Day 141-- true story

I drove to my parents' house today. I didn't have to work at the coffee shop, but work at the bookstore later in the evening, so I took the opportunity to go home, see my dad (my mom was at work), catch up on "24," and do some laundry. Especially do some laundry, since my washer/dryer situation at my house is...unique.

Everything went well, mostly. I managed "big crisis events" well, but get swarmed easily by little things. By the time work rolled around, most of my laundry was still damp (I drove straight home from work), searched in vain to find a book and jacket, and a few other insignificant things that--at the time--felt more than insignificant.

So I'm driving to the mall, hoping that the heat from the vents will dry some of the damp shirts hanging from the plastic grips mounted above the doors. I almost was T-boned by an ambulance, and--to top it off--my radio was flickering on and off. See, my dad and I installed this AM/FM radio/tape deck into my car a few years ago, since it had no radio whatsoever. It worked for about a year, and then--inexplicably--just worked sporadically. Whenever it wanted. It would make beeping noises as it shut on and off. Now, it's at a point where, while it may work for extended periods of time, it mostly works for 30 second intervals before flickering on and off. I found that tapping it helps. Sometimes I hit it hard, and it works for extended periods of time.

So I'm punching it, see. I really wanted to hear the song playing on my MP3 player (the Jayhawks' insanely awesome "Miss Williams' Guitar," for the record). Mark Olsen and Gary Louris were finishing their vocal part and Louris was about to go into his manic guitar solo when the radio pooped out. That's where the punching comes in. I works at first, the radio squawking and the fuzzed guitar coming back in, but then it cuts out. I punch harder. Same thing. Punch again. And more. Some more punches. I then notice that dust or something got all over the edge of the radio, so--while keeping my eye on the road--I dust it off. It's not dust, though, it's blood. Blood all over the radio, all over the shifting column, the steering wheel, my hand. Who knew knuckles bled so much?

PS--Here are some Jayhawks videos (both circa Mark Olsen and post-Mark Olsen)

posted, with grace and poise, by Jason @ 1/24/2007 11:16:00 PM,


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