Happy in Munich

Munich19

Originally uploaded by packyourlunch.

People live the right way in Munich. Maybe it was the Beerfest. Maybe it was the post card perfect weather in late September.

Everyone was friendly. And if they weren’t friendly to begin with, after a few beers they were. This snap was shot after a night of hard drinking with some just-made friends. I was walking from the Beerhall back to my hotel.

I don’t remember taking this picture — or the walk home for that matter. I do think I remember speaking perfect German to a Bavarian man while he, in turn, spoke perfect English to me.

It looks like the marquee of the theater near my hotel was in the background when I took this picture. It is fitting because no one knew who I was in Munich, except that I was the only American around. Valerie grilled me about George Bush. Freddy asked about traveling from state to state. I was on stage.

But if that isn’t a content look, then I’ve never seen one.

Snow

It’s snowing in Boston today. Just a dusting, I think. But enough to make me brush off the windshield of my car.

I bet people on the roads are going to be idiots on the drive home.

I can’t find the shuffle button. Only repeat.

I have this bad habit.

I listen to a song over and over again and associate it in my mind with someone in particular. In high school it was Hendrix. Later in life, the songs changed, but the feeling behind it stayed the same: every time I heard a particular song, I would think of a certain person. I still do it. The longer I know a person, the longer they are a part of my life, the more songs I attribute to them. After a while, it seems like there aren’t any good songs left.

But there’s always new music.

There’s always a new person.

The thought and the feelings behind those thoughts tend to stay the same. Now it’s a Jay Farrar cover and a Ray LaMontagne song. But even after the association goes sour – even after I want nothing more than eject someone from my life – I still listen to those songs.

Some people cut themselves. Some people get drunk. I listen to music.

Well, I get drunk too.

Everyone has their vices.

But I won’t stop listening to those songs. I see them in my CD case and pause for a second. I think about the songs and what they’ll do. I reach into the case, pull the CD out and skip ahead to those specific tracks.

Everything comes rushing back. I play it again.

Maybe it’s some weird catharsis, but I doubt it. That Hendrix song still brings a shy blond girl with arresting blue eyes to mind.

The hair color changes. The eye color does too. But those songs stay the same. And I keep listening to them.

Over and over.

The intensity fades. Of course it does, after ten years it’s hard to feel the same way about anything. But something still sparks.

The more immediate, the more times I hit repeat until I want to break it, crack the CD in half, throw it out the window and let the tire tread of a thousand cars grind it dust.

Instead I hit repeat one more time, light a cigarette and settle in for a long ride. Brake lights flash, but it is only a short delay. The destination is unchanged.