When I have a lot on my plate, I become reclusive. I turn to music. I sit on BART/Muni in a daze, immersing myself with my ipod.
I swear having an ipod has led to me developing music a.d.d. because I can't listen to a song for more than 7.50978906238 seconds until I decide I actually want to listen to something else - "the current song does not suit my mood!"
But when I do find my one song, I go back into my daze. You see, music does the same thing books do for me - take me away. Each song brings me to think of specific people, memories, feelings, etc. As I sit there and reminisce, I wonder what has become of them. But for some reason, I always think about that person's strongest attributes. When I think reflect fondly of someone, I remember something they are talented at.
I know people who are musically gifted, some who can cook like they are an Iron Chef, people who can master multiple languages, people who have photographic memories, awesome choreographed dancers, etc etc etc yadda yadda you get the picture right?
When I step off my train/bus, I usually get into an introspective mood. What is my talent?
Well, shit. I didn't have the patience or dedication to keep up with playing the clairinet or piano. I can't fix cars, i'm not ambidextrous, I can't sing for beans, I suck at dancing (even though I love to dance), I write like a poorly unstructurized amateur (because I am one)...
But I do know one thing -
I AM FANFUCKINTASTICAL AT BEING A FASHION CRITIC. SOMEBODY CALL THE MUTHAFUCKIN' WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMBULANCE CAUSE THIS SHIZZ IS A NO-NO OFF THE GAYDAR!!!!!
photo credit: Miss Ortiz bus line: T 3rd Street.
Hey big [wo]man? Please don't wear those. Wutchu do, rob a nail salon!? Somewhere out there, a Vietnamese lady is sobbing because a fat tranny accosted her or her employees for salon sandals.