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?
Assuming I’m one of your three dedicated readers, my advices, in the short term, is to keep cleaning up Bernie’s barf, and keep writing your blog. (No connection between those two activities is implied or intended.) You’re one of those people who can write about anything and make it interesting, even poetic. How about a socio-political explication about why you hate going to the gym so much? I’m hoping you might help make my own hatred of such places more philosophically–or at least aethetically–convincing. Perhaps Bernie’s recent behavior is a symbiotic externalization of your inner revulsion at the prospect of organized exercise?
PS: apropos cats, I loved your piece about the 6 Italian cats in Trieste.