It’s a short walk from the Little Café Near Home to my place. (Kinda makes sense, doesn’t it?) Not far out the door, the song ‘Heroin Girl’ came up the wires and into my ears. The wind was chill, but still lacking that true Czech winter bite. The streets were dark and quiet, and I’m pretty sure there were no witnesses to see me covering the last hundred meters to my front gate. (I looked back furtively as I worked the lock; LCNH was closing and at least one of the other patrons that was still there lives on my street. All clear. Whoo. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.
Nick Cave came on next, and I love the guy, but this was not the time for cerebral music. On the stairs up to my flat (no acceptance letters waiting on the stairs), I skipped on to The Jack Saints explaining in electrical mayhem that Gin’s A Good Man’s Brother. Shoes off, moves on, it was time to let go. The Mars Volta only added to that, followed by Gwen Mars, the culprit of my last Rocking Out Injury.
My thermostat is set for 20; cool but comfortable. Right now it is 23 in here. The heater is not going; that heat came from me. (Residual radiator heat must certainly be a factor, although the radiators are also covered with laundry right now, reducing their efficiency.) It was the Hives that put things over the top, and then when Alkaline Trio came on, that was the end. I was, in fact, the quintessential iPod commercial, holding the player in one hand (it kept falling out of my pockets, and I came to appreciate that when the headphones come out, the player automatically stops), white wires connected to my head flinging about with my body motion.
I was not, however, a vague shadow that reminds me somehow of the antishadows left by mannequins on the sides of buildings after nuclear tests. I was 3D, a little more 3D than I’m happy about being, which just increased the work required to move this body in ways that the kids can only envy. (I assume that their laughter is based on jealousy.)
Things are cooling, now, and I have a screenplay due tomorrow. Using Final Draft Pro for the last few days has really helped me appreciate just how cool Jer’s Novel Writer is.
Appropriately, the music is following the script, mellowing; Toad the Wet Sprocket is covering a Kiss tune. I want to rock and roll all night, party every day.
