The title: a snippet from a song by the group Postal Service, heard on the radio. I like it, but it's a bit sappy – eerie, too. A sort of pop take on an old Kraftwerk-sounding, electronica vibe, maybe.
Several people want me to keep blogging, despite the end of my trip. Good idea, but what do I blog about? The banality of it all is overwhelming, and I can't choose whether to write about my job search, about the latest article I read in the Economist or Harvard Business Review (intriguing to me, but who wants a second-hand summary?), about the fact that I have joined the gym and can't stand it, but feel I must do something to improve my health, or about the hyperregurgitational activities of my cat.
All seems equally dull.
On Thursday I was driving east on the 105, after an interview with a recruiter in Manhattan Beach, and the mountains, while not perfectly clear, were quite visible – spectacular setting, when you think about it – Mt Baldy and the San Gabriels lurking on the northern horizon, while the infinite city stretch hazy-green-brown-grey in front of them.
I'm taking a class in graphic design (computer-assisted, as it always is these days) through UCLA extension. Something to keep me motivated and creative – I just can't seem to discipline myself to pursue projects independent of outside structure. Which doesn't bode well for my entrepreneurial ambitions. Correction, then: entrepreneurial fantasies.
Maybe I can take a poll of my dedicated readers (all three of you?). What do I do next with my life?