Marc
Written @ 11:30am in Corvallis, OR
I picked up some serious gems last night - namely some obscure Henry Rollins spoken word tracks (including the hilarious "I hate U2") and a few Eddie Izzard MP3's (the transvestite, British, stand-up comedian {though his stuff really does sound more like spoken word than stand up [not heavy on punch lines, more just thoughts that are incredibly insightful and hilarious]}). And I snagged a whole shitload of classical stuff, including Pachelbel's "Canon in D", Ravel's "Bolero" [one of my all-time favorite classical pieces], and Mozart's "Clarinet Concerto". 130+ MP3's in all. My smile's hard to hide. Rode down here to Corvallis with my laptop on, and my headphones plugged in - though I think that someone's once told me this is incredibly illegal. Oh well.
Now Playing: "ABC" by the Jackson 5
Some kinds of road construction look neat, and tidy, and generally well thought out. Others tend to look like someone first dropped an H-bomb on the highway, and the construction's primary purpose was restoration (not improvement). Oregon's road re-constructing technique, as far as I've been able to tell, is that of the H-bomb. You're driving - you're driving - and then, out of nowhere, you're bouncing up and down in your car, trying desperately to make sure you don't fly off the side of the road. Warning signs? Maybe 50 feet - maximum. I'd highly suggest not wearing a baseball cap. I think I'm going to have a nasty bruise on the top of my skull from my little button at the top of my hat. If only someone would've warned me.
Portland's an attractive city, though, so I guess it somewhat makes up for it. I moved my lounging chair in my room onto the porch last night and read some while listening to the fading city sounds fifteen stories below. By the time dusk finally settled, all the bulbous semi-truck sounds had been replaced by quiet Toyota's and Mazda's wheeling themselves into parking garages - then turning into more and more vague pedestrian type noises (though the sounds of children were painfully absent).
Written @ 11:30am in Corvallis, OR
I picked up some serious gems last night - namely some obscure Henry Rollins spoken word tracks (including the hilarious "I hate U2") and a few Eddie Izzard MP3's (the transvestite, British, stand-up comedian {though his stuff really does sound more like spoken word than stand up [not heavy on punch lines, more just thoughts that are incredibly insightful and hilarious]}). And I snagged a whole shitload of classical stuff, including Pachelbel's "Canon in D", Ravel's "Bolero" [one of my all-time favorite classical pieces], and Mozart's "Clarinet Concerto". 130+ MP3's in all. My smile's hard to hide. Rode down here to Corvallis with my laptop on, and my headphones plugged in - though I think that someone's once told me this is incredibly illegal. Oh well.
Now Playing: "ABC" by the Jackson 5
Some kinds of road construction look neat, and tidy, and generally well thought out. Others tend to look like someone first dropped an H-bomb on the highway, and the construction's primary purpose was restoration (not improvement). Oregon's road re-constructing technique, as far as I've been able to tell, is that of the H-bomb. You're driving - you're driving - and then, out of nowhere, you're bouncing up and down in your car, trying desperately to make sure you don't fly off the side of the road. Warning signs? Maybe 50 feet - maximum. I'd highly suggest not wearing a baseball cap. I think I'm going to have a nasty bruise on the top of my skull from my little button at the top of my hat. If only someone would've warned me.
Portland's an attractive city, though, so I guess it somewhat makes up for it. I moved my lounging chair in my room onto the porch last night and read some while listening to the fading city sounds fifteen stories below. By the time dusk finally settled, all the bulbous semi-truck sounds had been replaced by quiet Toyota's and Mazda's wheeling themselves into parking garages - then turning into more and more vague pedestrian type noises (though the sounds of children were painfully absent).
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