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enteleinIt was warm today. Heavy, humid air. Not as heavy, nor, really, as humid as it could have been. But, you know, the water glasses sweat, and you can taste the wet a little on your tongue, like limestone at the beginning of a storm.
And it's raining now, see, still light out and in sunset mode, but the cars are swishing slickly on pavement, and the air is moving in small moisture-motivated puffs through the open window here in my home.
And "All I Ask" from Crowded House's Woodface album comes on, and suddenly I feel sweet and meek and worn out by summer heat. I am either walking the three miles to and from my summer job at the silkscreening shop, or I am waiting for the bus. I have Woodface on cassette, and the top of my head is hot from the sun baking it, and I keep folding out the liner card so I can look at the four boys up to their necks in wood shavings, with Tim's wavy dark hair and silver streaky, and the absolutely scrumptious lines around Neil's eyes. I have an old Sony Walkman, lid a little flappy, in grey plastic and silvered accent lines.
Over and over and over, until the last bit of "Italian Plastic" was memorized, and that talky bit at the end of "Whispers and Moans" (and remembering this is one of the songs where the audience claps along during live shows) ...
Transportation to the land of 18, of cheap canvas shoes and the weird, chemical smell of 4-ply auto-carbon invoicing sheets, and rotund bosses in their wood-paneled office. Summer, summer, summer, where I believed for most of it I would take a year before going off to college, because, well, who could afford it?
I ended up going, special admittance and gift grants out the wazoo.
Neil says
And it's raining now, see, still light out and in sunset mode, but the cars are swishing slickly on pavement, and the air is moving in small moisture-motivated puffs through the open window here in my home.
And "All I Ask" from Crowded House's Woodface album comes on, and suddenly I feel sweet and meek and worn out by summer heat. I am either walking the three miles to and from my summer job at the silkscreening shop, or I am waiting for the bus. I have Woodface on cassette, and the top of my head is hot from the sun baking it, and I keep folding out the liner card so I can look at the four boys up to their necks in wood shavings, with Tim's wavy dark hair and silver streaky, and the absolutely scrumptious lines around Neil's eyes. I have an old Sony Walkman, lid a little flappy, in grey plastic and silvered accent lines.
Over and over and over, until the last bit of "Italian Plastic" was memorized, and that talky bit at the end of "Whispers and Moans" (and remembering this is one of the songs where the audience claps along during live shows) ...
Transportation to the land of 18, of cheap canvas shoes and the weird, chemical smell of 4-ply auto-carbon invoicing sheets, and rotund bosses in their wood-paneled office. Summer, summer, summer, where I believed for most of it I would take a year before going off to college, because, well, who could afford it?
I ended up going, special admittance and gift grants out the wazoo.
Neil says
We are the mirrors of each other
In a lifetime of suspicion
Cleansed in a moment, a flash of recognition
You gave your life for it
Worth its weight in gold and growing empires
Art collectors and Alans sound investments
Will one day be forgotten, one day be forgotten, yeah!
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Date: 2005-05-10 12:47 am (UTC)Heh. I haven't listened to my cassettes in a long, long time. Thanks to them, though, I made it to three corners of the country in a month with only a little talking to myself.
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Date: 2005-05-10 04:26 am (UTC)