1-95, Pinback

I'm listening to Pinback's "Blue Screen Life" on my iPod. I've been deprived of this album for a long time, because CDs turned into mp3s, and shit fell through the cracks. It reminds me of a pretty long time ago, and it's not a very upbeat album. I like hearing it, because it's one of my favorites - but part of me realizes that I keep listening to the same CDs over and over, and they're not necessarily the best choices. I have so many memories wrapped up in music, and my collection is very tired. All my favorite albums are slathered with inextricable personal context and meaning. Sublime's "40oz to Freedom" is one of the best CDs ever, but I don't need to be listening to it while driving toward Philly in a borrowed minivan that I'm driving because somehow a mild case of depression prevented me from taking care of my crapped out van battery. This dichotomy of lyrics, feelings, and situations makes me feel like a doofus. This is the kind of self psychology that is self deprecating - I admit that I question myself and my standing in life - and might be better tucked into the pages of a personal journal rather than a blog. I'm not trying to be funny. I'm really just trying to explain.

I'm not anxious. I'm not depressed. I'm not witnessing myself from another place. I'm listening to this CD, and taking intermittent calls about bicycles that I've already sold (which is badass). It's hot outside. The heat is a description which thankfully is difficult to mince. Let me try again about myself: I feel void and brainfucked. Does that sound scary? It's not like that. I'm driving along, listening to an album I love, and I'm living the one life which I relish the hell out of because it's the only one I know.

Cafe Risque

I'm sitting at Cafe Risque feigning comfort and waiting for a cheeseburger. This is the place with the billboard that says "Topless! Topless!" ; Exit 70 on I-95, North Carolina. I finally made it. I've been seeing that sign every time I've been up or down 95 ever since I was a little boy. At that time, even the sight of the billboard was scandalous. Now I'm alone on this road for the first time. I'm in mid-migration to the north. I'm taking my time and stopping on a whim. I'd feel regret if I didn't finally see what this place is all about. Is it like Denny's with a topless waitress? The word 'cafe' makes me picture booth-style tables, florescent lights, and lots of coffee. Eerie... it couldn't be. In spite of my low level of comfort, I definitely went for it. It was obvious upon entry: just a strip club with no booze license, duh. Black lights, corny music, cigarette smoke, $8 cheeseburgers. I spent about an hour, and now I shall wonder no longer.