The other day at work I went into a meeting. Since I am still getting my feet wet at this new job, I was trying to be really professional and not ogle my boss’ spectacular view. I had made neat little bullet points on my yellow legal pad and had restrained myself from doodling geometric floral architecture in the margins. I made pointed recommendations and gave succinct summaries of my projects, and all-in-all was feeling very businessy and “professional” (a virtue that I assure you is highly overrated). And then, as I am about to return to the cube my boss hands me and my fellow “team members” a booklet titled: Quality, Service, Teamwork: the foundations of excellence. She says nothing, just: Here you go! smiles, and gives us the look that says, “and now it’s time for you to leave…” As I flipped through the flimsy yellow and black pages I was bombarded with quotation after quotation. Little gems of wisdom such as: “Either we’re pulling together, or pulling apart, “ and, “The race for quality has no finish line.” And then, as I turned to the last page, I realized that I’d been had! A small synergistic triangle and the over arching word: Successories. Angie, Justin, and I had had a good laugh about this ridiculous line of inspirational books and accessories, ahem, I mean, successories… Who buys these things?!?! I asked in disbelief that such a company even existed. Well, apparently TWDC (aka “the mouse”). Seeing as I was given no instruction with this book, I am not quite certain what I am supposed to do with it. All suggestions will be taken into consideration.
*****
The I-5. In between Northern California and Southern California there is a vast abyss and a solemn bridge of road. A thin grey pencil-etched line alongside blonde, velvet rolling hills that are sometimes brandished by the silhouette of a black burned one. A picture with the contrast turned up too high. The stench of agriculture off to the other side. The I-5 and I… I am never sure if we are friends or enemies. I’d rather forget that all that space between home and … home never existed. I-5 and more than 5 hours of restless, unrelenting song to keep the paranoia of the car sounds away. Once I am back in the house I grew up in and floating atop the glassy black pool (how blinding is the sun), the distance doesn’t seem so great. It is mere hours between the two places… until I am back in my car mere hours later and forced to turn the music off because after 6 hours my ears are just too tired. I would just have to exchange Benny Goodman and Air and Bobby McFerrin for my car’s helter skelter humming. The humming that makes me think of the first time I drove this road all alone the maddening undistant distance. A space, a stretch that seems so long because of the thoughts that dwell in between.
*****
The I-5. In between Northern California and Southern California there is a vast abyss and a solemn bridge of road. A thin grey pencil-etched line alongside blonde, velvet rolling hills that are sometimes brandished by the silhouette of a black burned one. A picture with the contrast turned up too high. The stench of agriculture off to the other side. The I-5 and I… I am never sure if we are friends or enemies. I’d rather forget that all that space between home and … home never existed. I-5 and more than 5 hours of restless, unrelenting song to keep the paranoia of the car sounds away. Once I am back in the house I grew up in and floating atop the glassy black pool (how blinding is the sun), the distance doesn’t seem so great. It is mere hours between the two places… until I am back in my car mere hours later and forced to turn the music off because after 6 hours my ears are just too tired. I would just have to exchange Benny Goodman and Air and Bobby McFerrin for my car’s helter skelter humming. The humming that makes me think of the first time I drove this road all alone the maddening undistant distance. A space, a stretch that seems so long because of the thoughts that dwell in between.
1 comment:
ah, the I-5. how i love and loathe it, being that it connected my homes for 5 years as well. so long, so boring...and yet all a part of the experience. i mean, how can you not love stopping at kettleman city or harris ranch or seeing fellow norcal kids at various rest stops? ah, the I-5.
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