… and they’re talking it to me….
I’m sitting here watching the NBA Draft for reasons that I don’t even understand. I think in July and August I’m so hungry for any sport besides baseball that I’ll watch just about anything sports-related. I think that the draft barely matches that description. I can understand why girls would wonder why in the hell her boyfriend watches the NBA draft (the NFL draft is an entirely different matter… it is known far and wide to men everywhere as “Draft Day”). I mean for 5 hours you’re watching team select players and “analysts” talk about those players, knowing full well that everything their saying is a barely educated guess. There really is nothing sporting about the draft. The only movement is the mouths of said analysts and the comissioner walking his ass to the podium to read off the picks.
I think sometimes in your life, especially when you get older, there are mile markers along the way to let you know how far along you are. For example, you’re just bopping through life and all of a sudden you get an atrociously high power bill because, in an ironic twist of fate, you’ve been turning your AC off when you leave your apartment to go to work in an effort to SAVE power. Or one of your good friends gets engaged and/or, and I guess eventually, married. Or you’re handed a folder containing information about PPOs, HMOs, and 401(k)s. There are a lot of abbreviations in the “real world”. I don’t think that growing up is as sudden as you think it is, nor is it necessarily slow. It’s a process that is deceptively slow. It’s like a movie where the ending has a twist to it and you go back and watch the movie again and the director dropped hints for you that, in hindsight, you kick yourself for missing. It’s not that you missed it, you just didn’t know enough to look for it. That’s been my experience so far in this “real world” everyone keeps talking about.
I think that music can provide the soundtrack to moments. I listen to certain songs and I think about what that song would be perfect for. What moment that song illustrates in my head. There are certainly songs that are exceptions to that rule. There certainly is no moment in which Paris Hilton’s single sets the scene. At least I certainly hope not. If a moment in my life is ever set against any song by Paris Hilton, I hope it’s the moment where I hurl my body off the Mid-Bay Bridge to feed the hungry sharks below. Shark who will, no doubt, be humming that shitty Shakira song just to illustrate the absurdity of the moment. But I hear songs like the quiet, kind of solemn, simplicity of “Covered in Rain” and thinking about how nice that would be playing at a level that is just audible but not intrusive, laying in the dark with someone. Only being able to feel them until your eyes adjust and you’re able to see the outline of their face, enough to grab it kiss them and not feel the distinct shape of nostrils on your lips. I think that for every song that is on my iPod, I’ve assigned its own special little moment. Whether it’s driving around on a hot Florida day. Or driving through Alabama with your best friend in the passenger seat talking about girls you wish you would have slept with in high school or how psyched you are about the new girl in your life. Every song it’s own respective moment.