Life is music, eh? (3)
A little while ago I bought an mp3-player that's also a radio. Everyone who's ever driven anywhere with me and who's seen the smoke come off their radio knows I switch channels like it's my job, and I've fallen in love with the little gadget. I swear, hitting that forward button is like a morphine drip.
It's happened a few times now that I stumbled upon the perfect song for that specific moment - such bliss. Just the other day I was riding the bus home, a bi-daily ritual. The evening before I sat there feeling miserable, trying to figure whether the salami smell was coming from the guy sitting in front of me or the grimy seats. But this particular ride, I had a gorgeous jazz song seaping into my ears and I was fully at peace with the world. I was finishing Ken Kalfus' "A disorder peculiar to the country", sitting next to a friendly guy with a New York-ish jewish look, watched the sun set, got a bit sentimental about North America and all of a sudden all the other passengers looked beautiful. The old ladies and their shopping carts, the young women coming from work, every single person. And then...a small ant walked across the seat in front of me. Reminded me immediately of Dan Clark's stand up skit , the too-cute comedian I met at the short film festival last year. And all the while, the music kept going. A natural high, I guess, out of the blue. Which continued straight into the night. I hit up the Broken Social Scene concert, made nice backstage and got to take the band out on the town after the show. They were hilarious, very sweet & a bunch of good people all around. When I dropped them off at their tour bus around 3 (they had to be in Cologne the next day) and walked home, I could honestly say I hadn't felt "meh" that night for a split second.
The same soundtrack-to-life thing happened to me today. I went for a run in the park, passed a gorgeous lake, saw little kids playing together, started thinking about my own niece & nephew and then... Regina Spektor's "Samson" came on. Perfection.
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