Wednesday, April 25, 2007

snippets on a rainy day

Woke up with a head-cracking headache this morning. Colds and fever got the better of me last night. Drugged myself with Neozep, lagundi capsules and vitamin C and slobbered my chest and back with Vicks. Decided my situation will get worse if I stay in bed. The cheerleader contestant outnumbered the other two with the most number of Greek gods named in the final rounds of GKNB. Took a half-bath after. My temples throbbed as if to say that I'm such a stupid smartass. Went to work. Rain drummed the roofs the moment I sat down in my chair. It was friggin hot when I got down the jeep. I am hearing like Al Gore right now lecturing me on climate change.

Worked on the paper I should've finished the other day. Forget to fax something to Manila. 5 minutes. Put the headphones on. There's nothing like Todd Rundgren's It Wouldn't Have Made Any Difference or James Morrisson's You Give Me Something with the faint drip-drip-drip of raindrops. Feel like my headache's gone now. Last gulp of tea.

Todd Rundgren | It Wouldn't Have Made Any Difference
James Morrisson | You Give Me Something
Lee Ryan | When I Think Of You
Tori Amos | Sleeping with Butterflies
Damien Rice | Cannonball
Dashboard Confessional | Nightswimming
Chris Rice | When Did You Fall
Paolo Nutini | Last Request
Dishwalla | Every Little Thing
Jamie Cullum | All at Sea
Coldplay | A Rush of Blood to the Head
NeYo | Sexy Love
Mike Doughty | Looking at the World from the Bottom of a Well
Robin Thicke | Lost Without U
Anna Nalick | Breathe
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Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting