he drums on his steering wheel mimicking John Bonham. He’s failing at both.

His second wind finally blows into the car catching his hair and twisting it in his face as he moves his head up and down to the beat. Zeppelin starts to fade and there’s so much static in the speakers his hair is about to stand up on end. He passes the water tower that he rolls his eyes at every morning for having the obligatory positive slogan for the small town. “Half way home.” He quietly says.

Without music to listen to, he feels the weight of the day dragging his eye lids further and further down until they’re completely shut.

“This place seems to be hopping tonight. I wonder if it’s like this every night?” He thinks to himself. While standing in line trying to get a drink he spots a beautiful girl wearing a black sequin dress making her way to the bar. She flashes him a smile. He would’ve preferred something else. The bar tender asks him for his drink order right in time to keep him from staring. The band strikes up as he places his order. He tries to speak up so the man can hear him, but the blasts of the trumpets keep drowning him out with every attempt.

“Whiskey! I’ll have a whiskey!”

The heads lights are blinding and the horn is deafening. His car pulls through the turn colliding head on with another vehicle. All the while he’s screaming “Whiskey!” as loud as he can.

Slowly the reception of his radio kicks in. The music is blaring. He closes his eyes because he knows what’s next, but there isn’t a white light and there is no tunnel, just blood and sequins.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Typewriters and Dark Rooms

My dad and I were talking yesterday about how when I was a kid we moved into a new house in a subdivision that didn't have phone lines that ran out to it yet. For the first month that we lived there we didn't have a phone. My uncle Billy was a a pretty well to-do business man though and let us borrow his "cell phone" for that month. My dad said it was in a large brief case that weighed around 30 lbs. Zack Morris had nothing on this baby! That was in 1989.

"It worked though!" my dad exclaimed as we talked about it via my iphone that was plugged in to the cigarette lighter and charging in my car. I'm sure everyone has had those moments thinking to themselves "What did I ever do before...?". I've really felt the pain the last few weeks. We moved into a new place and for whatever reason, mainly laziness, I put off getting the internet hooked up. Once I finally got around to doing it, the installation date was a week out and naturally they hooked it up at the 11th hour.

I've never realized how dependent on the internet I am for spitting out a 1000 words. I'd like to believe it's because I only write in google documents anymore, but that's not completely it. Typing on computers in general is pretty amazing, backspace alone has affected my life in ways I'll never know.

Technology overall has obviously made a lot of professions/industries a lot shittier though. How many people ever wrote anything outside of an essay before blogging popped up? Wedding photographers are a dime a dozen now with cameras going digital. It has to suck for those who had to tough it out with typewriters and and dark rooms. Sometimes I day dream about it all just giving out, but then how would I update my Facebook status?