Strings, Box, Bodies, Drums

Thinking today about musical instruments and how they approximate the human body. Guitars and violins and harps and bass amplifiers, all churning out simulacra of a heartbeat. It's autumn, I'm booking shows for my band, I'm trying to write songs and forgetting how involved, difficult, rewarding, and complicated it is. I forget that I need to actually figure out the shape of the feeling before I can sing it. Or dance it, really. I keep my windows open when I go to bed at night, even though it makes the mornings unbearably cold. I take long walks on my way to work, listening to Susan Ploetz' songs. Verdi's songs. Matt Elkin's songs. Beyoncé's songs, for inspiration.

I feel romantic.
I don't get spring fever. The summer holds no particular erotic allure for me either. I couldn't care less about human contact when it's hot. The autumn though. Makes me want to build things, nest, share. Make out.

I have an embarrassing crush on that MisShape boy, and a more embarrassing crush on an intern at the office where I'm temping. One of the precious few things that make corporate hell at least interesting is the intern pool. Specifically, the shoes thereof. I don't know what these girls are supposed to be doing, but what they are actually doing is blowing my fucking mind with these insane high-fashion get-ups and elaborate, impractical, and undoubtedly painful footwear. Imagine a swarm of perfectly coiffed NYU co-eds carrying empty manila folders, teetering around the office in $400 Marc Jacobs stilettos. I, for one, appreciate the effort, girls.

One intern, whom I suspect is the only boy, is pretty cute. At least, I think he's an intern, I sort of just noticed him around the time the rest of the interns showed up. I have an elaborate fantasy in which he is not 19, but 24 (he took a couple years off of school because he got a Fullbright to study experimental writing in Osaka). I manage to make up excuses to walk by his cubicle throughout the day. This morning when I passed him on my way to the mail room he stared at me while eating a banana. Adjusted his posture and rolled his eyes like he wasn't just checking me out.

My feelings are best summed up with the following video, for "You" by Lloyd. Jennifer and I stayed in on Saturday night and watched him perform this song live on 'Showtime at the Apollo'. I generally love top 40 pop songs anyway, but something about this song, including the Spandau Ballet bit, is just gorgeous. Clean, and sad, and pretty.

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