It's a bit of a shame about the blog: I often don't get started on an entry until late in the day. For instance, I'm starting this entry at 5:23pm. At 5:23pm, most people are on their ways home, while I'm here, feeling like I'm just getting started. And I put a lot of effort into these words. It takes some time. Even the shitty entries take awhile. I hope this doesn't sound like a complaint. I'm not complaining. I actually enjoy these circumstances. I'm relaxing now. Tarkio's keeping me awake with banjos and bells, and, aside from the random e-mail, there are no more interruptions to keep me from writing, which is what I love most. I like this time. I like 5:23pm. I like my job. Which gets me to something else I wanted to mention, had I had the opportunity to simply mention it when it came to mind, rather than beating around the clock like this:
I've heard some of the guys John Atkinson, Wes Phillips, Art Dudley talk about a certain feeling. It's a strange kind of, mildly irrational, but altogether real, bit of sadness topped off with a touch of guilt and/or regret that sneaks up on the audio reviewer when the time comes to return a piece of gear to its manufacturer.
Many of the commuters around me have the white plastic implants shoved into their innocent ears. All sorts of sounds come slithering out as we hold onto stainless steel. The F train sings a different song.