these things that i think about

part 1:
i bike in constant fear of the roadside detritus here in the newport beach area. it's not that there's a lot of it, just that it's really terrifying stuff. the side of the road [a.k.a. the bike lane] is littered with giant bolts, screws, rebar, lengths of pipe, utensils, and all manner of unidentifiable metal bits. it's like someone dumped all of the weapons from a clue game out on the highway, or maybe the metal-recycling truck exploded. normal bike lane trash is annoying, but this is down-right dangerous. i have half a mind to take a broom and sweep my most commonly ridden roads. however, i would probably get arrested for vagrancy. given a choice between cops and a flat tire, i think i'll take the flat.

part 2:
the intense connection between songs and memory never ceases to amaze me. the tie between scent and memory i find equally astounding, but i could probably write a book on the subject so i'll just stick to one. i spend a lot of time relatively alone in the galley while i'm working. anyone who has spent any considerable amount of time working alone knows the importance of music to keep your mind from analyzing itself to death. some songs make me sing along, some make me relax, and some instantly transport me somewhere else. so i put the music on shuffle and let my mind wander...
i hear an old greenday song and i'm back in my friend deirdre's basement bedroom in seventh grade. it's barely wide enough for the bed and the upright piano. a blanket stands-in for the absent door. it's was cold, and smells funny, but when you're 12 a basement nook is heaven. her tape deck sits on the closed top of the piano keys. we lounge on the bed and listening to the minutes of silence at the end of the album, waiting for the "hidden song," not wanting to rewind for fear of missing it completely. our friend lucas stands-by, intimidated by two girls on a bed, beaming with pride at being the first one to tell us about the bonus track.
blur has me sitting on the curb a few blocks from the highschool, early spring. i'm skipping a pep-assembly, sitting near a newly planted parking-strip tree, faux fur trimmed hood protecting my headphones from the afternoon drizzle. i'm not cold. it's the second song on a mixed tape my boyfriend slipped into my hand between classes. on the playlist after pavement and before morphine. the fresh rain on cement smell fills me with a sense of excitement and for a brief moment i contemplate leaving it all and simply walking away 'into the sunset.' unfortunately that only seems to work out in movies, so i decide against it, and walk to the coffee shop instead.
the garden state soundtrack gives me a sense of wide open spaces. a road trip. driving at night with the music down low enough to let my companion in the passenger seat sleep, although hasn't he slept enough? i'm almost irritated, i swear it's his turn to drive, but i'm in the groove, and i have to admit that he looks pretty cute drooling on the ugly retro-flowered pillow case. if it wasn't so icy i'd really be enjoying myself. this far from a city the stars are not only visible, but positively resplendent. the cold air making the sky crystal clear. i keep my eyes focused on the path of my headlights, shift in my seat- a futile attempt to keep my ass from totally falling asleep and think longingly about the nice carpeted floor that awaits us and a full nights sleep.