Sleepwalking through the all night drug store ...

"Sleepwalking through the all night drug store" - Ani DiFranco In my case - the all night drug store can be the omnipresent Mac OS X screen: incessantly pushing high speed web browsing, streaming radio, a library of thousands of iTunes, gigs of past Photoshop doodles and ripped movies to peruse. At home and at work, 24/7. Without some discipline, you can become numbed by it all. Cue the U2 song from 93, toe the edge. I found myself thinking about that last week, as I found myself distracted, as project after project taxied on the flat tarmac of my computer screen. My desktop looks like a mine field of icons, jpgs, and miscellaneous files. I have a folder structure I use; but sometimes when I am in a rush to send something off - I will make a quick folder on the desktop. After a few weeks: I can hardly see the backround picture. {More insomniac web browsing tonite lead to the discovery of Quicksilver a free keyboards short-cut thingee for OS X which seems pretty cool. I downloaded it and have been 'invoking' it quite a bit as Saturday has once again morphed into Sunday} And in between the home computer and the work computer I have 3,000 songs shuffling through my ears. I think I need to go to a monastary and meditate for awhile. Or perhaps exercise. I was walking through the Park Street T stop, en route to the Green Line and I saw a familiar Greek fisherman cap with my peripheral vision. It was my father. "Hey Dad," I said. We exchanged some pleasentries and I went off in search of the Green line's D train to head out to Needham and he went further below the ground to catch the Braintree bound red line I thought about all the times we had gone into Boston on the weekends with my brother, post divorce when I was 11 to go see a movie or go to a museum. And here we were 17 years later: worker bees buzzing through the underground transportation maze of this over city: crowded, priced, hyped, tly classist city. I saw a mouse scamper along the third rail, adjusted the volume on my iPod and glanced up at the track length of bright Tropicana orange juice ads and let my eyes lose focus and drop down to the gum spackled dirt grey concrete floor. The anonymity of effortless trips on 95 had been replaced with this: at once invigorating and frustrating - this subterranean ritual of humanity. Time for a coffee.

redline Originally uploaded by bkerr.