|
|
|
An entry written with wet hair We need rain and I like rain but not when I'm a landscaper. This morning I was working on some crappy project that in itself sucked (and while I was doing it I was muttering "Fuck! Go in, you little fucker, go in!"), but then it started pouring and I got soaked and my hands got too cold to move gracefully and so it sucked even more. We worked in the pouring rain for a couple hours before they decided to bag it. I like the boys I work with. There are three of them, plus the boss. I called them "the boys" yesterday and the boss laughed. "You mean the rest of the crew," he corrected me. I don't think he really approved of me calling them "the boys", but I'm going to continue to call them that. I came home half an hour ago, wet and freezing, water dripping down my nose from my head, and I pulled off my muddy clothes and put on clean dry new ones and made myself some hot chocolate and now I'm listening to Murray Street, which is like the perfect album for a rainy day. It's also the perfect album for a sunny day. Murray Street is a masterpiece. Sonic Youth might be my second favorite band in the world.
|