{just wait for the snow motherfucker.}

The piano comes in over itunes and I think to myself, “goddamn, this song is good. what is this?” ah. Radiohead. “how I made my millions.” The greatest beauty of itunes, is that I find myself listening to b-sides that I wouldn’t listen to all that often if I had to pull out the discs and put them in. sometimes, it seems so much work for one song. Then again, the difficult things in life are usually the most rewarding. Of course that said, in recent discussions, I told keri that I absolutely refuse to get rid of my cds. I find something so vacant without the tangibility of the disc. It is pasta without bread. A shirt, on which the sleeves are just a hair too short.

So I sit here writing in the countryside of Canada, which admittedly sounds terribly romantic. {Just wait for the snow motherfucker.} In ways it is I guess. As picturesque as it sounds. A few days ago, I rode my bike several hours for a tube of toothpaste. I suppose own grows rather spoiled living in Berkeley. Tom’s Of Maine is everywhere. I do of course recognize the humor in my having felt like I had accomplished something meaningful in this small journey. The mind laughs and reels. I chastise my own parents for being set in their ways, and here I am riding my bike for hours so that I don’t have to use crest. Goddamn.

So I busy myself with working on the book in small increments, writing new songs, and bothering ron for advice about just what items to buy as I rebuild my recording studio. Why does it seem there are so many things, so many choices? I guess because some of us want Tom’s of Maine.

And now it is inti illimani. Whenever I hear this music, I long so badly to find myself walking along some street in south America on some hot summer night. Must we romanticize everything?

Posted by jeff pitcher at September 22, 2004 09:55 PM

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